Mondays suck
The weekend slips away sooooo quickly.
Had a meeting with evil Bosslady this morning. Apparently, we should be having weekly 'catch-up' sessions. I foolishly agreed. She said, 'how about every Monday morning? What time is good for you?' I suggested 10am. 'Is that the earliest you get in?' She asked. Bitch. I'm at my desk at 8:30 most days. I've decided I'm going to send her an email at 8:30 every morning so she knows I'm here before she is. The problem is, what to send? I can only ask so many times if 'we're still on for our weekly meeting today' before she begins to think I'm a moron and she's made a huge mistake in hiring me. Anyways, we decided that our meetings should be at 9:30 every Monday morning. We had our first one today. It lasted all of 7 minutes and she was pleased with my work. If there is one thing Oxbridge teaches you, it's how to talk a load of shit in meetings. The only hitch during the meeting was that I started to weep. I suffer from hay-fever, which usually starts much later but this year, started today. At precisely 9:30. My eyes really water from my allergies (pollen, ragweed etc...) and they itch rather a lot. Anyway, shortly after I sat down and we exchanged pleasantries, I felt a tear forming in the corner of my eye. I tried to discreetly tilted my head to one side in a bid to prevent it dripping down my cheek. This, inevitably led to the question 'what ARE you doing?' from evil Bosslady. I thought it best to explain the tear situation in case she was horrible to me during the meeting and thought she's reduced me to tears.
Anyway, go see a film called The Edukators. It's a German film starring the buy from Good Bye Lenin and 2 other quite attractive people. German cinema is excellent. Almost as good as French cinema.
Those of you who read this and know me, you'll know about the whole bodily fluids in the bin incident of last autumn. The grandly named 'Facilities Manager' who asked me to be more considerate of the cleaning staff came to have a look at my office this morning with two rather attractive Pickfords chaps. My section is moving to a new building up the road which I'm not terribly pleased about as my commute to work will be 8 minutes instead of the current 6, but will mean that I get swish new furniture and a flat screen monitor AND tea and coffee making facilities. So anyway, this bint came to see how much stuff I had in my office and I noticed she kept trying to look in my bin. Presumably to make sure there were no bodily fluids in it. Unfortunately, I decided to water the plants in my office this morning and there was some spillage which I mopped up with some paper-towels which I then deposited in the bin. God only knows what the cleaners and Facilities Manager woman will have to say about that. For those of you that don't know, in a bid to save money on bin liners, the cleaners stick their hands into the bins to remove the rubbish which they then deposit in large black bags. Why they don't just tip the bin into the large black bag whilst holding the bin liner in place is beyond me.
Does anyone else suffer from constipation after having been on a plane?
Currently listening to Bermuda Highway by My Morning Jacket.
I'm tearful for all the wrong reasons.
It's raining in Oxford. It never rains in Brideshead Revisited. Just ask my friend (
http://aneedlessdistractionforme.blogspot.com/) who is a whore for Brideshead Revisited.
This will scupper my champagne and strawberries sitting under a tree I had planned for this afternoon.
Still no closer to being a smoker. Damn.
My administrator (she doesn't like being called a secretary) wanted to know if I am married or not as she wants to know what title to use on my new business cards. I just looked at her and shook my head. More in sorrow than in anger. Someone very capable out there has been deprived of a job because this moron got it instead. I was going to mention that my penis precludes a change of title on marriage but decided against it.
Now listening to Je t'aime...Moi Non Plus by Serge Gainsbourg. That pervert.
Had a meeting with evil Bosslady this morning. Apparently, we should be having weekly 'catch-up' sessions. I foolishly agreed. She said, 'how about every Monday morning? What time is good for you?' I suggested 10am. 'Is that the earliest you get in?' She asked. Bitch. I'm at my desk at 8:30 most days. I've decided I'm going to send her an email at 8:30 every morning so she knows I'm here before she is. The problem is, what to send? I can only ask so many times if 'we're still on for our weekly meeting today' before she begins to think I'm a moron and she's made a huge mistake in hiring me. Anyways, we decided that our meetings should be at 9:30 every Monday morning. We had our first one today. It lasted all of 7 minutes and she was pleased with my work. If there is one thing Oxbridge teaches you, it's how to talk a load of shit in meetings. The only hitch during the meeting was that I started to weep. I suffer from hay-fever, which usually starts much later but this year, started today. At precisely 9:30. My eyes really water from my allergies (pollen, ragweed etc...) and they itch rather a lot. Anyway, shortly after I sat down and we exchanged pleasantries, I felt a tear forming in the corner of my eye. I tried to discreetly tilted my head to one side in a bid to prevent it dripping down my cheek. This, inevitably led to the question 'what ARE you doing?' from evil Bosslady. I thought it best to explain the tear situation in case she was horrible to me during the meeting and thought she's reduced me to tears.
Anyway, go see a film called The Edukators. It's a German film starring the buy from Good Bye Lenin and 2 other quite attractive people. German cinema is excellent. Almost as good as French cinema.
Those of you who read this and know me, you'll know about the whole bodily fluids in the bin incident of last autumn. The grandly named 'Facilities Manager' who asked me to be more considerate of the cleaning staff came to have a look at my office this morning with two rather attractive Pickfords chaps. My section is moving to a new building up the road which I'm not terribly pleased about as my commute to work will be 8 minutes instead of the current 6, but will mean that I get swish new furniture and a flat screen monitor AND tea and coffee making facilities. So anyway, this bint came to see how much stuff I had in my office and I noticed she kept trying to look in my bin. Presumably to make sure there were no bodily fluids in it. Unfortunately, I decided to water the plants in my office this morning and there was some spillage which I mopped up with some paper-towels which I then deposited in the bin. God only knows what the cleaners and Facilities Manager woman will have to say about that. For those of you that don't know, in a bid to save money on bin liners, the cleaners stick their hands into the bins to remove the rubbish which they then deposit in large black bags. Why they don't just tip the bin into the large black bag whilst holding the bin liner in place is beyond me.
Does anyone else suffer from constipation after having been on a plane?
Currently listening to Bermuda Highway by My Morning Jacket.
I'm tearful for all the wrong reasons.
It's raining in Oxford. It never rains in Brideshead Revisited. Just ask my friend (
http://aneedlessdistractionforme.blogspot.com/) who is a whore for Brideshead Revisited.
This will scupper my champagne and strawberries sitting under a tree I had planned for this afternoon.
Still no closer to being a smoker. Damn.
My administrator (she doesn't like being called a secretary) wanted to know if I am married or not as she wants to know what title to use on my new business cards. I just looked at her and shook my head. More in sorrow than in anger. Someone very capable out there has been deprived of a job because this moron got it instead. I was going to mention that my penis precludes a change of title on marriage but decided against it.
Now listening to Je t'aime...Moi Non Plus by Serge Gainsbourg. That pervert.
posted by OrlandoCatastrophic at Monday, April 25, 2005
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