I hydroplaned like mad today, although this was not the worst time. But "worst" implies that there was a best time, which God knows is impossible. That's some scary stuff. The Belt Parkway Westbound was backed up for about five miles because two of the three lanes were flooded, so it took me about two hours to make a drive that should have taken a tenth of that time. It started pouring down rain almost immediately after I dropped Jimmy off at JFK, and must have flooded the Parkway within about ten minutes. Absolutely ridiculous. But I wasn't doing anything crazy or unsafe when I hydroplaned - I didn't even hit an especially large patch of water. It just happened, out of the blue, and I only managed to miss the median and the other cars by a hair. About thirty seconds after I straightened back out and regained control, I felt my heart rate double and momentarily lost feeling to my fingers and toes. I've always had that disconnected, delayed reaction when stressed out or really angry - it's something of a blessing, because I don't start feeling the physical effects of the panic until after I've dealt with it and moved on already.
Jimmy's visit was a lot of fun. He's a super-chill guy, so anytime I was at work, he was just wandering around NYU doing grad school smart-kid Jimmy things, texting me occasionally to ask for directions, and showing up right on cue when I was ready to leave. Maybe the highlight of the weekend was our decision on Sunday night to attempt to make sangria - fabulous idea. If we would say so ourselves. What's really great about this story is that, for lack of a kitchen and thus any kind of kitchen utensils or containers, we were forced to mix the fruit, wine and sugar together in the Mr. Coffee coffee pot. And then stuff said coffee pot into my mini-fridge. The sangria turned out really well - I was surprised how much of the wine the fruit actually soaked up, but we split what was left between the three of us (Joe came to test our skill) and greatly enjoyed it. That fruit was stellar. I sense a project (bettering my sangria-making skills) coming on when I get set up in my new apartment.
So the editing project. It's both really intriguing, really frustrating, and really humbling. The most basic things in the world stump me, and I ask stupid questions of intelligent people to solve these problems, which annoys me most of all. I'm very, very slowly learning, but in some ways, Premiere Pro is just . . . not organic. Some things just don't flow. It's probably better than most, but sometimes it just doesn't make any sense to me, and I'm left scrambling for help amongst tutorials that cost large sums of money to watch. Also, oh hi, over-heating computer that burns my legs while complaining about the workload I expect from it. So help me, I will prevail.
Work drama . . . oh work drama. There's been more in the last two months working at Naidre's than there was for two and a half years at Cool Beans. No, that's not true. But Cool Beans really only had one dueling couple, and no crazy boss whatsoever. That pretty much makes the rest matter less. The fact that Kitty hates firing people, and does it so rarely, is a huge strike in Cool Beans' favor. I'm not looking forward to going back there, exactly, but at least I won't be in constant fear of my job. Money started disappearing over the week that Janice was gone, which, unsurprisingly, meant that several people's heads were instantly on the chopping block. Mine was not really one of them, as I've largely been dependable and accurate, but she sent out a few nasty crazy e-mails that led to grumbling from a decent number of the staff. The woman has the capability to be an indescribable bitch. There's just no way around that. Even when she's halfway relented and realized that maybe it's not as bad as she thought it was, she's still incredibly hard to deal with.
Oh third tattoo, how you and your Fineline Tattoo Parlor tempt me . . .
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