raucous workplace > creepy workplace
September 27, 2007

Jane got me a job waiting tables at the place where she finally snagged a bar-tending job, that goth-themed indie bar/restaurant where I met Ford, Poe’s. I feel pretty torn about it, since “waitress” was the job title I was looking to shed by spending four freaking years in college. Should have second-guessed that Art History major with a concentration in Female Professors and Amusing Yet Poor Decisions. Still, the owner of Poe’s is a really decent woman, and it beats the pancake place in WVA where I pretty much had to serve drunken frat boys pancakes on my breasts to get tips enough to pay for rent, groceries, and books. Poe’s is a late-night joint with lots of vegetarian options and hipster kids. Jane says they have decent live music. Everywhere has decent live music here–a perk of Nashville.

Needless to say, the interview with the insurance company was a total clusterfuck. When I got there first thing in the morning, the entire staff was in a soundproof board room that I could see through a glass wall. Their heads were all bowed and their hands were clenched. When they started filing out of the room a few minutes later, I noticed that the women were all wearing these hideous ankle-length khaki skirts. Gary, my interviewer and would-be boss, nervously licked his lips as he lead me into his office. He wanted to know how much experience I had in administrative assistance, and I told him none, and he said “None? No experience?” I said, well, I can take a phone message with the best of them. You read my CV online in order to call me in for an interview. He looked down at my wraparound dress and black heels (conservative outfit, I thought), and said, looking over his glasses, “I don’t know where you’ve worked before. But there will be a dress code in this office. Most of our clients are good Christian families.” Wait for it, wait for it. Then I ask him if he will be my boss, and he goes, “Well, I would be your earthly supervisor. Here, we all have the same boss…in Christ.” I slapped a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing, and managed to hold it together until I had just barely stepped out of the office. So waitressing it is. I’d rather deal with some overtly sexual comments and spilt beer than administrative assist at Jesus Creepery, Inc. Remember, he’s watching you, especially when you lead Gary into temptation. Ewww.

My first night on is tonight. And Friday is my big, um, art lesson rendez-vous with The Downstairs Neighbor. And I’m lost on what to wear and what to talk about to such a worldly, beautiful woman.

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The Downstairs Neighbor
September 26, 2007

Think of my usually plain brown eyes with little rotating stars and hearts in them.

I have a gigantor crush.

On Ford’s downstairs neighbor. Jane and I went over there last night while we were out doing errands because I forgot my sunglasses there on Monday. He opened the door, and there she was, sitting at that too-hip brushed steel bar, sipping black coffee.

They were talking art. Ford has this delusion that he is going to be the next Jackson Pollock (and a radiologist? I don’t know). We joined in and went downstairs to see some of her work.

Think of a flower exploding. Think of a stick of dynamite going off in a pitcher of lemonade. To a foreground of black silhouettes of pin-up girls and topographical symbols.

She must be between forty and forty five. Jane kept humming “Here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson…” on the car ride back, and I just sat there with a crimson face like a goon.

The Downstairs Neighbor proclaimed herself half-Spanish and half-Irish, and she’s got this black silky hair that was so long she had it knotted up without a ponytail holder. And a too-big white Oxford shirt.

Ford invited us to stay for dinner, and ordered in some Chinese. (I’m starting to wonder when he does any of this medical school homework.) We all sat around drinking whiskey and talking about Frida Kahlo.

Darcy <after drink #3>: God, how do you paint like that? I’d love to paint like that.

The Downstairs Neighbor: Why don’t you come by on Friday and I can show you some tips on how to get started?

Flirty or friendly?

Wish. She. Weren’t. So. Married.

Gah.

east tar pit, wva, to skyline, tn
September 18, 2007

When I step onto the front lawn and look to my right, I can see the Nashville city skyline. I live in a city. With a skyline! Screw the hum of the food processing plant across the street, this is a cosmo location.

Jane and just I rolled into beautiful Nashville about an hour ago this morning to sign our *brand new lease* with our landlord Devon. We stayed in Kentucky last night with one of Jane’s ex-boyfriends, Steven, which was less dramatic than I thought it would be…he made us some delectable curry and we drank some wine and watched “House.” And I only needed one pillow over my head to block out the barbarian moans coming from the other room in order to sleep. I’m only on my third cup of jasmine tea today…so the writing abilities are still a little fuzzy. But I thought I’d try out the wireless connection in the house. Hello out there?