Today will henceforth be known as the day I woke up in a parallel universe. Ever feel like Jewel when she sings: "I love you, I hate you. Leave, don't go away."
That's how it feels today.
Then again she is also the one that sings, "If you want me dear, then just beckon dear, and I will appear. I said you can leave the lights on." I believe I speak for everyone when I say, shamanahamana what? "I said you can leave the lights on." Um..... ok?
Riiiiiiight. So anyway... my day is just all weird and fucked up. I have *somehow* ended up far, far from my nice, cushy little job behind a computer making things pretty. If you find yourself asking, uh, yourself, "Whatever the fuck could you mean my dear Margaret?" I will elaborate -- but only a little (always keep 'em asking for more is what Mr. Deville said, right?).
I have been ever so harshly yanked from my squishy job behind dual monitors and underneath a set of beat thumping, basstastic headphones to instead be placed in the lion's den (read: angry client) alone. "BUT WAIT," you find yourself asking, uh, yourself. "Aren't you a graphic designing, web developing programmer?" Yes indeedy kiddies. That I am. So the fact that I have been chosen to shmooze over a very irritated client, which looks to be our highest grossing client as well, remains a huge mystery to me. And I should hope to you as well.
Or I'm going back to bed.
Actually, I think I'll just do that anyway.
And furthermore, my workplace is very 'casual', meaning I basically wear whatever the fuck I want to wear every day. Not that I ever dress 'down', but I certainly wear capri pants, sandals, and cute little tops. Which, if you're not mistaken, *also* means that I own one and only one "business professional" outfit (hanging in the back of my closet, gathering dust) which I wasted on expected client meeting today. It never happened. Meaning that tomorrow I will be wearing... hopefully more than just my knickers. *le sigh* One can only hope.
Don't get me wrong. Were my job description involving something along the lines of "Account", "Project", or "Management" I would be far more clear about my place in this big fat schmoozefest.
Alas, instructions from the exec team are clear --> "Make them love us because we know you can."
Fuckers.
In other news I bought the most DELISHIOUSLY wondrous conditioning creme for my hair yesterday: Rusks's Ginger something er other 60 second hair revive creme. Like, WOW! It smells amazing and my hair is loving it. Go on, try it. You know you want to!
I'm going to leave you tonight with another of Jewel's mysteries. This one, sung by her, should actually be sung by the imaginary male STALKER she wrote it about. Anyone else find that weird besides me? Bueller? Bueller? We'll talk more tomorrow if I'm able to find my way home from the suburbs.