More updating
Apr. 20th, 2002 10:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mousmeWell, here it is, 11:30 at night on Saturday, and I'm updating yet again.
Day started out not to excitingly. Father dropped me off at Lionel Groulx, where I took the bus. Arrived at Dorval Circle to find I'd missed the last bus to get me to work on time by about thirteen minutes. Had to walk to work, which is about twenty minutes' worth. I was wearing heels 'cause of the date with Poms, so that made the walk more unpleasant than it would otherwise have been.
Note to self: next time, wear flats.
Day went by blindingly fast. Had a number of unpleasant calls, but the good part about this job is that I take none of the stress home with me. At least, not permanently, and I get to laugh at and mock all the stupid people who can't get their phones to work. I don't understand why they think that yelling at me will get their problem fixed faster or at all. When I tell them I'm not authorised to give them information, yelling and cursing will not incite me to give them the information. In fact, it will prompt me to stick them on hold for a while so I can put notes in their file in peace, come back on and repeat that I can't give them the information they need without the proper authorisation.
*sigh* People are unreasonable creatures. Oh well. No skin off my nose.
Half–hour lunches suck the big one, however. I had to finish my banana between phone calls. I was unamused.
Poms came to get me in his Papy's car, which was nice. We parked near my place and walked to Café L'Étranger, which was pleasant but again not uber–thrilling because of the heels. Must find orthopedic support for stupid arches that make feet hurt when wearing heels.
Of course, whom should we run into at the restaurant than The Litch accompanied by his "non–girlfriend" Ayesha and Marie–Pascale. They promptly invited us out to a movie afterwards, and I think Poms was secretly wondering if it counts as murder if you destroy an undead. We politely begged off, but it kind of put a damper on our resolve to have a "serious" conversation until The Litch and his harem left to see "Changing Lanes" later on.
Conversation as usual varied from everything to family, skiing, sports, history, architecture, travel, parents, psychology (personal and theoretical), and eventually passed on to more serious and personal matters.
Apparently poor Poms panicked sometime on Sunday by getting the odd notion in his head that he ought to know by now if he wants to marry me or not. Yeesh, it's only been five dates. Anyway, we clearly established that we're going to take it one step at a time and figure it out as we go along.
We exchanged more anecdotes, did some more serious talking pretty much along the same lines, which allowed me to explain my whole habit of dealing with all badness and stress in my life by being flippant about it. Doesn't mean I don't care, I just don't know how else to deal with it. My father is the same way: you can't have a serious conversation with him about anything, it always has to be in the form of a joke or a really off–the–wall metaphor. My mother is different, but I still have to be flippant about serious subjects because if not she freaks out in a major way. Being flippant keeps her reassured that I'm okay (even when I'm not).
Gave the doorman some material for gossip when Poms walked me home (he discovered the nice part of hand–holding tonight: it really seemed to amaze him that this one small act could be so pleasant, I think), but it was still all good. The doorman leads a dull life. He needs to be entertained in ways other than his stupid radio with the sportscast blasting at all hours.
Mother was in good mood when I got home. Was watching cheesy made–for–tv thriller about a mad scientist who was about to accidentally destroy the world with a black hole–creating device. He died a messy and poetic death. Mother was pleased with results.
She spoke with WW today (mother of my childhood friends, The Twins) and her eldest son AW who asked if I had a boyfriend, apparently. My mother hemmed and hawed, suddenly realising she'd forgotten everything about Poms including his last name. I think she may be less happy with this arrangement than she thinks, at least, that would explain her reticence to remember anything I tell her.
My parents have this wonderful bit of selective hearing, or maybe selective memory: they only retain what they want. Oh well.
All in all, a pretty darned good day. Will have to crash soon, sadly. Work tomorrow.
Day started out not to excitingly. Father dropped me off at Lionel Groulx, where I took the bus. Arrived at Dorval Circle to find I'd missed the last bus to get me to work on time by about thirteen minutes. Had to walk to work, which is about twenty minutes' worth. I was wearing heels 'cause of the date with Poms, so that made the walk more unpleasant than it would otherwise have been.
Note to self: next time, wear flats.
Day went by blindingly fast. Had a number of unpleasant calls, but the good part about this job is that I take none of the stress home with me. At least, not permanently, and I get to laugh at and mock all the stupid people who can't get their phones to work. I don't understand why they think that yelling at me will get their problem fixed faster or at all. When I tell them I'm not authorised to give them information, yelling and cursing will not incite me to give them the information. In fact, it will prompt me to stick them on hold for a while so I can put notes in their file in peace, come back on and repeat that I can't give them the information they need without the proper authorisation.
*sigh* People are unreasonable creatures. Oh well. No skin off my nose.
Half–hour lunches suck the big one, however. I had to finish my banana between phone calls. I was unamused.
Poms came to get me in his Papy's car, which was nice. We parked near my place and walked to Café L'Étranger, which was pleasant but again not uber–thrilling because of the heels. Must find orthopedic support for stupid arches that make feet hurt when wearing heels.
Of course, whom should we run into at the restaurant than The Litch accompanied by his "non–girlfriend" Ayesha and Marie–Pascale. They promptly invited us out to a movie afterwards, and I think Poms was secretly wondering if it counts as murder if you destroy an undead. We politely begged off, but it kind of put a damper on our resolve to have a "serious" conversation until The Litch and his harem left to see "Changing Lanes" later on.
Conversation as usual varied from everything to family, skiing, sports, history, architecture, travel, parents, psychology (personal and theoretical), and eventually passed on to more serious and personal matters.
Apparently poor Poms panicked sometime on Sunday by getting the odd notion in his head that he ought to know by now if he wants to marry me or not. Yeesh, it's only been five dates. Anyway, we clearly established that we're going to take it one step at a time and figure it out as we go along.
We exchanged more anecdotes, did some more serious talking pretty much along the same lines, which allowed me to explain my whole habit of dealing with all badness and stress in my life by being flippant about it. Doesn't mean I don't care, I just don't know how else to deal with it. My father is the same way: you can't have a serious conversation with him about anything, it always has to be in the form of a joke or a really off–the–wall metaphor. My mother is different, but I still have to be flippant about serious subjects because if not she freaks out in a major way. Being flippant keeps her reassured that I'm okay (even when I'm not).
Gave the doorman some material for gossip when Poms walked me home (he discovered the nice part of hand–holding tonight: it really seemed to amaze him that this one small act could be so pleasant, I think), but it was still all good. The doorman leads a dull life. He needs to be entertained in ways other than his stupid radio with the sportscast blasting at all hours.
Mother was in good mood when I got home. Was watching cheesy made–for–tv thriller about a mad scientist who was about to accidentally destroy the world with a black hole–creating device. He died a messy and poetic death. Mother was pleased with results.
She spoke with WW today (mother of my childhood friends, The Twins) and her eldest son AW who asked if I had a boyfriend, apparently. My mother hemmed and hawed, suddenly realising she'd forgotten everything about Poms including his last name. I think she may be less happy with this arrangement than she thinks, at least, that would explain her reticence to remember anything I tell her.
My parents have this wonderful bit of selective hearing, or maybe selective memory: they only retain what they want. Oh well.
All in all, a pretty darned good day. Will have to crash soon, sadly. Work tomorrow.
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What is it with heels anyhow...?
Date: 2002-04-21 03:30 pm (UTC)Never quite understood the point, personally.