As you are aware, or would be if you read this post, about three and a half months ago I started a new job. My new job is fabulous. The people I work with are awesome as well. Which is why, when I was invited to a gathering of my co-workers hosted by the doctor that owns the practice, I was happy to go. I was duly warned by one of my co-workers that the doctor likes to dance. And he likes the company of his employees while bustin' his move. I took the warning in stride, because really, who doesn't like to cut a rug once in a while? So, I shouldn't have been surprised when the little party came equipped with a dance instructor. I was, however. The nail biting began when I was informed that participation was not optional.
I enjoy dancing. I have been known to let loose and get my groove on. And the more alcohol I've consumed the groovier I get. But, seeing as this was a work function and I am the newest addition to the team, I had not ingested nearly enough liquid courage to take dance lessons in front of 12 or so of my newly acquired co-workers. Better yet? The dance being taught was the Samba. Have I mentioned before that I am the klutziest person I know? That I have very little rhythm? That I am divinely uncoordinated? Oh yes, hand to God. And participation was not optional.
I lined up opposite my husband (spouses were invited), said a prayer to the god of dance and fiercely concentrated on the feet of the little man instructing us. I tried. I really did. If I had of been in the comfort of my own home, or even a private lesson and perhaps a month to practice, I may have been able to execute and combine the 3 steps he taught us. I imagine what I produced looked something like I had suffered a seizure standing up. To add insult to injury, my husband is like liquid on the dance floor. Particularly any version of Latin dance. The instructor congratulated me on my husband's capacity. My co-workers were awed by his grace. My only saving grace? His suave effectively hid my ineptitude.
You think this would have been the end of this nightmare. You would be wrong. The other doctor at the practice was also in attendance. Being a little bit older, perhaps a little more mild mannered, his choice of dance was a little different. In fact, he was obliged to provide his own Cd with the music required for his lesson. Don't worry. I make it sound as though he taught us the Waltz and insisted we only touch at the arms, that isn't the case. No. The truth is much worse. He taught us the bunny hop. While the family in the link is very cute, I beg you to imagine doing this with a group of people you have known for approximately 8 weeks. Also, the family in the link are holding each other at the shoulder, we held each other at the waist. Why was I not informed of my options? You understand my unease. Aaaand, I'm, uh...top heavy. Bouncing around is not conducive to comfort when you are blessed with breasts. Especially when you are ill prepared.
Let's add it all up, shall we? Near strangers + divinely uncoordinated me + unfairly coordinated husband + big boobs + dance lessons = incredible embarrassment. Thankfully, my embarrassment seems to be my own. Mr. Sprite is (usually) remarkably good humoured; he was unfazed by my lack of grace. My co-workers were equally accepting; none of them were horrified by inelegant display. Shocking, isn't it? That no one but myself was put off. It always comes as a bit of a surprise when I am reminded once again that the world doesn't revolve around me. But, know this: I will practice those three steps until I have perfected them and I will don a garment capable of keeping the girls in check. And next time, I won't be so god damned uptight.
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
You Know You Want It!
He he! I am leaving for the T-dot in 2 days! I’m a wee bit excited, in case you hadn’t noticed. My cousin, my sister and I are going to have a good time. There will be dinners at fancy-like restaurants, manicures and pedicures, visiting, and drunken debauchery. I’m sure we’ll throw some shopping in for good measure. And a little more drunkenness, just because.
The only downfall is my return. Not because I don’t want to come back, but because two days after I return, the military is sending my husband on course for two –TWO- months! So I will be up here (you can’t see me, but I’m on my tippy toes with my hand way above my head) and then I will violently fall all the way down here (now, I’m flat out on the floor). I can’t even savour the sweetness of my vacation for a few extra days. That makes me pouty.
Also, my vacation was, unbeknownst to me, well timed. It gives me the opportunity to escape from the 7th circle of hell that has become the relationship between my daughter and me. I realize she’s a teen and teens are mildly psychotic and possibly suffer from multiple personalities but that doesn’t make it any easier. But I can’t get into that here and now because I run the risk of my head exploding.
Alright, enough of that.
So, here I sit on the eve of my 32nd birthday and I am going to spend time with two of the most important women in my life. My cousin, who I was estranged from for about a decade for unfortunate reasons, but thankfully we are back and just as strong and I wonder how I managed without her, and my sister, who was possibly the bane of my existence until I turned 24, when I realized everyone’s human and she maybe realized I wasn’t the control hungry bitch she had accused me of being. In other words we both matured and became very good friends. Don’t ask us to live together again, though. We will kill each other inside of a week. So even if all we three did for 6 days was hang out and drink and talk and just generally enjoy one another’s company, it would be a memorable birthday.
My only wish is that I could bring the hubby with me. I know, it kind of ruins the girls only theme but I am fortunate to be very good friends with the man I married (and when we remember that, we knock it out of the park!) and he’s also good friends with my sister and my cousin. It would be so much awesome! But not too much, they could never be too much.
Aww, look at me gettin’ all sappy. But there it is folks – the short list of “cannot do without” people in my life. And I didn’t even know I was going to go there. I just wanted to brag about justified absence from my place of work and my impending drunkenness. A nice surprise, I must say. Blog posts that write themselves. Fancy that!
The only downfall is my return. Not because I don’t want to come back, but because two days after I return, the military is sending my husband on course for two –TWO- months! So I will be up here (you can’t see me, but I’m on my tippy toes with my hand way above my head) and then I will violently fall all the way down here (now, I’m flat out on the floor). I can’t even savour the sweetness of my vacation for a few extra days. That makes me pouty.
Also, my vacation was, unbeknownst to me, well timed. It gives me the opportunity to escape from the 7th circle of hell that has become the relationship between my daughter and me. I realize she’s a teen and teens are mildly psychotic and possibly suffer from multiple personalities but that doesn’t make it any easier. But I can’t get into that here and now because I run the risk of my head exploding.
Alright, enough of that.
So, here I sit on the eve of my 32nd birthday and I am going to spend time with two of the most important women in my life. My cousin, who I was estranged from for about a decade for unfortunate reasons, but thankfully we are back and just as strong and I wonder how I managed without her, and my sister, who was possibly the bane of my existence until I turned 24, when I realized everyone’s human and she maybe realized I wasn’t the control hungry bitch she had accused me of being. In other words we both matured and became very good friends. Don’t ask us to live together again, though. We will kill each other inside of a week. So even if all we three did for 6 days was hang out and drink and talk and just generally enjoy one another’s company, it would be a memorable birthday.
My only wish is that I could bring the hubby with me. I know, it kind of ruins the girls only theme but I am fortunate to be very good friends with the man I married (and when we remember that, we knock it out of the park!) and he’s also good friends with my sister and my cousin. It would be so much awesome! But not too much, they could never be too much.
Aww, look at me gettin’ all sappy. But there it is folks – the short list of “cannot do without” people in my life. And I didn’t even know I was going to go there. I just wanted to brag about justified absence from my place of work and my impending drunkenness. A nice surprise, I must say. Blog posts that write themselves. Fancy that!
Friday, February 19, 2010
The Hound of Hell
I am the receptionist for an insurance/investment/mortgage firm as well as a real estate company. I don’t have much on my plate. I mail out mortgage letters once a week. I fax out group insurance requests once a week. I occasionally design business cards and marketing material for both companies. If I am lucky, I get to work on a mortgage. Once in awhile I am required to enter a new listing into the MLS database. I answer the phone. And as infrequently as I can manage it, I file. Before this I worked as a teller in a bank. I was much busier and made better money.
Even though a retarded monkey could perform my job, I try to take pride in what I do. To be honest I adore designing the business cards and marketing material. I’m an amateur but it’s fun nonetheless and the people I do it for appreciate it. Sorry, a little off topic. I try to be unfailingly professional. I am only human and once in a blue moon some dorksnorkle slips under the radar and manages to piss me off enough to make me forget myself. That being said my crimes against professionalism pale in comparison to some of the shit I have seen while I have worked here. I write about them today because there have been 3 such events in a very (unacceptably) short span of time. The same person is guilty of all three.
We received mail from a courier today addressed to one person. Another person entirely opened it.
While talking to a bill collector on the phone (yes, collector), a request was made by the collector for the name of the party he was talking to. The name was given several times and when it was apparent the language barrier was making the conversation difficult, the question was posed: “if you ask for information, then clean the crap outta your ears and listen”.
Finally, because this person is a very serious control freak, one requiring extensive psychiatric therapy in my humble opinion, completely ignored one of the boss’s clients. Why would she do such a thing? What could possibly be considered reason enough to ignore the client of the man that signs your paycheques? Because I was on lunch (which incites misery each and every fucking day, as if I am not entitled to it or rather the jealousy because Dani and I eat together every day), the real estate agent on duty greeted the potential client (in her eyes) when they entered the building. Upon discovering he was in fact a client of my boss's she looked to my co-worker for help. My co-worker simply shrugged and left the real estate agent to fend for herself. Having no knowledge of the boss’s whereabouts or what his schedule was she took the gentleman’s name and sent him on his way. When the name was relayed to my boss and his anger at having his scheduled client sent away was apparent, my co-worker hung the real estate agent out to dry. And the fuck of it is; she thinks her childish little display of passive-aggression was justified.
To add insult to injury: this woman’s mood swings makes the character Linda Blair played in The Exorcist look downright fucking playful. I am often left flummoxed, wondering what I could’ve possibly done to warrant the death stare and knife edge-like tongue.
When did professionalism and respect in the workplace become an option?
When I leave this place (and I will, it is only a matter of when now) it won’t be because of Narci , Dirk Diggler, or any other minions. It will be because of the soul sucking female in his employ.
Even though a retarded monkey could perform my job, I try to take pride in what I do. To be honest I adore designing the business cards and marketing material. I’m an amateur but it’s fun nonetheless and the people I do it for appreciate it. Sorry, a little off topic. I try to be unfailingly professional. I am only human and once in a blue moon some dorksnorkle slips under the radar and manages to piss me off enough to make me forget myself. That being said my crimes against professionalism pale in comparison to some of the shit I have seen while I have worked here. I write about them today because there have been 3 such events in a very (unacceptably) short span of time. The same person is guilty of all three.
We received mail from a courier today addressed to one person. Another person entirely opened it.
While talking to a bill collector on the phone (yes, collector), a request was made by the collector for the name of the party he was talking to. The name was given several times and when it was apparent the language barrier was making the conversation difficult, the question was posed: “if you ask for information, then clean the crap outta your ears and listen”.
Finally, because this person is a very serious control freak, one requiring extensive psychiatric therapy in my humble opinion, completely ignored one of the boss’s clients. Why would she do such a thing? What could possibly be considered reason enough to ignore the client of the man that signs your paycheques? Because I was on lunch (which incites misery each and every fucking day, as if I am not entitled to it or rather the jealousy because Dani and I eat together every day), the real estate agent on duty greeted the potential client (in her eyes) when they entered the building. Upon discovering he was in fact a client of my boss's she looked to my co-worker for help. My co-worker simply shrugged and left the real estate agent to fend for herself. Having no knowledge of the boss’s whereabouts or what his schedule was she took the gentleman’s name and sent him on his way. When the name was relayed to my boss and his anger at having his scheduled client sent away was apparent, my co-worker hung the real estate agent out to dry. And the fuck of it is; she thinks her childish little display of passive-aggression was justified.
To add insult to injury: this woman’s mood swings makes the character Linda Blair played in The Exorcist look downright fucking playful. I am often left flummoxed, wondering what I could’ve possibly done to warrant the death stare and knife edge-like tongue.
When did professionalism and respect in the workplace become an option?
When I leave this place (and I will, it is only a matter of when now) it won’t be because of Narci , Dirk Diggler, or any other minions. It will be because of the soul sucking female in his employ.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Can You Smell The Cute?
Today I show up to work and my good friend Danica is not here because she is a leaky phlegm faucet and the other lady I work with has taken the day off. Guess what that means! I’m a little freaked out because someone has to cover for them and it’s been so long since I worked hard I was worried I had forgotten how. It turns out there wasn’t that much to do and my worries were unfounded, so I am blogging to kill time.
In honour of Thanksgiving and my wedding anniversary I thought I would sicken you with the maple syrup-y sweetness that is my husband and me once in awhile. Another of our goofy conversations had via email recently (and if you think I’m a little full of myself because I post conversations between my hubby and I, well, all I have to say is Duh! I blog, I obviously think I have something worthwhile to say and everyone wants to read it). Names have been changed to protect the innocent:
Me: How is your day going?
Him: Good, so far. A bit bored because all the things I’m working on require people that aren't here or can't do it right now. Other than that I’m gearing up for an afternoon of complete boredom. This course I’m taking is painfully useless for the most part and I have to force myself to try and even go to the damn thing. No more of these for me after this I think. At least for a while. The politics one had some interesting topics at least. This is just force fed malarkey !! OK love ya see you later on. Oh, how is your day going ??
(you see, he didn’t forget to ask me how I was after his little tangent)
Me: I’m ok. I have to talk to Narcissus about some work the real estate company would like me to start doing, but he’s avoiding me like the plague and it’s driving me bonkers. Other than that? Yeah, it’s ok.
Him: You should pour something on the floor in the foyer. He'll stop to complain and while he's looking down you can commando roll from behind the desk and give him a flying armbar. That should get his attention !
Me: Hmmm, I’m not sure attacking your boss is something sane people do. Without being provoked. While it would be intensely entertaining, I doubt it would have the desired effect. Besides, I don’t think I could do the commando roll. I’ve got the flying arm bar covered (I even have a war cry, but I’m not telling you) but I’m not confident I could execute the commando roll with accuracy (or grace, yep, definitely no grace).
Him: You’re so boring but ok fine. How about just doing the War cry from behind the desk? At least. Only if it doesn't sound like Xena's. You have to wait until he’s quietly pondering something all alone and then let it go !
Me: No, Sadly, I cannot channel Xena. Although, it would be the cat’s ass if I could. I’m not sure why the cat’s ass is so spectacular, but they say that it is. And before you ask: Yes, I listen to everything they say.
That’s all. I didn’t get the opportunity to defend myself. To explain that having a war cry is proof that I am anything but boring because boring people don’t think about what their war cry should be (neither do sane people, bet then y’all knew I was a little left of normal, didn’t ya?). Perhaps conversations like this one are the reason my boss doesn’t want to leave me alone at the office. Not that he read this one (cause it was had by email. Did I say that? Yup, I did.), but maybe he intuits.
Anyhoo, back to the topic at hand: Anniversaries and Thanksgiving.
I am thankful the hubby and I have managed to remain married for 6 years (we’ve been together a grand total of 15!). Seeing as we are obviously from opposing universes – no Mars and Venus for us, noooo, neither of us fits the description of a native Milky Way-er (?) – it is a blessed miracle we have made it this far. But you know what? While it is a little easier for both of us to become irritated with the others quirks (that is far too cute a word to describe our shortcomings), he is still the hottest guy I know. The smartest person I know (what? brains are sessy!). The best conversationalist (when we have any energy/time left to talk to each other). And he loves me. Which is, yanno, important.
OH, gag! Where’s the turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes and other Thanksgiving goodness?
In honour of Thanksgiving and my wedding anniversary I thought I would sicken you with the maple syrup-y sweetness that is my husband and me once in awhile. Another of our goofy conversations had via email recently (and if you think I’m a little full of myself because I post conversations between my hubby and I, well, all I have to say is Duh! I blog, I obviously think I have something worthwhile to say and everyone wants to read it). Names have been changed to protect the innocent:
Me: How is your day going?
Him: Good, so far. A bit bored because all the things I’m working on require people that aren't here or can't do it right now. Other than that I’m gearing up for an afternoon of complete boredom. This course I’m taking is painfully useless for the most part and I have to force myself to try and even go to the damn thing. No more of these for me after this I think. At least for a while. The politics one had some interesting topics at least. This is just force fed malarkey !! OK love ya see you later on. Oh, how is your day going ??
(you see, he didn’t forget to ask me how I was after his little tangent)
Me: I’m ok. I have to talk to Narcissus about some work the real estate company would like me to start doing, but he’s avoiding me like the plague and it’s driving me bonkers. Other than that? Yeah, it’s ok.
Him: You should pour something on the floor in the foyer. He'll stop to complain and while he's looking down you can commando roll from behind the desk and give him a flying armbar. That should get his attention !
Me: Hmmm, I’m not sure attacking your boss is something sane people do. Without being provoked. While it would be intensely entertaining, I doubt it would have the desired effect. Besides, I don’t think I could do the commando roll. I’ve got the flying arm bar covered (I even have a war cry, but I’m not telling you) but I’m not confident I could execute the commando roll with accuracy (or grace, yep, definitely no grace).
Him: You’re so boring but ok fine. How about just doing the War cry from behind the desk? At least. Only if it doesn't sound like Xena's. You have to wait until he’s quietly pondering something all alone and then let it go !
Me: No, Sadly, I cannot channel Xena. Although, it would be the cat’s ass if I could. I’m not sure why the cat’s ass is so spectacular, but they say that it is. And before you ask: Yes, I listen to everything they say.
That’s all. I didn’t get the opportunity to defend myself. To explain that having a war cry is proof that I am anything but boring because boring people don’t think about what their war cry should be (neither do sane people, bet then y’all knew I was a little left of normal, didn’t ya?). Perhaps conversations like this one are the reason my boss doesn’t want to leave me alone at the office. Not that he read this one (cause it was had by email. Did I say that? Yup, I did.), but maybe he intuits.
Anyhoo, back to the topic at hand: Anniversaries and Thanksgiving.
I am thankful the hubby and I have managed to remain married for 6 years (we’ve been together a grand total of 15!). Seeing as we are obviously from opposing universes – no Mars and Venus for us, noooo, neither of us fits the description of a native Milky Way-er (?) – it is a blessed miracle we have made it this far. But you know what? While it is a little easier for both of us to become irritated with the others quirks (that is far too cute a word to describe our shortcomings), he is still the hottest guy I know. The smartest person I know (what? brains are sessy!). The best conversationalist (when we have any energy/time left to talk to each other). And he loves me. Which is, yanno, important.
OH, gag! Where’s the turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes and other Thanksgiving goodness?
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Coming Up For Air
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!
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!
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