The Jigtastic Journal of J. Na Na

I just got back from a massive sushi lunch with some co-workers, and am in total carb coma. 

The new office and its location are proving to be rather fab by my account.  Yesterday, I even took my lunch break in the Haight!… well, that’s excitement for me.  I spent it browsing through CDs and DVDs at Amoeba.

I got "Breakfast at Tiffany’s" on DVD at Virgin the other week, but I’ve yet to figure out how to hook up my fucking DVD player to my ancient TV.

And something seems to have stirred in me that causes me to get up early on weekdays, as I’ve not only been on time to work given the extra fifteen minutes it takes me, but have been quite early. 

It must’ve been the same thing that had me up at 9:00 am last Saturday when Mr. Alterhausen texted me some bon mots, and then called me upon the serendipitous discovery that I was awake.  We discussed his classroom, the Euro, and other what-have-you’s, officially making us a couple of old men up at the crack on a weekend morning discussing the economy instead of coming down off crack after an all-night bender at the End Up.

Christ, how things have changed.

Happy Good Friday, wiggalicious ones!

I just got another, albeit begrudging, anti-pep talk from my boss about joking around with people.  This time, it’s one of our older counterparts who has been feeling picked on.  Get the fuck over your menopausal bullshit, lady.  Luckily, he admitted he didn’t want to have the talk, and he had to have it with the other three employment specialists, but I was just like, what the fuck?  One more day ’til it’s the weekend and I get to drink again.

The only thing I hate worse than hot gay guys are hot gay guy couples.

You don’t have to embrace your imperfections.  You don’t even have to accept them.  But you must admit and appreciate the fact that they distinguish you as genuinely human, and not some airbrushed, photoshopped, fake-ass plastic, soulless falsity.

The office move is done. And now we are actually in a real office, not some converted 1950’s doctor’s office. Although I’ve been downgraded to a cubicle, it’s quite spacious, and it’s near most of my co-workers for added fun and conveneince. Plus, it’s a new environment to take walks in at lunch. And there’s a bonus BevMo just across the street for my weekend drinking convenience.

Speaking of, I must have really been sleep-deprived this past weekend. I had to call it quits early at happy hour Friday, which was a super bummer. But I did get to hang with J. Co and her bro, J. Dawg, who was in town for a visit, on Sunday. Then I keeled over and passed out yesterday evening around 9:00, even skipping dinner. My body don’ play, yo.

I buy my DC/NYC ticket this week. I also want to visit, while I’m there, the site of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” and Studio 54. Should be thrills.

One more day in this office before we move to another.  I won’t entirely miss our ghetto-adjacent office location, but it’s been the place I’ve trucked my ass to for eight years now, five days a week (give or take).  It also marks the regression from my own personal office to a fucking cubicle.  Not fun.

Much as I love dick, I think I’d run screaming from red pubes.

What’s worse: an arrogant hot guy or an arrogant ugly guy?

I get so royally pissed when I hear that they’ve somehow finagled domestic partner benefits for straight people.  The whole point of introducing them was so that gay couples could get some scraps of health insurance since we can’t get them by virtue of marrying.  It is totally unfair and despicable that straight people should get to have some middle step in between being single and married, and simply get to live together as a couple, and have health insurance.

Once at a new employee orientation, I actually had some girl come up to me because she didn’t qualify for the opposite-sex domestic partner benefits and complain that we talk a lot about culture diversity, but yet didn’t openly offer benefits for opposite-sex couples.  All I could think was, "Well, you could fucking get married, couldn’t ya?!  I sure the fuck can’t!"

It’s a movement to reach some semblance of fairness and equality for gay people.  It shouldn’t be snatched up in its path as a perk for heterosexuals as well.

Once, at Disneyland, I peed my pants on that goddamn Small World ride.  My parents, immanently generous as they were, forewent buying me a new pair of pants, and instead made me switch the sweater I had tied around my waist to the frontside, so I was walking around the park in urine-stained jeans like some sort of Mohican Indian.

Before my freshman year of high school, I went up to the school for band camp, and first stopped off in the gym to use the bathroom.  I went inside, and marveled at how clean it was.  Some months later, during PE, I realized that there were two bathrooms in the gym, and that I had used the girls’ one earlier.

I think cats embody the trapped souls of people who were once beautiful and unkind.

Like a stupid dumbass, I watched a scary movie last night ("House of Wax", starring La Paris Hilton), and of course, it gave me a scary dream. 

Well, scary or sad, however you want to look at it.

In it, Sugar had been turned into a wax figure, like in the movie.  I was beside myself with anguish.  Then, through some miracle, she was returned to life, and I was at the altar of some church profusely thanking God.

Then the dream segued into something where all I remember was seeing an ad for a private detective agency to find out cheating spouses run by Brooke Shields.

I need to smudge the fuck out of my room.  And get some more self-tanner.

I had a new ID badge taken at work, and I look like a younger Michael Kors.  All a bitchy shade of orange.  Fun stuff.

I’m gearing up to visit Mr. Altherhausen in DC, and by extension, NYC, and am tres excited.  I just got some recommendations for shows and places to go from some co-workers, and found a hotel online that got good reviews.  It’ll be my first time there, so the sheer excitement of the experience itself will be enough for me, I’m sure.  Check my makeshift itinerary:

*************************************
NYC Trip!!!  5/22 – 5/27

$318  ticket  Virgin America

$327  hotel   Excelsior Hotel
5/24 – 5/25

Shows to see:
“Wicked”   Sat. 8p showing, $122
“Avenue Q”   Sat. 8p showing, $112

Places to go:
Times Square
Statue of Liberty
Greenwich Village
Meat-packing district
***************************************

Like how organized and thought-out I am?

I really do want to travel more.  You’re not really living if you only ever live in one place.

"Project Runway" finale tonight!

I had a slight crises of career choice the other day.  On a whim, I Googled some old college buddies, and what I found was a touch disheartening.  You see, all of my college friends were creative types.  I didn’t know any math or science majors.  And they’re all pretty much doing creative things now.  One old friend, Sharon, does illustrations for comic books.  Mizella does graphic designs for some ad company.  Esteban is an editor.  Helen does something on movie sets in LA.  Milton is in a band.  And my old roommate Buffy moved to Sweden, and she’d written some article on racism and feminism that I found online.

Don’t get me wrong–I’m happy to be working in HR, and it certainly pays the bills.  It’s also working in HR for a hospital, hiring people who help others.  There’s a real core of pride in what I do.

But on Friday, I got a talking-to from my boss about joking around with people, and how I kind of needed to cool it.  Apparently, I take it a bit too far at times, and he had specific complaints.  I’m trying to rise above it–after all, no one is 100% liked, 100% of the time, by 100% of all people.  But when you’re told it’s not your performance that needs improving, but your personality, you can’t help but take that to heart.

You also can’t help but be a bit fucking pissed.