Because getting what you want always comes with strings attached

So….I’m going to work in France. Starting May. And even though working abroad is not exactly new to me, now it’s completely different. I should really be excited, but…

First, now I have a boyfriend. Second, I have a 12 months work contract I have to sign. Third, it’s France (y-uck)! No offence, but I pretty much hate everything that has to do with it. Except Coco Chanel. And Paris. Just the thought that in a few months I’ll be forced to speak a monotone language, without any intonation and logic grammar rules, is discussing. Not to mention that my ears will surely BLEED when hearing the stupid accent! How do you say “I feel very shitty about this” in French?

I hope they won’t make me adopt their bad haircuts as well!

Anyway…it seems like I don’t really have a choice, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.  I already downloaded a couple of  traveling brochures and I’m trying to plan my future weekends so that I make the most of them, without too much thinking about my relationship going straightly to the recycle bin.

The only good thing that will come out of this is my chance to escape the lifestyle I’ve been living for the last one and a half year. You know….I was kinda hoping getting my bachelor’s degree with a 9.66 will get me an exciting job, with a comfortable salary, which I will spend on a comfortable apartment and on exciting clubbing. I know, I’m not an endangered species, but hey, college graduates have the right to dream!

I mean…I had a nice life at college, living on my parents’ expense, but I was ready to give up a few pleasures in order to be on my own at last! Please notice that I said “a few pleasures” not ALL of them. The last year has been like rehab- no shopping for expensive dresses, no visits to the duty-free, almost no clubbing and not to mention I pretty much lost all the connections I had with the friends I had in college. Now, college wasn’t VERY glamorous, but there was rarely a dull moment in my life- and if it wasn’t exciting, it was most likely humiliating, which holds its own appeal. Now it’s just a stupid work-home routine which I can’t manage to escape and I can’t see how going to France could affect my relationship more than this boring routine does!

This doesn’t mean I don’t desperately wish my boyfriend could come

Punk’d

Sooo…I have a new job. That’s good news. Bad news is, I also have a new boss. Who happens to be a middle-aged Polisher, who’s ready to flatter Hitler, if that will get her personal advantage. She’s also the biggest business-card collector and she’s ready to fax you her ass next morning, if your card contains the words “manager”, “executive” or “entrepreneur”. We’ll call her “S” from now on, to ensure my protection and to save her from public humiliation.

My second boss happens to be her 25 years old son. He likes to call himself an “entrepreneur” (French for “unemployed”) and to tell everybody that he likes to be his own boss. He hates his mother, other bosses, rules, tidiness, authority and taxes. He likes Metallica, BMWs and spending his summer at Vama Veche (Y-UCK!). We’ll refer to him as “A”, but enough about him, today’s story is about the big boss, THE SLAVER.

The Slaver called me yesterday to let me know we have some work to do, and because she wasn’t able to find an edifice for our headquarters, we’ll have to work at her apartment. Duteous as you know me, I executed the orders and in less than an hour I was at her door. The apartment was lousy with business cards on which I could read “A. O. – Mayor”. Aghhh… I was already sensing a really odd day. Like …”OK, Slaver, I get it, you’re friends with the mayor, have a cupcake”.

Anyway…I wanted to know about the new project and found out that we (and by WE I mean ALL THREE OF US) would have to work at least 10 hours a day, in order to finish until the due date. It seems like my estimation was slightly erroneous, because S felt like three is too much.

S: “OK darlings, so I have an appointment at the Beauty Salon, I think you’ll manage without me, won’t you? B’buy!”

A: “Bye, mom.”

Me: ” Bye, lazy, useless bitch.”

While I was working my ass off and hoping never to see Mrs. “I’m too incompetent to do any real work but I have the authority to fuck up the work of those who aren’t” again, there she was: all radiant like she just had sex with the mayor.

S: “Hey, sweeties, missed me?”

A: “Whatever…”

Me: “Hi, Mrs. S”

S: “Hey, could you take a break and meet me in the kitchen? I want to ask you something.”

Me: “Sure…”

S: “Hey, I’ve just cut my hair, what do you think?:

O.M.G.!!! She was seriously asking my opinion about her freaking hair!

Me: “Mrs. S, the project isn’t going to write itself…”

S: “Wait, do you think my fringe would look better if I comb it backwards? I don’t like it like that, I want to personalize it, you know? I want to have my own hair style.”

Her “hair style” looked like someone just cut her hair with a pudding bowl.

Me(practically begging for mercy): “Yeah, maybe you should try that with hair gel.”

S: “Would you mind doing that for me?”

Me: “Maybe later.” (meaning “in your dreams, freak!”).

S: “OK then, maybe after I take a bath. I have to look good tonight, you know? I’m going out with the other babes, it’s N’s birthday, we’re going to drink some coktails at Gerald’s and hopefully meet some guys interested in us.”

My ears were bleeding… “the other babes”?!?!? gross!!! “meet some guys interested in us”?!?!?! You have a better chance of meeting the Easter Bunny!!!

I pretty much hate people in general. But this was beyond reasonable limits. So I got back to work, in an effort to definitely erase the scene from my brain. And I was doing a pretty good job with that, untillll…until I heard her calling my name.

Me: “Yes…”

S: “Come here, I have something I want to tell you!”

Me (looking for her in the kitchen): “OK, but where are you?”

S: “In the bathroom dear…”

I’m stupid most of the time, so I knocked and entered. What came next was almost unreal. She was taking a bath, naked, in the bathtub. And she wasn’t all covered by those white bubbles you see in movies. And she started talking and talking and giving me directions and saying how important it is for me to write something in the additional act and bla bla bla and other bla bla blas and I….I was just waiting for that Ashton dude, with his retro trucker hat, to come and make an ass of himself and yell loudly “oooohhh, duuuuude…you’ve just been punk’d… you should’ve seen your face…HILARIOUS!”.

Ever wondered what snowmen do during summer break?

Boo!

OK so this is, officially, the ugliest thing I have EVER seen. Achmed the Dead Terrorist with small boobies and candy floss on his head.

I mean…Seriously?!  AS IF…the veil a.k.a. dress that covers the exorcised Emily Rose wasn’t enough to scare the shit out of me, they had to bed a sheep dog on her head. Why, oh why?!? I will refrain from sleeping tonight just in case this image decides to haunt me in my nightmares.

Oh, and also, how can anyone possibly carry on his head something twice his weight? Unsolved mystery. I would hate to sit behind her in a movie theater.

The thing about making a deal with the Devil is, he always comes to collect

Well don’t act so surprised, no one in this world can be as GORGEOUS as I am, as SMART as I am, as FUN as I am, without making a deal with the Devil. In this case, the Devil is my mom, and I never thought I will pay the price for being born every-freakin-day-of-my-life! Trust me, you don’t even know the meaning of the word “evil” until you’ve met my mother, which you most likely never will.

So there it is: the painful, way to long, four-and-a-half minute phone conversation with my mom:

“Hey mom, I saw you today leaving work. Kick-ass shoes!”

“Don’t you think they make my ass look big?”

“…The shoes? How can the shoes…Eeew, mom!!! NO. Your ass looks just fine. I can’t believe I just told you that. Gross.”

“So your brother told me you had dinner last night, how come I wasn’t invited?”

“Well, we wanted to have a good time, Mom…”

“What does that suppose to mean?”

“Mom, I’m really not in the mood for the “I’m your mother, hear me roar” speech…”

“Do you have a date for the Christmas Party?”

“Ummm….What could I have said so wrong that the conversation’s center of attention moved to the relationship sector?”

“Dear…”

“Mom…”

“You remember my friend whom I met at your cousin’s wedding…”

“Ok mom, I already have difficulties following…”

“…well she has a son…”

“MOM!”

“What?”

“Doesn’t Hell freeze when you’re not there to run things?”

“Well think about it, why not? You don’t have a date for the Christmas Party, he doesn’t have a date for the Christmas Party…It made perfect sense”

“Just like it makes perfect sense to call me at 3 A.M. (!!!) to ask me about my Christmas plans?”

“Are you at least seeing someone?”

“Ok, mom, you win, now go to sleep.”

:deep sigh: