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Listening to: From the Choirgirl Hotel. Not for long, though... it's not really matching my mood quite like I was expecting it too.
Currently Reading: Just barely started Jonathan Lethem's Gun, With Occasional Music. Kind of saving it for the train, as well as a stack of others (both fiction and non). Also, I recently read Laurie Notaro's I Love Everybody (and Other Atrocious Lies): True Tales of a Loudmouth Girl (again) in like two days, and peed myself laughing. Highly recommended. I also devoured The Broke Diaries by Angela Nissel in, like, a mere few days. Laughed until I peed. Also highly recommended.
Wishing: income. Lots of it. Other than that, life's pretty good.
I couldn't be more right now.
Buy "Civilised Conversation..." Merchandise! Please? All the cool kids are doing it....
Please help me pay for college by purchasing items from Amazon.com through this link!!
14 October 2002 | 9:22 PM
Gabriel, Patron Saint of Telemarketers, and the Gigantic Superfluous Lettuce Leaf.
Okay.
Way to go, Chris. Way to buy the little notebook so you would update more often. Jerk.
Here's a few things I jotted down for the past few days.
The other day, a telemarketer hung up on me. What? Yeah. Here we go.
The phone rang. I rushed to the phone, thinking I was popular and beautiful. "Ahoy-hoy," I answered, anxious to see which suitor was on the other end.
Silence.
When I hear silence after I answer the phone, I should know that it's someone who hasn't actually dialed, but left it up to their computer. I should hang up immediately. Giving the caller the benefit of the doubt (cell phone? siezure?), I answer again into the silence. "Ahoy-h..."
"Is this Mr. Rank?" It's "Ronk," but I know she's getting paid for this, so I let it slide. Please understand, dear reader, that I have friends who have been telemarketers and went home crying after work because people were rude to them, yelling and hanging up. I want to identify with the plight of the telemarketer, and so I try to be kind.
"Yes," I reply, mindful of her plight.
"Mr. Rink, this is [Shaniqua?] from [something something?] and our records indicate that you have stayed with one of our affiliated hotels in the past twelve months..."
As she goes on, I realise that these are all LIES! VICIOUS LIES! I have not booked a hotel room in the past twelve months. I am perplexed, but because I remain ever mindful of Dear Gabriel, the Patron Saint of Telemarketers, I tune back into what she has to say.
"...stay at one of our hotels. Have you ever been to Universal Studios, Mr. Ornk?"
"Oh, um. No, I haven't. But you see, um, I just started a new job [lie, vicious lie], so I won't be able to trav... Hello? HELLO? AHOY-HOY?"
Bitch hung up on me. Oh, for *69. If I had caught her name and where she was from, I totally would have written a strongly-worded letter. I mean, here I am, busting my cookies out of consideration for Shaniqua over there, and bitch hangs up on me. Whatever. If you're reading, Shaniqua, you're a bitch. Ya hear? A BITCH!
End of Shaniqua rant.
The other night, I was walking by the fountain in the quad. It was totally dark, and someone was doing Tai Chi. How cool is that? It was so awesome to watch, even in passing, that I actually considered sitting down on the ground or on, well, whatever, and just watching. It was dark. This person would not have seen me... I probably should have. But I didn't. Damn.
Next item up for bids: New Rules. I have two to propose. Feel free to sign the guestbook if you have comments or questions about these two new rules. New Rule number one: You are only allowed to hit the button for the elevator if you're actually going to get on the elevator. When people are trying to go someplace, the last thing they want to do is make a meaningless stop on YOUR floor because YOU changed your mind between the button-pressing and the door-opening. The penalty for breaking this rule will be stairs. For life. Elevators are a privilege, not a right. If you abuse this privilege, you will have it taken from you. New Rule number two: When working in a restaurant, look at the size of the food before putting on a plate. If food is not on the plate, you must find a larger plate. I was in Piecora's the other night and ordered a calzone. Not a big deal, right? Yeah, it is. And here's why: First, the calzone was slightly larger than the plate to begin with. When you have to move the calzone off the plate a little for the room for the gigantic superfluous lettuce leaf (I actually thought it was a small side salad at first) and for the little cup of marinara, it makes it very difficult to cut, fork and eat the calzone. This has happened more than once, too. My Bob, what is wrong with people?
Okay. I think that's all I have for now. So there.
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Oh, Whoops. - 10:34 PM , 02 September 2005 In Like Hula-Hoops. - 11:28 PM , 12 April 2005 A - Z - 4:37 AM , 26 March 2005 w00t - 12:15 AM , 25 March 2005 Just Let Her Go. - 12:12 AM , 20 March 2005
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