You Probably Think This Song Is About You

I'm just going to metaphorically masturbate this whole post. I'm just going to be so unapologetically vain that if you can't deal with it, you can leave. I don't care. It's also gonna be a long one...so brace yo'self. I'm temping today and I'm just very bored.

I feel like Tina Fey. We had our first public reading of "Seeking", the play that I've been writing with Rosie, last night, and it went great! I only say "I feel like Tina Fey" because people laughed. People laughed at things I wrote, when I said them. This is a fairly (although, not really) new concept for me and damn does it feel good! I feel like when you spend 9 months working on something you don't really know what they hell its going to look like anymore and you just need other peoples' feedback at that point (no, I'm not having a baby, people, just a play). There were so many lines that I just completely forgot were funny because I've read them and said them and edited them umpteen and a half times, but when people laughed it was like, well, it was like my head had been under water for months and I finally got to the surface and could take a breath. It felt awesome.

In other news, I'm temping today at an office building in Long Island City, in Queens. The morning started off more like being waterboarded than taking a breath of fresh air. Want to hear about it? Of course you do! Hopstop said to take the R to 36th st...so I get in the subway and the W comes (which is being discontinued on Sunday, so I figured, hmm, one last ride?) , I look on the electronic map quickly and see that it stops at 36th so I get on. I get off at 36th with 5 minutes to spare to get to the office. Awesome. Then I realize that the stop I got off at was 36th Avenue, not 36th street. Fuck you Queens. Thank GOD for Mapquest on my Blackberry, because I quickly pulled up a map of the area and realized that I could walk (very quickly) to my actual destination. So I did. And then when I got there I could not for the LIFE of me find the address. Why not just have normal numbers instead of 36-02, 36-20, 37-10, 37-18?! I was 20 minutes late and as soon as I walked in the building my temp agency contact called me to see where I was. Great. I fixed things, told her I was here and that all was well. It was not. I was dripping with sweat. I don't know if you've ever hustled your ass around in 98% humidity on a 90 degree day in this city, but it does not bode well for heavy sweaters (like people who sweat, not the winter articles of clothing, although that too, but you'd be fucking insane to be wearing a sweater today). My contact here tells me my duties, "sit at this desk, smile at people when they walk in, if they look nice be nice, if not, don't. If the phone rings answer it and take a message. The electronic directory is across the wall, just tell people to look at that. Shut the loading dock door with the open/close button. There's coffee and breakfast upstairs on the 3rd floor. There's a garden on the roof. Bye!" Ummmmmmmm, take a message on what? For whom? Where is the button? Why a garden!? Huh?Where's the BATHROOM!? AHHH he ran away so fast. So I go upstairs to get coffee and water, because I'm half asleep and my mouth feels like the Mojave from all the running in circles. I take the stairs...I walk halfway down EVERY hallway on the 3rd floor until I find the cafeteria, which costs money and my wallet is downstairs. Deep breath. I get on the elevator to head back down, but its going up. No big deal. I ride it up to the 6th floor with 2 other guys who are getting off there, and then I press the button to go back down to "1"...a little too soon. The doors shut before the guys can get out and now we're headed back down. They are pissssed. So what did I do? I started to cry. Yup. Cry. Again, more proof that my 24th birthday need not happen yet.

Everything is fine now, though. Some guy brought me a coffee and a water bottle and I'm settled and hitting up Google Maps big time in anticipation of my trip to the South next week. I mean, I'm going to Atlanta, it's not that crazy, BUT my knowledge of The South (yes, capitalized) is restricted to the following:

• Middle school class trip to Williamsburg, VA, one stop in Busch Gardens
• Family vacation to North Carolina at the ripe age of 3
• One trip, driving, with my mother to North Carolina to look at a college. Pretty sure I slept the whole way.
• Washington, DC (that absolutely cannot count, right?)
• Disney World
• And three trips to Miami.

 Therefore, I'm psyched and going to instate a new game to play over the course of the next two weeks (I'll be gone July1-7 in Atlanta then Destin, Florida-because I'm singlehandedly trying to bring tourism back to the gulf by swimming with tar balls) called Adria vs. The South. Right now we're at, The South-1, Adria-0, because in my forays into googlemapland (more specifically the Florida Panhandle) I realized that Florida borders Alabama. I'm no dummy, and I used to think I new my geography (can we write a new song, like a Weird-Al cover of 2Gether's "Calculus" called "Geography"?-"I know my geography, it says Alabama and Florida touuuccch..." No? Okay. Leave that one alone) but apparently I'm a big failure at knowing where things are in that particular area of our country. Oh fiiiiine, anywhere but the Northeast and the greater Chicago area.

Look for blog post segments in the coming weeks with possible titles such as "The Confederate Flag Highway Counting Game", "Going To An Oil Slick Beach With A Southern Belle and Her Husband", "America, Fuck Yeah-The Coca-Cola Factory", "Mullets and Fake Tits-A Panhandle Tale", and "What did y'all just say?-Trying to Understand My Boyfriend's Family".

I think that's enough of a marathon of a post. Tune in next time for more fun, games, and southern accents, y'all!

A

PS: This might be the coolest temp job in awhile. The guy not only talked to me for about twenty minutes about his music career and how he used to live in LA and blah blah blah, BUT he took me up to the roof where there is a legit FARM! Like a farm. Like a for profit FARM, where they grow carrots and beets and bibb lettuce and have an irrigation system and views of the Manhattan skyline. I shit. you. not. If I can get up there before the end of the day again I'll take a picture and put it up here later. xA