NARNIA

I am re-reading the Chronicles of Narnia. Already through the Magician’s Nephew and halfway into The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (my remembered favorite) I’ve been able to proceed with a youthful wide eye-ed optimism. I refuse to believe that tragedy shall befall our noble heroes. I am usually right.

There is something about following the adventures of children that delivers safely to your childhood room, under the covers, reading with a flashlight. It’s a safe journey with a bumpy return. As my days stress harder on my constitution, it is harder and harder to pull myself from Narnia to face the electric bill or choosing a primary care physician in my network. I want both feet firmly in my child hood, searching for magical doorways into glorious worlds.

This afternoon, I approached the file room door, the door that remains mysteriously locked, with a curious eye. I counted to three, turned the key, opened the door very slowly and found…stacks of files.

I didn’t feel silly; I was quite proud to give into my imagination, even if just for three seconds. No matter how old you get, you should have at least one foot firmly planted in your childhood.

Because We Love Them...

Haiku by co-worker addressed to me:

As the mighty Elm
So does your mighty butt grow
Even larger still

TGIF

This Friday brings great relief.
This week has labored on; it’s more odious attributes have only been exaggerated by my lack of sleep and affinity for the bottle. The days pressed on much like my co-workers comments to my appearance.

Cube neighbor: “you look tired.”
Me: “I am tired.”
Cube neighbor: “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
Me: “I’ve given it up.”
C.N.: “Really?”
Me: “No.”

I was a little cranky and short. (Some might say I’m always short standing a mere 5’11/2”, some being my Cube neighbor.)
Other comments to my form are as follows:

“Out late last night”
“Feeling ok?”
“Are you ok?”
“Do you take a Multivitamin? You should.”
“How many breakfasts is that?”
*“You, know I never realized how large your butt was; girl, you got junk in the trunk.”

*This last comment is not an exaggeration nor does it relate to me looking tired. It was by far my least favorite. I had to write it down so it would stop banging around in my head: bombarding and weakening self esteems foundations that have taken me a long time to construct.

TGIF

Haiku Part Two

It has recently been brought to my attention that Haiku's should mention nature.

Amended Blog Haiku:
Winter’s abrasion
It reminds me of my Blog
Cold barren wasteland

On a cheerier note, Pizza party!
We are having a pizza party at work (I don’t even work in a grade school.) The powers that be are buying the employees pizza and calling it a party “for no good reason”. Just the idea of free Pizza is getting me through book binding, faxing and filing with a smile.

“Pizza party” it reminds me of the infamous “Cathy Dean” sleepovers in grade school. It was a stereotypical girls gathering where bras are frozen and Dad’s shaving cream ends up in someone’s hair. You couldn’t fall asleep lest you wanted to wake up covered in sticky products or worse drawn on with markers. We would leave her house the next morning, sleep deprived, cranky, hating our “best friends” and generally mad at the world. But, a “Cathy Dean” party was an honor you couldn’t refuse. Kids are stupid.

Haiku

It has been too long

The words have no more meaning

Unsucessful Blog

Blast from the Past

I enjoy reading past emails I've sent.

Below please find an email I sent on June 2, 2004:

I am very red in the face.
Surprisingly, the ruddy glow is not a result of behavior, comments or clothing, but a little slap in the forehead from the sun. The sun and I have a very tumultuous relationship. And today, the sun has left me with a painful reminder that our time together is best spent apart. I do not color well.

How are you?

I hope you were able to ease back into the working days. I’m having a difficult time getting things accomplished which is feeding the beastly pile lurching in my inbox.

Things are ok. I’m ok. I am far less anxious. Another day has past which is another day closer to a stress free world.

We had an excellent rehearsal last night. I have super power, get up and go happy time mix that Dana burned for me. See, things just keep getting better.

Contrary to my white knuckled exit, I had great time with you. I look forward to time spent without preoccupation.

XO
Jaime

I am dreaming of damp grass and the spiteful sun.

One year ago, I must have been having issues with clothing, talking to people and behaving inappropriately on damp grass in the sun? 2004 Jaime enjoyed music much like 2005 Jaime. Although, 2004 Jaime probably used music as an escape from stress related anxiety and white knuckled preoccutions. It sounds like I had fun with others but readily fled social situations in grand exits. My, how far I've come.

Running Like a Mad (Wo) Man

It has been really lovely out. I had thought I should get to the park and move around some in the interest of exercising. I wanted to roller skate, but was too intimated to do it alone. The idea of falling and not having anyone hear my nervous laughter was too much to bear.

It’s Wednesday, the mid point to a busy week. Sleepiness has wrapped my brain in a sweater. It’s hard fighting the good fight: keeping my head of my desk. My desk, mind you, is piled high with papers and dust; I just squeaked out the last bit of pressured air clearing crumbs from my keyboard. So, my head will have a soft but dreadful landing.

The Debutantes play Southpaw tonight at 9pm. (news to keep your head upright)

A Letter to my Parents, From my Work

Dear Mr.& Mrs. Fallon:

We are sorry to inform you of our recent filing accident. Jaime Fallon has been pinned under filing F-J since 12:00 p.m. this afternoon; ironically, that is where we would have filed her had she been a hanging folder. We will keep you apprised of any new developments.

Best regards,
RREEF

Epiphany

With the release of a new NIN album, I've read many post, newly drug and alcohol free Trent Reznor interview articles exposing his mental state while writing previous albums. A great epiphany: Trent Reznor was in a dark place.

You think?

PS. His last album was called Downward Spiral. I'm just saying...

Confession: I think Trent Reznor is hot with his haircut. See below.

AA Admin

It's Administrative professionals' Day. As I eat my complimentary tuna sandwich I think, God, I could really use a Diet Coke.

I'm going to see Stars tonight at Bowery and the Debutantes booked a show at Southpaw. I could still go for that Diet Coke.

Bloc Party Was Tremendous!

Rarely have I seen a crowd so eager for a band, and a band so eager for the crowd.

I went to see Bloc Party on Friday, the second night and proudly proclaimed “better” night by everyone in the small audible circle around me. Mind you, the circle was small and rubbing up against me for most of the night.

The crowd was lit up, on fire even and dancing with such charged fury that the scene almost erupted into a mosh pit, reminiscent of shows I attended in H.S. in an abandoned warehouse or Veterans’ Hall. People were moved into excitable trances shaking, thrusting and jumping. There were even reports of a gentleman pleasuring himself in front of the stage. I learned through a very Seinfeldian exchange with a female stranger that she dropped back into the crowd after a man “took it out. Yes, it, out.” I assume he was just a bit more excited than the rest of us.

Our attention was quickly redirected back towards the band. Between each song, they connected with the crowd with healthy doses of British Charm. It seemed as though they were apologizing for their professional, flawless, rock star personas while playing through their humbling witty banter. It was refreshing to see a technically proficient band having the time of their lives, shining like a bright light. Many bands of late have taken themselves much too seriously, portraying an almost sullen, apathetic presence on stage. Bloc party and the crowd were feeding off each other. Everyone was satisfied, (without having to “take it out,” well, with one exception.)

*Cough * Cough

The only thing in my inbox is a box of surplus Angel Soft (standard office issue) tissue.

I’m sick again.

Can you believe it?

I can’t.

People are Nicer than the Sun

People at the office have been inquiring about my “tan.” Where could I have gone to get such a “tan.” Let me clarify, my face is red, looking straight at an apple red. I had to explain that out my front door is where I could have gone to get such a “tan”(or sun burn). The fair skinned do not color well, or too well.

My burn was the result of an afternoon snowboarding. The burn is centrally located on my fore head, cheeks and chin, much like a raccoon. It looks as though the sun forced me into a hat and sunglasses, sat me down in an intense solar chair and colored in the exposed skin with a red crayon. The sun and I are not friends.

Feed the Trees

It is ten days later later, an inch deeper in rain water, and I’ve been punched with a fist full of exhaustion. I returned from an extended weekend in Vermont where I enjoyed times with friends, snowboarding and counting sap spigots in Maple trees as we drove home through the woods.

Opening my eyes, still heavy with sleep, I hoped find snow covered mountains littered with evergreens peering through my morning window panes. Instead I got an eyeful of the cardboard art project I hung carelessly on my wall to cover up the holes left from a failed shelving experiment.

I’m back in New York and back on the subway before I can reflect any longer on tranquil vistas. I’m sharing a subway car with too many people and cringing at the overly boisterous conversations between two lightly accented women who work in healthcare. They’ve only just begun their audible tirade on the “Mexican plague” in NYC when I realize that the subway train is being powered solely on nervous, uncomfortably energy.
This would never happen if I commuted with sap spigoted (non-bigoted) Maple trees.

Addendum: Letter to Lady in the Elevator, dressed all in Black

When you say “My God it’s green in here,” I know you’re talking about me.

A Letter to the Man Standing too Close to Me on the Subway

You are standing too close. If I can smell what you ate for breakfast, you’re standing too close to me. You had an omelet with peppers and onions. You are standing too close.

I am not a pole. You cannot hang on me for support. The train does jostle us about and I am the closest thing to you. You cannot hang on me for support.

You are carrying a bag. When said bag feels lighter, it’s resting on something. It’s resting on me.

When disembarking please do not follow my steps in a body hugging fashion. If the entire front part of your body is not touching the complete back part of my body, you will get out of the train just as fast. I guarantee it.

There is a difference between being aggressive and just being a jerk. I’m afraid you are the latter.

I am not one to hold a grudge, so Happy Saint Patrick’s Day Man standing too close to me on the subway.

Green

After 4 subway transfers, an extremely close encounter with a crazy person with the touchies, and a stubbed toe I emerged from Grand Central. As I turned the corner a stranger handed me a fist full of daisies. My internal New Yorker shifted my gaze dead fast straight ahead while questioning this obvious funny business; my internal girl almost curtseyed while smiling a thanks. What is it about getting flowers? It can melt the coldest disposition and pull hard on both sides of the mouth. It turned out to be some silly promotion for a television show: John Stamos being John Stamos or something. Still, flowers are flowers and I was happy for them. Thank you John Stamos’s peoples’ people’s people.

I spent most of the afternoon sending myself test emails. The number of messages in my inbox would suggest a full network meltdown. Alas, my email was working fine; I just checked.

Tomorrow is St. Patrick’s Day. But, what does that mean, really? An excuse for otherwise tightly tied ex-frat boy turned executives to get pissed and urinate in the streets? Or for the normally very mono-chromed to add a splash of color to their wardrobes? Does anyone remember what poor Saint Patrick did beside die from serosis of the liver?

Off to a work dinner, where I will try not to inappropriately enjoy too many passion fruit margaritas with co-workers. I must remember to eat lots of tortilla chips.

rhtl update: Friday night is alright.
Big party planned.

It's in the Frosting

I’m a great big stress ball wound up in rubber bands bouncing off walls.
I have too much to do list and not enough red checks.
Everything was grating deeply into my nerves this morning. I wanted to poke the man in the shiny loafers who insisted on pushing the elevator call button as each new person approached. He chose to do this repeatedly with his middle finger. Was he an angry man who is used to extending his middle finger? Or was he just trying to impress the ladies he thought he was rescuing from an elevatorless lobby? Either way he was annoying.

I finally got upstairs after hateful weather chit chat and sat down to complication after complication, problem after problem. The day exploded into a brain melting headache.

The smallest gestures can turn an afternoon around. A playful gesture from a neighbor, a green frosted cupcake special delivery, free candy in the vending machine made 5pm arrive with grace sending complicated problems and shiny, pokey man right down the elevator shaft.

rhtl Update: Reunited!

Guinness Speaks

Please enjoy World's Smallest Cat, only three pounds.



Mr. Peebles

A Dull Day in Dullsville

A celebratory dinner centric weekend has landed me back into the work week a few dollars lighter and few pounds heavier.

Riding off an incredible caffeine tidal wave into a large pile of filing has me grumpy and back at the caffeine dispenser once again. Everything is pulsing here at the office. With shoulders thrusted uncomfortably erect and faces shot downward, drones hum to and fro, gurgling at desks and slamming down phones. I’m nervously staring down the clock, challenging the digital numbers to change to 5:00 and praying I don’t here heavy foot steps behind my chair. I can’t concentrate on anything but what it would be like not to be here. If it were not for the delicious cupcake I ate early this afternoon, I would be hiding under my desk humming Pulp songs.

In an attempt to be productive, I tried to make a doctor’s appointment for this week. The receptionist told me that my Doctor was not available; ironically, Journey’s Open Arms was playing when she pressed hold.

It’s already Tuesday and my only plans for the week included cleaning my apartment and making a Doctors appointment. My new plan is to go home and dance around my messy apartment to Pulp and reevaluate my planning abilities.



Rhtl update: Alpha please come home.