Ever notice how it's the little things in life that amuse us so much? More to the point, ever notice how it's the silly little idiocies in life that amuse us more than anything else? Well, this is not as much ''the little blog that could'' as it is ''the blog that enjoys going up the down escalator in your local mall.'' Will it have anything of real importance? No, probably not. But enjoy the ride never the less!

 


It’s Saturday afternoon. The weather outside has been remarkable fickle if not downright manic-depressive, shifting wildly from cloudy-with-sunshine to gloomy-clouds-ahoy to sudden-and-aggressive-downpour.

I have the day off. Mel doesn’t. So I’ve spent the morning running a number of random errands (library book drop-offs, post office pick-ups and an utterly failed attempt to find Pocoyo DVDs anywhere other than online, since at least locally I wouldn’t have to pay for shipping) and the afternoon with a short but productive burst of writing.

It’s the writing in particular that flummoxes me right now. The last year or so has not been kind to my muse. I’ve had a hell of a time just finding the time to sit down on even a semi-regular basis to write. And typically, when I have attempted to, my efforts unravel and I wind up staring at a screen where I’ve typed ten words and found all of then to be wholly unsatisfying, even if they’ve just been picking up wherever I left off with an ongoing story.

I haven’t been attacked by that somewhat over-hyped bogeyman called Writer’s Block, and I can’t exactly say I’ve suffered a Writer’s Burn-Out either. Though I think I have been starting to noticeably burn out in terms of life itself, and that has drilled its annoying little tendrils into other avenues. It’s only been in the last week that I’ve discovered I can still be productive at writing--I just have to do it in the morning, when I’m at my most alert and energetic. I’m a morning person by nature (contrast to Mel, who is firmly in the camp that believes mornings as a concept are blasphemous, and really shouldn’t start until maybe 11am), which certainly helps. But what I’ve come to realize is that by writing in the morning, I’m not broadsided by the end-of-the-day exhaustion that’s been up to this point rendering me unable to focus or concentrate on anything.

This does prove somewhat problematic, since I only have one, maybe two mornings a week where I can just relax and write for a few hours. As a store manager, I primarily work mornings (and prefer to do so, truth be told), so getting up early to write could mean a 6am rise almost every day if I want to get at least and hour so squeeze in before I run out to catch a bus. I fear I might not be able to survive that sort of routine either, and it’ll start turning into the same sort of aggravating exercises I’ve been experiencing most nights.

We’ll have to see where it takes me, in the end. I admit for a time I was ready to just throw in the towel, fearing the best was already behind me; I had been prepared to abandon writing altogether, which would have been preferable to banging my head against a proverbial writer’s wall until I came to despise it altogether. This at least gives me hope that maybe I was just suffering a little bit of teh crazies, and so long as I’m not dead on my feet all the time, as I have been for a lot longer than I’d have ever liked to have been, things could be looking up.

Then again, this whole strange thing could be caused due to the strange fact that I am inexplicably now a woman, and, branching out from that logic, Mel is now a lesbian. At least, that’s what my Head Office seems to be under the impression of.

I wish I was making this up.

You see, recently Head office switched the company hosting our benefits package. To make sure the transition was as smooth and painless as possible, they sent each of us managers a short form to be reviewed and verified for our new benefits package. Mel happened to be looking it over a few nights ago, trying to see how extensive our drug and eyecare plans were.

There was a pause, then a loud shriek of laughter. This was followed by easily a solid minute of gut-busting giggles as Mel tried to maintain bladder control. You can see why I immediately had to ask what on earth she found so funny on a personal information sheet.

She handed me the sheet and told me to pay close attention to my information. There it was, as plain as the penis I apparently no longer had: next to my name, the Gender box had been checked in by Head Office as “F(emale).”

Naturally, no good came of this. I do believe my first response was to exclaim, “They gender reassigned me?!”

To which Mel, being the caring wife she is, fell over from giggling so hard. And she continued to giggle on the floor for a good five minutes as I alternated between stunned disbelief and pure rage as to how epic a fuck-up this was.

Now I’ll admit: on the phone at work, my professional voice shifts up an octave, and I’ve been mistaken as a female by more than a few people for me to admit that I can sound like a girl. But only in that situation. I have not the slightest fucking idea how someone can make the jump from “sounds kinda like a girl” to “fully possesses female genitalia.”

I mean, hell! Right next to that block was my name. And last I checked, Phillip was not a girl’s name. There are some Greek female variants I’ve seen like Philippa, but I lack any sort of vowel at the end of my name. Even more so, there’s not a lot of us male store managers in this company; you’d think I’d stand out simply because I’m in the minority in that respect.

But no, now I have submit the form with the noted correction: the “M” block checkmarked, and a line running through the previously-marked “F.” And they had better accept this correction, otherwise I’m afraid I’ll be forced to visit Head Office on their tab and prove to them that I am a guy. And it’ll probably involve a “no pants” moment, but one that’s clearly required.

Oh, Head Office. First you take my pride and dignity, little by little as the years go by. And then when you realize that isn't enough, you take my penis from me.

Labels: as part of our new benefits package it’s gender reassignments for everyone, reflections on writing

posted by Phillip at 2:35 PM

 


Today is the day after Octoberfest. Which means yesterday was the last big hurrah for Octoberfest. Which ultimately means my busride home from work was filled with half-drunk and mostly-drunk revellers wearing hats with ridiculously long feathers in them, who had absolutely no idea where they were going (but they knew wherever it was located served beer!) but were very friendly and very loud.

But wait...there's more! It hasn't been the first time I've encountered a large band of drunk Octoberfesters on the bus. But this is the first time they brought a wandering minstrel along for the ride. Yep. There was a university student tagging along, complete with an acoustic guitar and an arsenal of very strange and obviously home-brewed songs that had a lot of repeating lines. (The most interesting song involved sneakers of some sort.) Which was probably a good thing, considering most of the Octoberfesters singing along looked like they'd have trouble carrying on a conversation for more than five minutes before devolving into whooping cheers and more beer orders.

In a sad, sad, sad indication I'm growing up faster than I'd like, while I was vastly amused by their antics, I was somewhat disgruntled by the knowledge that there was a good chance they'd make me miss my connecting bus, and I'd get home from work later than I'd prefer. If not for just wanting to call it a day after a long shift, I'd have been right up there with them, having way too much fun. Oh work, you just enjoy sucking the love out of my days, don't you?

Don't worry, this won't devolve into another Emo-blog. Or an Elmo-blog for that matter...which, upon reflection, is probably worse, since you can ignore the quiet sniffly Emo-blog, but an Elmo-blog is right up in your face with its loud squeaky voice.

In other news, "Vampire Girl vs. Frankenstein Girl" comes out this week. Mel's forbidden me to buy it simply by virtue of the title alone. And it definitely didn't help my cause when I read her the synopsis in an attempt to win her over. (I guess she still hasn't entirely recovered from the silly-assed schlock that was "High School Girls Swim Team vs. The Undead.")

Labels: there's a Rocktoberfest trying to get on my bus

posted by Phillip at 7:00 AM