Showing posts with label complaint. Show all posts
Showing posts with label complaint. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

A Non-Specific Rant

Things That Make Me Happy Right Now
* Drinks with my friends tonight.
* Haven't seen a roach in almost a week.
* CLOVERFIELD is coming out on Friday!
* Job interview.
* HOUSE, MD
* Netflix
* I'm working on a novel.

Things That Make Me Unhappy Right Now
* Will probably see a roach in the next five minutes.
* Job interview is for an unpaid position.
* New episodes of HOUSE, MD don't come back on until the end of the month.
* My novel isn't very good.
* The movies I want to see aren't coming out for months on end.
* Still unemployed.
* Personal life both boring AND in shambles, which I didn't know was possible.

I swear, I don't intend for this blog to become an angsty Dashboard-Confessional LiveJournal I'm so emo I sit in the dark and cry exercise in bad writing. It's just been a shitty month.

Whichever horoscope-writer said this would be my best year ever was clearly drunk, or vindictive. They must be found, and forced to listen to me whine.

May your life not be driving you crazy.
- LV

Friday, December 14, 2007

This Just In

The roach army has signed a treaty with the Mouse Armada, and they are both attacking me.

Fate is a cruel, cruel bitch.

Update later.

Sunday, December 9, 2007

Staring At The Ceiling Loses Its Appeal In The Second Hour

Although my dear friend Esse recently posted a brilliantly funny entry on the trials and tribulations of an insomniac, I'd like to offer my own humble musings on a topic currently dear to my heart.

I have been lying in bed for nigh on two hours, doing all the things you're supposed to do to fall asleep. And yet I am awake. What is more, I feel exhausted, yet more awake than I did all day.

I don't know how it is for other people, but it almost always takes me at least an hour to fall asleep. This isn't helped by the fact that I simply cannot sleep without my TV on [muted, but still flickering obnoxiously], because for some reason I have decided that if the TV is on, roaches will not bother me. This theory has been proved false several times, but I simply don't feel safe going to sleep on the dark.

My mind wanders in weird and disturbing circles at this hour. I worry about everything: my date on Wednesday, past dates, things I can't remember but probably should, sending text messages, rent, the fact that my bedside clock is still an hour fast because it seems like too much work to change it, my messy apartment, going to the gym, my friends, what I had for dinner, my bank balance, how many cigarettes I have left, work and so on.

Then I begin to ponder Deep Questions, with an intensity that implies I must make come up with an answer immediately: should I go to graduate school? What do I want to do with my life? Do I want to have children? Do I want to have a relationship? Should I chuck everything, move to England, and try my luck in another time zone? Should I move? Should I stay? Should I follow my instincts, which usually lead me horribly wrong, or be perpetually uncomfortable but doing what is considered 'right' by myself as well as others? Do I watch the news enough to make an informed opinion, or are all my reactions knee-jerk? Trust me, at 3 AM, these questions seem immensely important.

Note: If you have any answers to any of the above questions, please post me a reply. Like, now. I need to get some fucking sleep.

I'm not tired enough to sleep, but I'm too tired to read, put on a movie, or smoke a cigarette. This is exhausting me. My thumb is asleep, but not my brain. That's just cruel and twisted.

Forgive me a moment of pure angst, but, to quote the deity-like Warren Ellis' orgasmic TRANSMETROPOLITAN, "Sometimes I want to be someone else so much it hurts." That's my angsty moment for the day.

FYI, I just spen nearly forty minutes looking for that quote, because I didn't want to paraphrase it. I think that really sums up my personality.

I'm going to go look up more Spider Jerusalem quotes now. TRANSMETROPOLITAN is a wallbanging bastard sent from heaven to skullfuck the sense back into us. Or something.
- LV

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Day 6 Of Unemployment: Still In New Jersey, Where The Sun Never Shines

Yeah, I know, I suck.

I promised to record every nitty-gritty detail of unemployment, for your edification/education/sick pleasure. And I have no real excuse for failing to keep this simple vow. Rather, I have thousands, but none of them are particularly valid.

The truth is, I have not felt particularly funny lately. Or clever. Or able to make witty observations about life and the culture in which I exist. I have felt stressed, worried, anxious, and other words that describe not-goodness.

I have been apartment-hunting which, as I have stated, really sucks. I may have something good somewhere. It looks optimistic. But I am not optimistic. At all. Optimism withers and dies in my presence, leaving the black ashes of misery and sullen sarcasm in its wake.

Job-hunting is going even worse, as you may have suspected from the title of this entry. Apparently nobody wants to hire a journalist with no experience. I could always go the way of Hunter S. Thompson, and join the Army and write on their paper, but me in the army would probably be something like Catch-22, only tragic instead of funny. Also, everyone dies horribly. And the pages would be wet toilet paper.

Another thing. I am deeply, deeply paranoid. I understand and accept this flaw. I try to improve it (as much as I try to improve anything, which really isn't much). However, it still is a pretty big fucking flaw, and causes me enormous amounts of stress and anxiety. Some of which I am currently feeling. The cause of my stress? The usual culprit: text messaging.

I have sent texts to three different people, and NONE of them have responded. These people do not hang out. They do not know each other. And yet I am comvinced that they and their loved ones are sitting around saying vicious, shitty things about me RIGHT NOW. And I know my friends aren't like that. About people they like. But isn't it WEIRD that nobody is answering me? ISN'T IT?!

Also, I may have royally pissed off another friend of mine, who also has yet to answer my text message. She's driving through states, and was going to stop for a visit and coffee. But she missed the turn-off, got stuck in the vile New Jersey traffic, and now hasn't answered my phone calls or text messages. So she's either dead, or annoyed, in my mind. That's how things are in Elle's head. You either answer my texts before I fucking SEND them, or are pissed at me. Or you're dead. And that's probably my fault too.

So this is how things are in my head right now. The text messages are getting frantic, paranoid, needy, and vaguely hostile. And NO ONE is answering. Bad vibrations in my little, twisted brain.

At the rate I'm going, my friends are going to wake up with me leaning over them in the dark, a depraved look in my eyes as I hiss, "Your phone is working just fine."

This is one of those ideas that is funny until the cops show up.

And so much for that. This was meant to destress me and let me see how ridiculous and stupid I'm being. Instead, now I think I'm perceptive and intuitive. If nobody answers me soon, I'll probably convince myself I'm a psychic. I'll set up a franchise, trademark my anxiety, and end up with a cable TV show that will be badly received. You all should watch it.

May your text messages be answered promptly. If you are slow to answer text messages, may you have uncontrollable gas that will only cease if you answer your damn texts.
- LV

NOTE: Go to my friend Esse, otherwise known as Sa's blog. You will love it so much you will immediately stop reading my blog, and wonder why you settled so long for such trash. Wait...

Monday, August 6, 2007

Frustration, Angst, & General Douchery

A lot of things suck right now. Actually, a lot of things suck all the time, but I have a highly trained ability to ignore anything that doesn't directly effect me. It's a gift.

But, to quote Arrested Development, I am learning life lessons all over the place. And I shall impart this steaming-fresh wisdom to all of you, so that perhaps the sucky things in your life will be marginally less sucky. Smell the wisdom.

* Even after you graduate from college, your parents can essentially control your life – Unless you are some amazing, magical person who immediately got a fantastic job out of college, in which case I hope you get crabs, you are going to have to rely on your parents to some extent in the post-college world. This sucks. A lot. In fact, this situation may bring about an entirely new level of suckiness in your life. Your parents can, for example, entirely dictate your future living situation, regardless of what you may actually want. If you don’t see how this can be a miserable situation, you are probably a parent, and I hate you.

To explain a bit: I was planning on living with two of my best friends. Because none of us have won the lottery, we were looking in Brooklyn. My parents did not like any of the neighborhoods we could afford. Cue two days of hysterical screaming into the phone, and very creative cursing. End result: I am going to have to live alone.
Now, I do understand my parent’s concerns. And I would like to not be dead, as it is no fun and necrophilia really frightens me. However, that does not make me any less annoyed, or any less inclined to abuse my ‘in case of emergencies’ credit card until they get the bill, and cancel it. Which leads me to my next earth-shattering life lesson:

* Apartment-hunting sucks – Especially in New York City. And especially when you have limited funds. And ultra-especially, when your parents have an unnerving amount of power in the whole situation because you are an intern getting paid jack-shit and can’t find a job that will give you the money to allow you to live where they want you to live. Brokers should be nice to me. They are sucking my will to live, and not in a fun or sexy way. New York is way too expensive, which is admittedly not an original complaint, but come ON. On the upside, since my parents effectively executed my previous living plans, they’ve told me I can get a cat. Because cats make everything better, and expertly assuage parental guilt.

* Job-hunting sucks – This alone is the perfect reason NOT to go to liberal arts college. While you will have a well-rounded education, and understand the complex inner workings of reality TV and youtube, you will have no chance in hell of finding a job. This is why most liberal arts students go to grad school, and have drinking problems, and cannot succeed in love, and cry themselves to sleep night after endless, lonely night. Take my advice – if your parents can afford grad school, take it. Don’t take time off. I am lucky enough that my parents could theoretically afford to send me to grad school, but now I feel like returning to the educational system would be like admitting defeat. I AM defeated, and royally fucked at the moment, but I won’t ADMIT it. Even though I just did.

* Work sucks – This may seem hypocritical considering my last complaint/piece of advice, and it is. That doesn’t make it any less true. I am stuck at this desk for another six hours, and have nothing to do. I will continue to have nothing to do. In the meantime, I cannot look for an apartment or a job, thus improving my situation. I can sit here and complain. Which I’m incredibly good at, but Monster.com does not have any job listings for people who can bitch their fucking heads off.
* Sinus infections suck – Anyone who has one knows what I mean.

And so much for that. My advice to anyone still in college? Stay in college. As long as physically possible. Consider medical school. I know I am – and by medical school, I mean fantasizing about House, M.D..

TV/Movie Things That Make Life Suck Less
A Bit Of Fry & Laurie – Best skit show ever. Makes old SNL look like the new SNL, and the new SNL look like – I don’t know, MadTV or something equally repugnant. And I charged the boxed set to my parent’s credit card, because I am passive aggressive and petty. Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry should run their own country. I'd live there.
• Alan Rickman – My friend Esse can confirm this. You know it to be true. Embrace it.
House, M.D. – Because I like mentioning it constantly, to annoy you all. And it’s still true. Even truer than the other stuff I have said, which is all gloriously truth.
• KNOCKED UP – Seth Rogen is the shit. And I liked him back in Freaks & Geeks, which would never have been cancelled if there was a God. Or a higher national IQ.

Oh, and am I the only one who found it really alarming that two of the most prolific directors of all time DIED within a few days of each other? What’s even more alarming is that, according to the surveys at IMDB.com, nobody has even seen any of their films. But EVERYONE ran out and saw Crash, which ranks with rectal warts in terms of quality and entertainment. You make me sick – almost as sick as that last comment.

That’s all I can say for the moment. Further bulletins as events warrant, or depending on how incredibly bored I am.
- LV

PS Who the fuck actually voted in my survey that they only read this when they're really, really bored? Come on, there are other websites far more entertaining than this one! Just look at my links. You should spend your days hysterically reloading this page, desperate for whatever nuggets of wisdom I deign to squeeze out. I just reread that last line, and officially admit that I am gross.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

OK, for some reason, when I post from work I can't have a title. Which is probably a sign from the Gods of Publishing or the Gods of Hiring ElleVee So She Doesn't Have To Sell Her Organs For Food Money. But I digress.

My roommate is evil. EVIL. I'm sorry, but I need a moment's rant. After a long day at work, I come home intending to watch Aqua Teen Hunger Force and hold back tears of exhaustion. Instead, we have the following conversation:

Her: What are you watching?
Me: Aqua Teen.
Her: Oh, that's too bad. I was going to hang out with you, but now I can't. I don't like that show.
Me: You could try to like it.
Her: I have. I'll be in my room.
Me: I can hang out in here when you're watching Sex and the City.
Her: But you like that show.
Me: I used to. Before you made me watch every episode over ten times.

Then she later accused me of causing her to waste two hours of her life playing Tetris while I watched TV.

Here'a an update on work:
* Distribute roughly 1,000 books throughout the office.
- DONE. I distributed Cool Daddy Rat, Hey Mr. Choo Choo, Christopher Counting, Uncle Bobby's Wedding, and Stand Tall, Abe Lincoln. My back hurts, and I dropped one hundred copies of Mr. Choo Choo on my foot, but hey, who's complaining?
* Check the contact information for over 600 independent bookstores.
- I'm on page two. There are thirty-six. I don't want to talk about it. Anyone up for buying independent bookstores and turning them into rest homes for stressed-out readers?
* Read 175-page manuscript and write reader's report.
- DONE. And it was really good, incidentally. I'm hoping the title will change, so I'll hold off on saying what it is. But seriously, I nearly cried at my desk. Probably while the mysterious Intern Hiring Person strolled by.
* Read and edit 251-page manuscript and write reader's report.
- That's next. No problem, right? It would be, if I knew who the hell had given my the manuscript. She didn't introduce herself. Just shoved a box of paper into my hands, told me she needed it by the end of the week, and ran off laughing evilly. She also set fire to my hair.
* Handle slush (need I say more?)
- We are ignoring the ever-growing slush pile. If I don't look at it, it's not there. Maybe I can ask the Lady With No Name But Many Manuscripts to burn it next time she stops by.
* Have meeting with president of imprint to discuss Dean Koontz project.
- Pushed back to next Monday. AND she's buying me a sandwich. I'm hoping it comes with 'You're Hired!' mayo, as opposed to 'You're Getting Escorted Off The Premises' mustard.
* Write flap copy for children's book (and edit it).
- DONE. And she liked it! At least enough that she didn't spit in my face, or cry.
* Attend meeting on OTHER manuscript to determine if it goes to publishers.
- Moved to tomorrow. I read the book. I have opinions. What else do they want from me? They already have my TEARS.
*ave ANOTHER meeting with president of imprint to determine whether or not to purchase entirely different manuscript, which I just finished commenting on.
- Hasn't been mentioned. We're going to put it with the slush, and pretend it never existed.

And that pretty much sums up Life in The City. I have two minutes before I can ran screaming out of the building. I'm going to the Strand Annex today, because I EARNED my money, and to Klatch, an amazing coffee shop in the Financial District. You all should go. Their quiche could bring around world peace. Unless you're lactose intolerant. We don't want YOUR kind.

May your day be cool and not-sweaty, and may the crazy serial killer decide you look like too much of a fighter to bother with.
- LV

Title: Do Not Wear Platform Shoes When Lifting Fifty-Pound Boxes Unless You Really Hate Your Ankles

Friday, June 15, 2007

Due To Extreme Emotional Insanity, Today's Post Has Been Cancelled

Yes, you're all howling with sorrow.

On a whinier note: I really love being there for my friends and supporting them, but sometimes I need to crash too. And I really hate feeling guilty about asking for their help and attention.

Anyway. On Monday, I'm posting a list of tips to help people get published, and make my job slightly less infuriating.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

I Really Intensely Dislike Pain

Yesterday was one of those days that hack writers use for inspiration when writing crappy sitcoms. Crappy sitcoms that get cancelled before the first season finishes.

I put my shoes on the wrong feet, and was genuinely confused and alarmed when they did not fit correctly. I seriously considered the possibility that something horrible had happened to my feet while I slept. What horrible thing, I honestly can’t say.

I spent about fifteen precious minutes staring at my computer screen this morning, giggling psychotically over Bunny Suicides. After realizing that time had not, in fact, stopped while I was engaged in this useless activity, I panicked and sprinted to Starbucks for my daily overpriced-but-delicious caffeinated treat. And nearly missed the train.

While on the train, which was naturally packed, a charming gentleman dumped half of his steaming coffee down the front of my white, man-tailored shirt. I’d like to stress the word WHITE in this description. He laughed, and I am now convinced he is the guy who has been submitting all those creepy ‘God loves you, especially if you are a blonde pre-teen girl who likes long, deeply inappropriate hugs’ stories I keep having to read.

Sprinting from the train to the office, I burned the sleeve of my poor, abused shirt with my morning cigarette, which is probably punishment for not working out the past few days.

I slunk into the office, and spent ten frantic minutes scrubbing coffee from my shirt. I was only partially successful, and my shirt adopted a lovely transparent quality which the maintenance guys deeply appreciated. Then I was nearly ten minutes late for the production meeting. By the end of the day, I expect to be mugged by a clown.

And I was just informed that, once again, the editorial meeting for Peeled was moved. Not that I spent an entire evening laboring over it or anything.

Today: Better. Got lots of books, discussed the new Joan Bauer book [my boss liked my suggestions!] and discovered I WAS being paranoid, and nobody was, in fact, pissed at me.

Downside: My feet. I am in such excruciating pain that it’s not even remotely funny. Well, you might think it’s funny that I’m limping like a diseased geriatric, but I don’t. I nearly cried in the Book Room. I seriously think I’m going to have to take a cab home. And as some of you may know, and the rest of you now will, I am a notorious cheapskate. Or, as I prefer to think of myself, thrifty.

So yeah. Work ends in four minutes. I’m going to go home, and read. And drink. Drink a LOT.