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The day after posting my career-related inner turmoil, I tried to talk my way out of the position. Over the course of a forty-five minute cell conversation with my manager, I pointed out that the best solution to our lack of solid UI experience would be to keep me where I am, explained that I had no overwhelming desire to be management but simply ( Read more... )

So, the assistant manager shows up for work today and is, predictably, nonplussed by statements from the project manager that I am sharing his duties. S. did not see fit to do anything more than mention my collaboration in passing at the end of an email that H. had yet to check this morning. I did my best to spin it in a positive light: I am ( Read more... )

Tortured artist that I am, I had a panic attack last night upon realizing that my Transformers costume was more closely resembling a Gundam than a Decepticon. D. talked me down off the balcony, but not before I left A. a rambling voicemail trying to call the whole thing off. In the light of the day, I realized I had overreacted and contacted Boy ( Read more... )

Date: Wed, 2 May 2007 10:06:26 -0400
From: A.
To: X.
Subject: Boybund
I sense a mending of fences with [J.] Can I assume you no longer wish to punt her from Boybund? Or are you just toying with her..........
Drow books and $$$ on tues.

[A.]

Sometimes I think A. truly believes that BoyBünd is a real band.

My moron of a manager left an IM from me open on his desktop when he walked away from his cube. As a consequence, one of my coworkers walked by and presumably saw an IM conversation in which his manager and myself were talking shit about him. We didn't say anything too bad, but the damage is probably done.

DRAMAOn an unrelated note, there is ( Read more... )

Sometimes being unfriended is the greatest relief imaginable. Now, if I could only kill with a thought.

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Guess what? There are plenty of people (and in particular children) out there contracting cancers that we do not know how to prevent. Don't shed a tear for Peter Jennings who died at the ripe old age of sixty-seven from a lack of self-control.

I was forced to borrow someone's bicycle, not quite sure whose. The thing was in pristine condition and appeared expensive enough to worry me substantially when I got a flat. I ended up in a sports store that also did bike repair, waiting around for a "cheaper" (read: two hundred dollars) replacement since the original brand of wheel could only ( Read more... )