My Feet are Cold...
Work.. Work... Work...
I'm a working girl once again. I'm pretty much everyone's
bitch and get to do cool "have the chance to get arrested"
Like for instance, I have this project where I go to
various places to test out where pagers do or don't work..
the tricky thing is I have to throw a pager on a string
behind ATM machines and test them.. also try to get access
to basement of places.. I feel like James Bond. (Note to
self: ask Joe if he'll bail me out of jail.. oh and if he
really values his life b/c i'm sure my parents will kill
I have my own personal desk, computer, phone, and cubicule
(sp?) .. guess i have my "place" now in the business
world.. or not.
some guy called me "ma'am" on the phone the other day.. it
was quite depressing but made me feel superior in a strange
kind of way.. i'm sure my therapist would love to analyze
oh speaking of therapists.. mine said I should make a list
of everything I think about while I'm working.. I think he
really just wants to see how crazy I really am and have the
papers to prove that I should be locked up in a padded room
and be fed with a straw.. that doesn't sound so bad
actually. I wonder if they serve mashed potatoes?
Well I'm clean and in a towel.. time for work!