Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Happy Tuesday!

My Tuesday started off great. After stumbling out of bed, getting into my car and driving it with the windshield frosted up for about 10 minutes, I got on the freeway and BAM!! TRAFFIC. Now typically, traffic makes me want to rip out my hair and throw it at other cars' windshields, but I was actually pretty stoked. Gave me a free pass for being 40 minutes late. SCORE! Sometimes all I need to get my day started is 1.5 hrs stuck in my car blasting gangsta rap. Seriously though, I know I'm not black, but there's something in that shit that speaks to my roots.

Then I went to work and spent another 8 hrs of my life trying not to kill myself while calling people who had no intention of talking to me. 

On the upside, I found 2 Georges and an Abe in my pocket. Not too shabby.


Monday, November 21, 2011

Mondays are for Making Money in Offices

“For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.” - Vincent Van Gogh

My first attempt at blogging...let's see where it takes me. For the most part, I envision myself quietly stealing pieces of other people's geniuses and sticking them into my own restless thoughts. Isn't that what everyone else does when they blog?
Mondays. Mondays are a dreaded word for those of us unfortunate enough to have an office job. Walk in, sign your name on the board, make a bagel, attend a morning meeting where you talk about how much money you're not making, and for the rest of the day try not to get caught sneaking on art sites and listening to inappropriate music on rhapsody. Maybe it's just me, but sometimes I hate myself for settling for this soul-rotting (although well-paying and health insurance-providing) job. There are days when I'm full of hope for the future, when I create big plans for myself to one day be part of an awesome-super-hip design company, sipping on cappuchinos while going over the next editorials or working on a new design til the wee hours of the night. But those days are usually clouded by the self-deprecating doubt that's been eating me alive since I was oh, I don't know, coming out of my mom's vagina? And Yes, Vincent, I do dream when I see the stars, but as I hold my face up to the sky, pigeons flying by sometimes poop in my eye.

Hmm I'm a poet and I didn't know it... maybe this blog won't suck....much.