I went through the proposal for a project I'm working on to see what the actual deliverables are (Helpful Hint: it's usually good to know what's expected of you). Nothing surprising, other than the report that I've been working on is slated to be due next damn week. There's a number of holes that need to be filled in before it gets printed on heavy paper and bound in a nice package and sent off. And crap - the numbers that are going into this keep changing. Which means that the numbers that are coming out of it (which is essentially the deliverable - about a dozen numbers) change, too. It wasn't until I noticed the deadline (which I'm not even sure about - it could be soft, since the presentation isn't for another month) that I began feeling like I was building a house in a windy dessert - the ground slipping away as I hammer away at the frame.
I was away from my desk when (gasp!) the CEO called. DO NOT WORRY! He will call back! I've only seen pictures of him, since he works in a very different office. I have met the #2 guy and the guy who runs my group (maybe #3 or #4, I guess). I suppose I'll get to meet CEO at some point.
Yet more work stuff: Today I found the Attractive but Hopelessly Misguided Intern in the printer/copy/supply room doing something that I could only assume was determining the sharpness of a pen knife (or similar sharp implement) to jab into an unsuspecting victim. I'm glad he works on the floor above me and his shoes squeak, making his would-be death-stab approach just that - a would-be. I don't talk to A.b.H.M.I. and I've forgotten his name. I think it starts with a letter toward the middle of the standard English alphabet. I feel bad giving A.b.H.M.I. stuff to do since he seems fairly disinterested in actually doing work (wouldn't you be if you were 20 years old and thinking about beer and girls all day?) and I actually have a number of incentives to horde client-billed work for myself.
I'm joining the ranks of the landline-less. My dad, a life-long employee of phone utilities, all but ordered me to not get a landline.
Free first names for your kid that are actually last names: Eames. Risom. Knoll (not Noel - that's a girl's name). Mathsson. Heywood. Blalock. Shteyngart. I never said any of them were any good.
The last one, Gary Shteyngart is the author of the book I'm now reading - The Russian Debutante's Handbook. Not including this one, 2 of the last 4 books I read took place in eastern Europe. And now this one about a Russian immigrant. So when someone asks what kind of books I like I guess I have to say "dark comedy about eastern Europeans." I like this book so far. It has avoided the tender but awkward pre-teen and teenage touching that doomed so many dark comedies about eastern Europeans.
P.S. You like tortilla soup.
