Turning Point

I feel as though I have come to a turning point in my life today.

While I am turning another year older in a few weeks, and I am going away on a trip shortly, it has nothing to do with either of those events.

I came to the sudden realization this afternoon that my hand is too big to reach the bottom of a Pringles can.

My life has been turned asunder.


The Fabric Store

I knew right away that I was a fish out of water. The level of estrogen was almost palpable as I crossed the threshold of the automatic doors. There was no going back as the doors slid closed behind me. I was here for a purpose and I had to complete my task. I proceeded further in, noting a sticker that said ‘Voted Best of Boston’. There’s a local magazine that rates everything from Best Ice Cream to apparently Best Fabric Store. Its a big deal if a store gets this title given out each year.

I proceeded into the belly of the beast, reference picture in hand. I quickly perceived a feeling of futility as I began to realize just how large the store was and the variety of their offerings. Walking up and down each aisle, I searched. Dismissing bolt after bolt of fabric, I was quickly getting a better feel of what I did not want. Too thin. Too light. Too glossy. Wrong color. The inadequacy seemed endless. Finally, three quarters of the way through store, I came upon a section of dark heavier fabric. It did not take too long to find the jet black color for which I was looking. I stared at the three similar bolts of black for ten minutes until I came to the conclusion they were all the same material and color. I selected one of the bolts and removed it from the shelving.

Moving toward the center of the store, fabric in hand, I knew this was the moment of truth. I needed help and I was going to have to ask for it. I walked up to the large cutting table in the center of the section. An older woman and a younger woman were busily droning about, doing whatever it is that they do. I figured since this store had won a Best of Boston award, they must be eager about what they do and might have some interest in what I was trying to do. My mistake. I walked up to them and the younger woman took one look at me and walked off with a harumph. The old woman asked if she could help me and I responded in the affirmative, “uh Yes, I don’t really know what I’m doing, but I’m trying to put this costume together [showing her reference picture] and I think this is the fabric I need for the middle piece around the waste.” I was waiting for her to give me some advice or affirm that I had made a good decision. Instead she glanced at it and said, “How much do you need?” I responded, “uh, its for that middle piece right there.” [pointing to the garment in the picture] She merely repeated herself instead of offering a most welcome suggestion. “How much do you need?” At this point, the younger woman had walked back, glanced at the picture and told the old woman, “Just give him a couple yards.” Barely acknowledging I was still there, the old woman measured off about 2 yards of material and handed it to me. “Here.” she said. I said thanks, but didn’t offer to return the bolt of cloth from where I got it. She could return it herself. I asked if they had any decorative drapery rope for my belt, and she simply pointed to another section and said, “Whatever we have is over there.”

I looked about, but did not see anything close enough to what I really needed. I took this as my opportunity move on with my day and headed to the register. Behind the registers were large frames for the Best of Boston awards they won. 1997. 1998. 2001. 2002. Hmm…Imagine that. No awards for the past 4 years.

As the automatic doors opened for me to exit, I felt emaciated by the rain, which made for a far better atmosphere than the one I just walked out.


My workplace is in a cubicle setting. Our inner sea of cubicles is surrounded by an outter wall of offices. Many of the occupants of said offices have a tendency to use a common feature of their phone called, speakerphone. And by use I mean abuse to the point where often times someone will walk over to their door and shut it for them while their on the call. There is only one person who you can really still hear through the door, but you can hear him through the walls as well, taking out his frustration on whomever is the victim of his dialing that day. Needless to say, his office is in a secluded part of the floor.

A new part-time worker started a couple months back in a cube that is on the next aisle and diagonal from my own cube. I did not notice until the past month or so, but he uses his speakerphone to dial phone numbers. Basically, he just turns the speaker on so you can hear the dial-tone and then searches for the phone number for what seems like an eternity while that piercing dial-tone rages through my ears and then dials the number slowly so I can hear each number being pressed and can nearly tell what number is being dialed by level of fury each sound causes me. This has gotten so under my skin that anytime I hear a dial-tone on a speakerphone, like Pavlov’s dog, I relate that sound to anger and get really angry when I hear that sound. Actually, I’m not sure anger really expresses the state well enough. Its more like fury or rage. When I hear that accursed sound, I feel as though I could grow 3 feet, rip apart my clothes and go on a rampage downtown. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.

Now, it just so happens that I was on the elevator, leaving work the other day when this guy hopped on and introduced himself and asked me some questions about what I do and the like. So I now have what some people refer to as a ‘rapport’ with this man. I had many scenarios all thought up in my head that I would just leave a note on his desk one morning before he got in, asking him to stop using speakerphone. Some versions may have mentioned something about stabbing and tracheas, but we don’t need to delve into the details. Now that this ‘rapport’ existed I felt more compelled to physically confront this man.

Last Friday, after hearing that shrill tone of the beast, I was so enraged I walked over and put on my nicest expression and said, “(Insert name here), Sorry to bother you if your busy, but could you stop using your speakerphone?” He asked if it was bothering me and I responded that “I can hear it through my headphones.” He gave me a bit of an embarassed look and his phone rang. I walked away while he answered it and enjoyed an afternoon of blissful silence.

He started using it again yesterday and today. He seemed to misunderstand that when I said it was bothering me, I didn’t mean just Friday, but actually, the past month and a half. I feel like I need to run into a wall as fast as I can and just hope to knock myself unconscious.

No wonder I get more work done from home.

Class Selection

[13:35] Me : http://www.usatoday.com/life/people/2006-07-14-mr-t_x.htm?csp=34
[13:35] Me : ‘Yes, I am qualified to beat people up.’
[13:37] Sam: I wonder if that’s a semester course or what
[13:38] Me : i’m starting an art course tomorrow evening
[13:38] Me : i will not be qualified to beat people up at the end though
[13:39] Sam: It’s not “The art of pummellry”?
[13:40] Me : that was full
[13:40] Me : so was the cardio cock blocking course
[13:41] Sam : Thank you for making me spit food all over the place
[13:41] Me : I know, i was excited when i saw the listing too

Summer School

I signed up for a class today at the Boston Center for Adult Education. Well, I didn’t go there and sign up, I just went to their website and registered. Starting July 18th, I will be going to a studio right after work for 2 hours of drawing classes every Tuesday for about 7 or 8 weeks. I want to eventually go back to school and get my Masters Degree, but I’m enjoying life right now and decided to take a class I could equally enjoy and have wanted to take for sometime. I haven’t really done much in the way of art classes since high school, but I’ve continued to sketch. Admittedly I haven’t had much time for it lately, but I’m hoping with this class that will change soon.

Fill 'er up

I had a dream last night that something went wrong at work and I got blamed for it. In response, I got transfered to another division of my colossal corporation. At some point I had come to the realization that my new division was actually in fact a gas station in an underground parking lot across the street. The sudden loss of job security made me so worried and anxious in the dream that I actually woke up all neurotic about what I was going to do about my job.

Good to see my dreams are still as strange as ever.