Friday, April 27, 2012

Damn, ur pic iz hawt. i take u out for drink sumtimee? ;)

Internet dating is probably one of the most awkward experiences one can ever hope to enjoy.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually have a few friends who have slogged through the piles of “winners” and found actual decent human beings, but the entire process leading up to that point leaves SO MUCH to be desired.

A little history:  After breaking up with my boyfriend over a year ago, I decided to join “Plenty of Fish.” 
Reasons included:
1)      I don’t like hanging out at bars.
2)      I’m too busy to actually go out and meet people.
3)      Dating co-workers is just uncomfortable.
4)      I was horny. 
I made up the requisite profile, uploaded pictures, and waited for what I was sure would be charming messages from intelligent, well-spoken, educated gentlemen.

Wrong.  So very, very wrong.

The title of this post is a wonderful example of the type of message I receive on a daily basis.  Sometimes they’re a little more coherent, other times there are just a bunch of winky faces and comments about my “slammin” smile.
I must admit, I have message answering down to a science.  If, at any point in a message title or body, there is more than one word spelled in Stupid-Speak, it automatically gets deleted.  I don’t give a rat’s ass if you have a Ph.D. from Stanford in BioEconomics, if you can’t bring yourself to properly spell out words, you obviously don’t know how to make a good first impression. 

Some examples:
1.  “Yo baby wuts good?  I work hard play harder yadda yadda hit me up sumtime we shud go out ;)”

2.  “Hey sweetie!  Hows it goin?  I like to hangout wit my friends, party, play sports, video games.  Ytyttyyyyytrryrryy Yututyuuuuyuiy Ytryhhhhytyy.”
Briefly attempt to decipher last ‘sentence,’ then Delete.


See what I mean?  It’s almost entertaining at this point, seeing who sends the worst message.  So far, that last one is the winner.

^Those are all actual messages, by the way…I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.  It's a good thing I don't mind being single -_-

Monday, March 26, 2012

Congratulations, You're Mediocre.

So it's self-evaluation time here at work. 

I don't know how it goes at other worky places, but at my job it means HR sends out a form with categories such as "Team Work," "Communcation," and "Job Knowledge."  We then get to assign our awesomeness (or lack thereof) a numerical value from 1-5 in each category.  The final result is a (hopefully) double-digit number that is then submitted to your supervisor as proof of your job skillz.

This self-eval also happily coincides with annual review time, so you get to find out rather quickly just how differently your supervisor ranks your abilities.

Supervisor-Type Person:  Alycia, I noticed you gave yourself a "5" for 'Productivity & Initiative'.  Could you explain why you graded yourself so high?

Me:  Oh, well since I have put in more than my fair share of hours over the last year, I thought it appropriately reflected all the work I've been doing.  You sign my timesheets, so you must know that the last time I worked only 40 hours or only 5 days in a week was sometime in mid-2011.  I've also done a lot for the facility during the expansion, helping keep things organized and running smoothly, even though we all wanted to cry most of the time.  *uncomfortable laugh*

Supervisor-Type Person:  mmhmm.  mmhmm.  Well, I gave you a 2.  Would you like to know why?

Me:  Uh, erm, yes...?

Supervisor-Type Person:  I know you think you've been working a lot.  And you obviously think you've done a lot for the group.  But the fact of the matter is, you could do more.  Remember that day last month you left early?  Well, that shouldn't be happening...

Me: grandmother died...

Supervisor-Type Person:  ...especially when we're so busy.  Take a look at Jen - she worked 96 hours last week plus took data home to review.

Me:  But she collapsed from exhaustion and ended up in the hospital.

Supervisor-Type Person:  Excellent dedication.  SHE deserves a 5 for 'Productivity & Initiative.' 

Me:  -_-

When my self-eval was all said and done, I had given myself an overall score of 27, which basically meant I gave myself '3's on almost all of the categories.  I'm not one to toot my own horn, ya know? 

After I submitted it though, I got to thinking (dangerous).  To toot my own horn for just a sec, I am one of the hardest working people person in my group.  My general lack of sanity/free time is an excellent indicator of this fact.  So that being said, if the hardest working individual in the group is giving herself THREEs, then how are the ahem, slackers, in my group scoring themselves? 

I admit, perhaps I should have given myself higher marks, but when it comes right down to it, all the crazy/horrible/stressful hours and work I put in are my job, so is extra recognition really warranted for only really doing what is necessary?

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Oh Write, I Have a Blog (pun intended)


I love it, I hate it, it makes me twitch.  Mostly, other people's improper use of the English language makes me writhe in agony.  I admit, I make my own mistakes when it comes to what's correct and what isn't, but seriously people, WHAT THE HELL.

Maybe it's my private school background that left me with the ability to discern the differences between to/too/two, their/they're/there, its/it's, and your/you're.  Or maybe, just maybe, the rules aren't that effing difficult, and anyone with half a brain has learned said differences before the age of 12.

The whole shorthand texting thing also puts a real thorn in my side.  Honestly, how difficult is it to type out whole words?  I don't know about all of y'all, but trying to read some of those damned shorthand texts takes a friggin long time.  Takes more thought to type that way too, if you ask me...

There's no real point to this post.  I just needed to rant for a moment.  

The end.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Bitch, Step Away From The Orange Juice

So as I mentioned in my previous post, I am currently being victimized by illness-making-beasties.  In short, I hate my life right now.  I was already sick three weeks ago, this mothafuckin cold snuck up on me like a goddamned ninja, and I have to sing my face off in front of my friends and family on Sunday.  Therefore, I am less than pleased with my current health situation.

Anywhoo, I stopped by Stop & Shop on my way home from work today to pick up some delicious, illness-making-beastie-defeating orange juice since I have succeeded in downing two gallons over the past three days.  

Don't judge me, I just really like orange juice.

As I'm standing in the juice section, perusing expiration dates and whatnot, this lady to my left all of a sudden asks me, "Do you watch Dr. Oz??"


Lady:  Oh, well I was watching it the other day and he was talking about how almost all orange juice is imported.

Me:  Oh, uhmm...

Lady:  Hardly any of it comes from the US.  Only Florida's Natural comes from the states.

Me:  *snot-sneeze-wheeze-cough*

Crazy Lady:  Did you know that?!?!  Can you believe that?!?! I will ONLY buy Florida's Natural from now on, you couldn't PAY me to buy JUICE that is IMPORTED.

Me:  aye juss wan by joos caus ib sik

Psycho Juice Lady:  Did you say something?  I just can't BELIEVE that different countries COMBINE their JUICE into this IMPERSONATION OF ORANGE JUICE.


I grabbed a gallon of Simply Orange and ran away.

Psycho Bitch Juice Lady obviously doesn't read my blog.  Otherwise, she'd know how many of my Things-I-Don't-Wanna-Hear-About-Whilst-Sick Rules she just violated.

Sunday, March 4, 2012

Bring Me Chicken Noodle Soup, Then GTFO

I am a miserable human being when sick.  Definitely not one of those people who gets all nice and docile so all you want to do is take care of him/her.  My normally bitchy attitude gets a lovely boost when I'm "under the weather,"* so people generally want to take care of me the same way you want to take care of a porcupiney-skunky-rabid-bit-of-roadkill.  

Side note - what the hell does "under the weather" actually mean?!  If I can blow snot rockets, hack up green phlegm, and sound like an 85-year old chain-smoking James Earl Jones when under the weather, then what super powers do I get for being "on top of the weather"??  Dumb-ass figure of speech.

In an effort to save humanity from my bitchitude, I have compiled a list of things I don't want to hear when I'm feeling less than stellar.  This list actually coincides with things I don't give a shit about first thing in the morning:

1.  Anything about your (adorable) pet.  No, crazy cat lady, I know this is hard for you to understand, but I DON'T want to hear about the 57 cats you have at home.  

2.  Anything about your pet's bowel movements.  To be honest, I NEVER want to hear about your pet's bowel movements.  I'm not a vet yet.  I don't give a shit (pun intended).

3.  Anything about the news and/or current events.  I barely give a crap about the world's goings on to begin with, much less when my brain is fogged up with illness-making-beasties.

4.  Your life If you think that now's a good time to tell me your life story for the 9482753895th time, and ask my advice on whatever issue you're currently dealing with, you are sorely mistaken.

5.  Your love life.  Different than #4.  I want to hear about your love life even LESS than I want to hear about your other goings-on, particularly if your significant other did something lovey-dovey-cutsie-wootsie for your anniversary.  I'm single.  Fuck off.  (exception - if this lovey-dovey-cutsie-wootsie activity failed miserably and ended in hilarity, I'm all ears)

6.   Details about your new craft project.

7.   How busy you've been lately and omygawd-i-wish-there-were-more-than-24hrs-in-a-day.  If there were more than 24 hours in a day, I'd be sick even longer than I'm going to be already.  This is unacceptable.  So are your opinions on the matter.  I reiterate my comment from #5: Fuck off.

8.  How sick YOU were last week and blah-blah-blahI know you were ill - I saw you every day at work.  You're probably the one who got ME sick.  At the current moment, I hate you with every fiber of my being.

9.  How swell your tropical vacation was.  For the love of everything in the world, stop showing me pictures.  My eyes are all goopy and crusty with god-knows-what, I'm sneezing all over your photos, and blowing snot rockets into my rapidly depleting box of tissues.  How is this enjoyable for you?!

10.   Celebrity gossipNope, just don't care.  At all.  Ever.  

Basically, it's just better to leave me alone.  It's safer for everyone that way.  I might offend your delicate sensibilities by saying something that I'll maybe regret later.

Since I'm such a nice person, I'll give you some free advice:  I have very clear facial expressions - if you're talking at to me and I am giving you a look that says "eat shit and die," I advise you to cease and desist the current "conversation" and GTFO.

But bring me some chicken noodle soup first, please.  I'm sick.

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Chickens Function Better With Their Heads Attached

Today was one of those days.

You know what I'm talking about...the kind of day that results in you wanting to do nothing but curl up in the fetal position in a corner under some kind of shrubbery, using the leaves of said shrubbery to dry your never-ending snot-tears.

I work in pharmaceutical research, so my job is stressful with a capital everything.  We recently tripled our lab capacity, which subsequently tripled our workload.  It would make sense to hire more staff to properly accommodate this increase, right?

Me:  Hey, supervisor person, when are we getting some more people?  We're kinda busy and all...some more people would be uhh...good and stuff.

Supervisor Person:  Yeah, about that.  We were thinking we'd wait to hire additional people until you'd all had nervous breakdowns, were sobbing uncontrollably on the toilet, and were drooling on yourselves in the corner.  

Me:  Oh...ok.  Sounds good.  I'm going to go sob uncontrollably on the toilet now.

Supervisor Person:  Keep up the good work. 

Running around like a chicken with its head cut off sadly appeals to my crazy-escaped-from-a-mental-institution personality.  However, even I have to put my foot down once in awhile.  I am fortunate enough to be paid hourly, so at least I get paid for all the overtime I accrue.  

Sleeping is fun, though.  So is showering on a daily basis.  And eating dinner.

Our short-staffed-ness, combined with a heinously busy day, compounded by the busiest week/month ever, plus the fact that I have to go BACK to work at 9pm tonight all blended together to make me want to assume the aforementioned fetal position.  

I couldn't find any plant life in the office to curl up under, though.

I Am Awesome. And I have an award to prove it.

So I've been at this blogging thing for about a week now, and I have already achieved international fame some stuff.  Among said stuff is a super-awesome-fantastic thingy called the Liebster Blog Award!  

Melissa at Preposterous Pace was kind enough to bestow this honor upon my humble blog, for which I shall be forever grateful.  

According to the Liebster Blog rules, I am now supposed to give this award to five other deserving bloggers who have fewer than 200 followers.  However, since I kinda suck as a blog-stalker (relax, I'm working on it) I just don't know who give this phenoms award to.  

SO, in an effort to aid me in my blog-stalking habits, I'd love anyone reading this to recommend some blogs to follow.  Specifically anything that makes you pee/giggle/snort/die/laugh-so-hard-you-vomit/shift-uncomfortably-in-your-chair/etc.

Help a fellow blogger out, people.

Sunday, February 26, 2012

No, I'm not crazy, I just have more interesting conversations with myself than I do with you.

I'm not sure I really need to write anything in this post since the title is so descriptive.  


I guess I'll elaborate, though.  

As I sit here, watching Resident Evil instead of The Oscars (much better TV, if you ask me), I find myself having mental conversations with myself.  

This is not a rare occurrence.

I frequently find that my best conversations happen in my head, or out loud but to myself.  You talk to yourself too, don't even try denying it.  I talk to inanimate objects too, and to my pets...I am convinced this is normal, but apparently not everyone shares the same feelings.  

Tell you a story:  I received a text a few days ago from my friend Jillian (wifey of my bffl, Mel, who will most likely berate me for days for using the term "bffl").  My phone, which is a major POS considering it was expensive and should work better than it does (no, I don't have an iPhone <----loser), did not recognize Jillian's number.  Due to this technological failing, I had to inquire as to the name of the text's sender - Jill told me it was her, and I promptly told my phone that it was a piece of crap and that I hated its existence.  

Via Jillian.  But directing comments towards my phone.

Apparently this is not normal?   Jill seemed to not think so.

So I talk to in animate objects.  Don't judge me.  

Have you ever had a pretend conversation with a person in your head, and then see said person later on and can't quite remember if that discussion actually happened in real life or not?  

Or have an argument with someone, get all tongue-tied during the argument, and then later on come up with the Best-Zingers-of-all-Time as you replay the argument in your head, but it's now too late to use them because said argument happened a week ago?

OR make up some sort of pretend relationship in your mind with someone you're not really close with, but are convinced could be THE ONE if only these amazing experiences you're having in your head could only be brought to fruition in real life?

Ok, that last one sounds a little creepy stalkerish when written down, but whatever.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Do Re Me

So now that both Mel and I have mentioned that I "can sing,"  I dug up a couple YouTube videos for your perusal to prove that neither of us were lying (it's been known to happen...). 

The first video is from my senior year in high school in a Gilbert & Sullivan musical called Ruddigore. 
The second, as I'm sure you'll be able to tell, is from my 5x IRNE nominated production of RENT from this past summer (I'm the soloist...just in case that needs pointing out).


Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Hi. My name is Alycia and I am addicted to extracurricular activities.

I really think the title says it all, but seeing as how this is a blog and er'rythang, additional details are probably warranted.

You know that friend everyone has who's always running around like a crazy-escaped-from-a-mental-institution-person because s/he is so busy s/he barely has time to breathe/sleep/eat/pee?  You know, the one you want to just smack around a little bit so so s/he'll become slightly disoriented and stop moving long enough for you to have a decent conversation about more than just "OMG I'M SOOO BUSY I NEED CAFFEINE SO I CAN FINISH MY 200 HOUR WORKDAY BEFORE GOING TO METALWORKING CLASS FOR 15 HOURS STRAIGHT!!!"

You know who I'm talking about.

Me.  *hangs head in shame*

I should probably start by blaming my mother explaining that, as a small child, I was...encouraged to participate in a plethora of activities outside of school.  Here's a nice little list of examples:

1)  I started dancing at age 2.  I was in the Worcester Youth Ballet by age 10 and performed in The Nutcracker twice before I hit puberty.  Winner.

2)  I started playing the violin at age 3.  You could wear big-kid underwear and not shit in your diaper?  Yeah, well I was playing Mozart.  Fuck you.

3)  I started playing the piano at age 4.  Sensing a pattern yet?  Apparently I was a musical goddamned prodigy at the piano.  Almost went into the Conservatory instead of high school. (<----not my idea, btw)

4)  I started horseback riding at age 5.  I was in my first horse show at the tender age of 6.  I won both my classes.  Under ALL the judges.  I still have the trophies.  Pathetic?  Maybe a little.

5)  Joined the Worcester Youth Symphony Orchestra at age 10.  Second violin, first chair.  Age 10.  Almost went to school for violin too, but apparently I was better at piano.

6)  Mental breakdown at age 12.  couldn't....handle...all...the activities.  Quit everything except horseback riding since that was the ONLY thing I hadn't been "encouraged" to do.

Keep in mind that I did all of the aforementioned crap simultaneously.  As in I went to school (where we had to perform in concerts and yearly musicals from grades 3-6 also), then went to my other school and did all of that every day.  Except the horses part...that was at a barn, but moving right along...

Fast forward to senior year of high school.  My main activity outside of school has been horseback riding and I've been doing pretty damn well at it.  The highlight of my show career hit my junior year when I ranked 5th in my age category in the US and Canada.  Mel wasn't kidding when she said I rocked my extracurriculars.

Anyways, senior year hits and I've realized that I can sing.  Pretty well, too.  So I join chorus.  I audition for the select chorus and make it into that too.  I audition for Central District and make it in.  My score qualifies me for All State auditions, which I also make.  I also get cast as leads in both straight plays and the musical that year. 


Heyy there, extracurricular activies.  It's been awhile, how ya doin'?

Move on to college.  I join the Rowing team, which succeeds in eating up ALL of my free time.  All of it.  I remember one night when one of Mel's friends dropped by our house and asked if we were going out later in the evening.  We both gave her what must have been an extremely perplexed look before asking, "What exactly do you mean by 'out'?"

It was 8:30 on a Friday night.  Losers.

I graduate college, come back home to my (now retired) horse and get that fancy thing called a "real job." 

I'm so. Effing. Bored.

A year passes and I decide, Hey!  Let's go to Vet School!  One small problem, Alycia - you majored in Psychology.  That does exactly NOTHING to help you get into vet school.  Congratufuckinlations, you get to go back to school so you can go back to school. 

I start taking night classes 4 nights a week, which succeeds in eating up my "free" time.  I feel more normal, having less of this extra time on my hands. 

Soon though, it just isn't enough. 

I get the acting bug again.  A friend of mine from high school founded a theater company, so I start helping out with that on occaision.  I audition for a show and get cast.  I remember that I LOVE acting/singing/dancing/being musical and mentally start pummeling my existence into nothingness for quitting everything a decade ago.  I audition for MORE shows, which eats up MORE of my time.  I am content.

I get a new horse.  Now I have something to show again, so there goes some of that other time I had lying around. 

I decide, HEY!  Ballroom Dancing looks like FUN!  So I take a lesson at a studio near my house to see if I like it.  Surprise, surprise - I'm hooked. 

That brings us up to the present where on any given week I work 40+ hours in my pharmaceutical research job, take a night class at Harvard, have two Ballroom lessons, rehearse for my current show, ride my horse when weather permits and somewhere in there run errands and sleep and stuff.

Anyone in need of a hobby?  I have enough to keep a small city entertained for years.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

I can explain...

I bet you’re wondering about the name of this blog.  More likely, I bet you’re wondering what ninja powers I used to come up with such an incredibly awesome badass title.  Well, while I’d love for everyone to believe I conjured it using some superhuman blog-naming power, I honestly can’t take the credit.  That goes to my good friend Melissa, and her Droid’s wonderful autocorrecting tendencies.  In order to fully understand how the naming of this blog came to be, I should probably give you all a little background information.
Mel and I are best friends from college, and for anyone who’s ever met her/heard stories about her/read her blog Preposterous Pace, you know she’s, well…awkward.  A few months ago, I mentioned she should start documenting her dysfunctions in a blog (complete with pictures, of course) because if she didn’t write this shit down, no one would ever believe it happened.  She did, the blog’s hilarious, and I found myself inspired. 
Just one problem: I needed a name for my blog. 
I helped Mel come up with hers, but I was drawing blanks when it came to naming one for myself.  We tossed ideas around for a couple days, neither of us coming up with anything particularly brilliant.  I had finally decided on “Shades of Gray” over options such as “These are My Thoughts. You can Agree or STFU,” “That Awkward Moment When You Realized I’m More Awesome Than You,” and “Sarcasm is an Art, Bitch.”  I still wasn’t 100% satisfied though.  While waiting around for inspiration to strike, I found out that a production of RENT I was in over the summer (yes, I sing and dance around on stages in my spare time) had been nominated for 5 IRNE Awards.  For those of you not involved in theater (musical or otherwise), the IRNEs are kind of like the Boston area theater scene’s version of the Tony Awards, only less prestigious and stuff.  Anywho, my production was nominated for 5 of these Awards including Best Musical, which is pretty freaking awesome if you ask me.  I texted Mel to share my excitement about my famousness and her Droid decided to change her congratulatory text of “You know by musical they mean singing…” to “You know by musical they moan so ginger...” 
And thus, the name “Moan So Ginger” was bestowed upon my blog.  What does it mean?  I have no idea, but it's badass and sounds fucking cool.  I sincerely hope everyone I know follows Mel's lead and tells me to "moan so ginger" instead of "break a leg" before all future theatrical productions. 
So as far as this blog is concerned, I honestly do not know what kind of things I will be posting about, but it will most likely be random comments about other people’s stupidity or my general lack of a “life” due to my addiction to extracurricular activities.  Both are fair game, so expect a nice blend of both.  Kinda like a smoothie, only with sarcasm and judgment instead of fruit and juice/booze.