Well, Hello, my blogging friends. How do ya do?
I've promised myself I will force things, if I have to, to return to normal shortly. I've indulged my book junkie quite enough, I think. Problem being is, there is one book left. I started it today, it will be done tomorrow, then Sookie Stackhouse and I are going to have a little break. Will I jones like any chemically dependant loser? You bet ya! Only my dependence relies entirely on paper and type (not entirely true; I am sated if the type is on my computer screen as well). Until the next one comes along. I don't nurse my books. I guzzle them. It is rare that a book's attraction is so weak that I will take my time reading it (I take my time with fairly challenging books too, but who are we kidding? I read to escape. I'm not lookin' to better myself (usually)).
When I have completed my read-a-thon (9 books in 10 days qualifies, doesn't it?) perhaps I will offer up a complete review. Then again, maybe not; the next book in the series is due this month. Oh, Jesus! I can't quit!
Yeah, my personality hosts a score of defects. I am aware.
Work sucks. Always does, but it's sucking extra hard this week. My boss...well, there aren't words, really. Danica tries and comes close, but I promise you still only have an inkling of the man.
When Narcissus (apt nickname for the man that signs my pay cheque (that's 'pay check' for my American friends, hee!) ) moved his business into the new penis extension...ahem, building he built, he rented half of the building out to a local real estate company. Included in their rent was one receptionist. Me. I have been a receptionist (receptioned? Naw.) for a real estate company previously, I knew what I was in for. I asked for training. I begged to be told what was to be expected of me; what Narcissus had agreed to. I was avoided, put off and ignored. I was never told what exactly was in the contract. So, since May I have played it by ear. I like most of the real estate agents, and while they can be self absorbed and demanding, I don't have much else to do so I don't mind doing what they ask. Fax, photocopy, keep the filing cabinet stocked, update the listing book, so on and so forth. Combined with what I do for my own company this takes up about, if I stretch it, 4 hours of my day. - Now you understand why I spend so much time at Pajiba. I keep going back because the Pajiba community rocks my socks, but I never woulda found y'all if not for my pretty feathery work load.- So when they ask me if I can do more I usually agree. They've recently asked if I can begin inputting new listings into the system (MLS) and edit existing ones. I said I would be happy to, if they would train me. I asked the boss man to have a morning to spend at the real estate company's main office to receive the training. I made sure to tell him that his own personal real estate agent had requested this (she works for the company he is leasing me out to (that sounds horrible! I don't think I'll respect myself in the morning)), she sells all his real estate, of which there is acres, making herself and him wads of cash). It has taken me a ridiculous amount of time to get him to consent to me doing this. My problem is this; he told me to make sure they were happy, because when he builds the next office building next door to the one we are in, he wants to be sure it's this company that leases it. So I must make sure, where I can, that the relationship remains honeymoon like (plus, like I said, I like most of them and I'm not doing much else). He basically told me he thinks they are getting a little too handy with his receptionist. Colour me confused. I'd love to know what he expected a real estate receptionist to be. I'd love to know how I am supposed to nurture the relationship if I'm not doing anything for them. Impeccable phone manners only goes so far. I would love to know what was in this contract. Will I ever? Not bloody likely. The only thing I know for sure is that I am supposed to answer their phone. Did anyone really think that's all I would do for them?
I really need a different job.
The other day my daughter told me she wanted to be an extra in a movie. Abrupt topic change,. by the way. Her friend had done it when she lived in Germany and it was all kinds of fun. I absently agreed that that would be fun and promptly forgot the discussion. A day or two later, one of my co-workers tells me Jason Priestly is producing a series for HBO in the next town over. "Cool!" I think and move on. In today's paper there is an open casting call for all ages and types for the above mentioned production. I cut out the ad and brought it home. Gave it to my kid. Watched the sun rise in her eyes. Right now, my kid thinks I am the coolest Mom on the planet because I agreed to let her go to a casting call. I can't tell you how happy that makes me. I've tried to set her expectations, warned her she most likely will not get called. It's not reasonable to expect to get a call after attending one casting call (although, I can't imagine why they wouldn't call, she is the most beautiful girl I know! /Mommy thoughts). I doubt she heard a word I said. She is literally floating right now! Oh, to be 13 again! It isn't until next Tuesday. Perhaps I will write about the casting call experience.
This weekend is Canadian Thanksgiving. I love Thanksgiving. For two reasons. 1) turkey, duh! 2) it's also my wedding anniversary. 6 years. We haven't killed each other yet. Yippee! Love ya, babe!
I've gibbered on long enough and abused more than my fair share of parentheses, I think. I will talk at y'all tomorrow and let you know how miserably I failed at not whining!