I can't stop drinking the coffee, I stop drinking the coffee, I stop doing the standing and walking and the words putting into sentence doing.

Every summer, I designate a cocktail for the season. Summer 2008, it was Absolut Pears and Sprite and this year, I'm kicking it old-school by ordering Tom Collins' at pretty much every bar I hit. Yes, I am an old man.

However, my non-alcoholic sponsor for summer since 2004 has been iced coffee. I got addicted to it in London where I'd slug down iced mochas and then, spend the day running around the city with my sister and my best friend. It was awesome.

My iced coffee needs are simple -- I don't need Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts (I'm not really a fan of either, anyway). Nothing cold-dripped or made Vietnamese style (although that does sound delicious), just regular coffee brewed up and dropped in the fridge overnight to chill.

So, last Thursday, I made myself a tumbler to take into work. It was perfect - rich and strong with a little sugar and vanilla. Add a couple of ice cubes and some half-and-half and I'm in love.

I drank about half the tumbler and left the rest in the fridge, figuring I could grab some when I came into the office on Tuesday.

I get in this morning, looking forward to my jolt of caffeine and sugar. I fling open the fridge door, reach in and grab....nothing.

My coffee is gone. Tumbler and all. Dub tee eff.

The GD Scale: Office Edition

1. Using tired cliches like, "Working hard or hardly working?" Really, dude? Really?
2. Using the last of the paper in the copier/fax machine and not replacing it. It takes all of three seconds and makes life easier for the next five people who use the machine.
3. Not using the Outlook calendar. It makes your life so easy. Why wouldn't you use it?
4. Making stinky food in the communal microwave and having the entire office reek of substandard beef lo mein for hours afterwards. I'm not judging. I love stinky food -- onions, garlic, gorgonzola... -- but there's a time and a place. And that place is not the office.
5. Swiping the cute assistant's coffee from the fridge. The cute assistant needs her iced coffee. It keeps her cheerful and perky and totally able to deal with people who call and ask point blank, "Is she there yet?" (Ummm, who?)

Sp tonight, I'm making a new batch and if it gets swiped this time, heads will roll...and by heads will roll, I mean I'll gripe to anyone who will listen, make that crinkly nose face I make and close the book on the thing by blogging.

I'm not very hardcore.

Why does it say paper jam when there is no paper jam?!

390 copies.
65 emails.
250 envelopes.
Zero toner.
Zero paper.
Half a bottle of warm caffeine-free Diet Coke.
Half a serving of throughly mediocre cheese fries.
Two meetings.
Two meeting reschedules.
45 minutes to get home...in the rain.

If we're going by the numbers, today sucked.

This girl needs a silo-sized fruity margarita, a little G. Love and some Top Chef.

Hope you guys had a better day than I did!

Lord, Beer Little Miss Sunshine Strength

For the most part, I am Little Miss Sunshine.



No, not Abigail Breslin. I'm not nearly that adorable or that good a dancer.

I am, however, chipper, cheerful and always quick with a smile. So much so that the construction workers at my office actually call me, 'The Girl With The Smile' (highly, highly creative bunch).

However, every now and then -- the sheer asininity of her fellow man makes Little Miss Sunshine want to eat her own eyeballs out of frustration.

So, for no other reason than to help me feel better, permit me to rant a little via a series of open letters:

Dear Sir:

Calling every day is slightly excessive. Calling four times before 12:00 p.m. on the same day? Behavior worthy of a restraining order. Besides, I do not have the ability to make jobs magically appear. If I did, I would create some gloriously overpaid position for myself as pop culture blogger.

Thanks!

Jaime

_______________

Dear Ma'am:

If you can't figure out how to apply for one of our jobs, you're probably not qualified for the job itself. Oh and for the record, going to the correct website makes applying for the position that much easier.

Thanks!

Jaime

____________

Dear Sir:

If you are 17-years-old, you've basically grown up with internet access. You should be able to navigate a website and shouldn't need someone to hold your hand throughout the whole process. You could probably find internet porn blindfolded with a hand behind your back. Let's try to apply some of those skills to the job-hunting process, shall we?

Thanks!

Jaime

______________

Dear Ma'am:

Applying for every job means you're probably as qualified for them as Sarah Palin is to be vice president of the country. I.E. -- Not at all.

Stop applying.

Thanks!

________________

Lord, Beer Me Strength. No. Strike that. Lord, silo-sized margarita me strength.

Lessons I've Learned In The Workplace

Don't forget your lunch. If you do, you will end up spending an astronomical amount of money on a coffee cup filled with mediocre fruit and a dinky bottle of grapefruit juice. Oh and the delivery guy will make fun of you for ordering such a wussy lunch.

Filing is God's punishment for those who have ever experienced a moment of happiness in their lives. Anyone who has ever enjoyed a cold beer on a hot day or celebrated when their team won or kissed someone or smiled? God will smite you by making you file.

There is no better feeling in the world than taking off your work clothes and putting on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt you've had since 1998.

When bursting out laughing, pick a better moment than when your supervisor is walking by. This wasn't my fault, though. Seriously. I emailed Dan to let him know that I had a shamrock sugar cookie for him ('cause I'm a good fiance and pass on all the baked goods that are given to me) and he responded with, "Mmmm....Irish weed cookie. Wait a minute...."

Working a nine-to-five will lead the creation of a tapeworm in your stomach. Seriously. I came home last night and ate grinder the size of a toddler. A grinder, in case you're unfamiliar with Philly vernacular, is a glorious sandwich filled with deliciousness and then, topped with cheese and broiled. Imagine Victoria's Secret models copulating with rockstars. Yeah. That's how good it is.

The last twenty minutes of every day are the longest of your life. Every infernal sixty second increment crawls by as slow as the express lane at the supermarket when an old lady decides to pay in pennies.

In other news:

Jill and Jaime's Birthday Bash Bonanza is happening this Saturday in Dub C. I don't know where we'll end up, but if you see a tipsy little brown girl around town, buy her another drink! She's cute, she's perky and she's almost 25!

Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip makes me want to be a writer. No. Wait. Me being me makes me want to be a writer. Studio 60 just makes me jones for the writer's room even more.

I almost dislocated my neck on Wednesday because I thought I saw Ron Livingston on the road. My fantasy came crashing down around my ankles when I realized that:

A) Ron Livingston probably wouldn't be driving a silver Ford Focus.

B) Aside from the obvious 'coming to sweep me off my feet', there isn't really any reason for Livingston to be in the Philly suburbs.

I was heartbroken. Dan was not. You know, in some ways -- we are very different people.

Tim's put my stapler inside a jelly again

I realize I've been Little Miss M.I.A. lately but lots has been going on lately, so let me fill you in:

+ I have a job. A real one involving clocking in, firewalls and more office supplies than you can shake a stick at...although why anyone would want to shake sticks at paper clips and Post-It notes is beyond me.

+ Dan and I got approved for the apartment so we'll finally have our own place! Our move-in date is March 15, so expect either a picture post or if you're one of those unlucky bastards with a truck -- a phone call asking for help.

+ My 25th birthday is coming up in about two weeks. I'm trying not to think about this too much.

+ My green card interview is tomorrow. Dan and I are trooping down to Philly with a bunch of paperwork, photographs and correspondence to prove that our relationship is on the up-and-up and convince the government to give a green card. If I was a cat, I'd have a very long tail and be in a room filled with rocking chairs. Wish me luck.

Oh, one thing I've discovered about this whole 9-5 (or, in my case -- 8 to 4:30) thing? You come home and you're ravenous. I mean, seriously. Lately, I've just wanted to shovel food into my mouth at an astonishing rate. Kinda feel like this guy:



That being said -- anyone down to go and get some burgers? Seriously -- I've got a jones.

I might even end up a rock and roll god, it might turn into a steady job

Mama's got a brand new bag....and by bag, I mean job!

Thanks for all the good luck wishes and killer mojo, guys. I really appreciate it!

I start tomorrow -- wish me luck!

We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give

I have an interview tomorrow!!!

It's for a events promotions firm and I'm alternately incredibly excited and incredibly nervous.

Wish me luck and send along some good mojo!