another compulsory first module is Alt+Tabs and Work Sanity Habits

figuring out the naughty parts of the copier was a typical first week.

and then by now,
if i hear a bull snorting, i know who she is and can guess why about half the time.
hearing sweet child o' mine's intro chime out from my lady bimbimbatt's mobile phone for the 14th time in two hours doesn't make my fingers twitch as murderously anymore. just with passiveviolent-recreational imaginations.
i know who's stomping down the corridors to where right now by the sound of his clompy stride, and what's the gossip on him.
The Mystery of The Virgin Foosball Table doesn't fill me with as many management conspiracy theories.
I can successfully tune out starworld for 8 hours. this is grey's anatomy, scrubs, simpsons, ellen degeneres show, 8 simple rules for dating my daughter, lipstick jungle episodes that this girl-of-no-cable is suppressing here. along with endless desperate housewives and ugly betty commercials, so it's very win/lose.
i understand the multi-layered intricacies of a task conveyed in 5 hurried words now.
and the simplicity behind another's 5 minutes worth of meandering instructions.
finally, finally, finally am done fielding questions about my mixed heritage. what do people with sublter family histories talk about in all their first conversations? enquiring minds REALLY want to know, because enquiring mind thinks she got off pretty easy if just snagging a japanese Y chromosome and obvious name means that she only needs to study one chapter to ace the tedious 'Introduction to Introductions' life module. passing that module is -8 points deadly awkward silences.
oh, and now they really should have made me sign a confidentiality form.
the magic formula to surviving corporate winter here has been concorted. anti-death vers.3.4: thick pants (with less flares), cotton top, knitted cardigan, fleece-lined great big hoodie and pasmina shawl. louder colours are toastier. microwave water bottles, resist trying to bloody microwave hands too. by the way, say fleece. no, not fleas- fleece! hah, bet i caught you, me too man.
even my mind has been broken in to doing some admininistration. it's like how you broke your feet in the first few times you wore high heels and could not believe women really put themselves through this much pain and piercing, shooting torture, ohmygodohcrapohshitaghhhhouchooowouch. then 3 months later you're buying your 3rd pair of 4-inchers, and your feet go longer before crying and cursing their lots in life, whyohwhy aren't they manfeet?, and the pain isn't that bad really, and some mornings you think you can't leave the house if you don't have stiles to boost your vanity with, and you have pants that you hem a couple of inches longer than usual so that they only work with heels if you ask those anal fashionistas and maybe it's not the right metaphor anymore.

the only other new friend i want to make here is whoever switches the gottbedamned TV in the mornings. And you probably know why I haven't bumped into him/her yet. heeh.

only just got settled in, don't want to leeeeave.