Snarky, Self-Effacing Blog Title

I found this posting under the heading ‘fry cook.’

So…some of you have heard the utopian and fantastical tales of a future Tuckaberry compound in a rural-but-not-too-far-away location (say…Schenectady, for example) –I’ll let you know when Adam and I win the megamillions and can actually afford to do this–and of course I’ve already considered the need for actor housing.  Initially we considered pre-fab cabins, cozy, cute, cheap…

but then I saw this:

And, well, I think I may have found my dream home. 

You might wanna check it out.

PB & J

(By the way, for those of you who think I only write kind reviews, I just don’t post the bad ones. Who wants to read about a no-good play?)

So for those of you who don’t work for people who make their living off of other people’s work, this week has been pretty annoying, stock market-wise. Yesterday, some of our clients lost a year’s worth of income when yet another private mortgage company’s stocks dropped drastically, resulting in a frenzy of sales driving the Dow, the Nasdaq, and the S&P lower than they’ve been since 9/11.

What does this have to do with Dianna, you ask?

I had to take the phone calls of all the rich, spoiled, paranoid fuckers who don’t trust the people they’ve hired to manage their money to do their job properly. Actual conversation:

“Good afternoon, A.R. Schmeidler”

“I want to speak with John.”

“I’m sorry; he’s in a meeting right now, is there someone else who can help, or would you like to leave a message on his voicemail?”

“You know, this is the third time in several weeks that he’s not been around to speak to me when I call. I’m becoming paranoid. I’m concerned about the market. I need to know that I have enough money in case I get sick.”

What? What the fuck? Do you think these people are sitting around just waiting for your goddamn phone call so they can soothe you every time you see some CNN reporter ‘grilling’ the Thornburg president about the ‘stock market crash’? (Mind you, today everything is back to normal. Of course.) Rescuers in Utah are being killed trying to save starving Miners. Young healthy people in Japan are dying from extreme heat (but Global Warming is a myth!) Hurricanes and earthquakes are ravaging the planet, and you’re worried that one of your seven million dollars is in danger of taking a little dip? Get some fucking perspective, you old hag! I cannot believe that for you I come here day after day to absorb cathode rays and fluorescent light, sitting for hours on my expanding ass while my life essence slips slowly out all so that I can make just enough money to not be poor and have health insurance to treat my wounds when I reach the point of no return and finally attempt to end it all with a ball point pen to the right temple.

I just want to feel like I have a tiny bit of purpose in my day job. Just a tiny bit. Instead I am a sponge set to absorb all the bitching and whining from a bunch of people who’ve never had to clean a toilet in their lives.

I hate it.

I didn’t get the Sommelier Association job, not that it’s a job I actually necessarily wanted. But they are the only ones who’ve called me for an interview. So we keep going on. Because it’s what we do. Even though there’s really no purpose or joy in it. It’s the possibility of some small purpose or joy down the road that we don’t want to miss out on.

“I’ll let him know right away that you called.”