My road to nowhere...

Yesterday I learned an important thing about myself.

As I walked into work, turned off my iPod, took out my ear pieces, and took off my glasses, I was apporached by my boss (of which I think I have like five...all different titles/demands of me). She corrected me on a form I filled out that I was given by another boss (Education Specialist) that was for requesting comp time for Monday's prep work for a teacher's conference. Turns out that I'm not allowed to work it because the "Department frowns upon it". This proceeded to cause a battle between the bosses.

I didn't work Monday night but my story doesn't end there. I ended up helping prep for the conference during work (the one boss was able to get me to do this without informing the other one). During this "prep time", otherwise known as lugging crap, I learned two things. 1) I'm by no means a wuss. 2) I'm not Superman. I don't even think I'm on a Supergirl or Superboy level either. Maybe a Superman with some kryptonite around...and a chest cold. What? Clark Kent looks buff.

Cut to why I really created this bloooooooooog. About a week ago I sent in my Peace Corps application. Which I had previously done about six or seven times beforehand but never turned in. Chicken? A little. But I made a lot of pointless excuses not to finish it. So I turned it in. Begged a friend to write a recommendation (actually three volunteered), coaxed a volunteer supervisor to fill one out, and my boss suprisingly enough agreed to do one. Definitely ran out of excuses. It's like God wants me to go forth and prosper...in another country, details details...

That application took me part of the work day to do. I had nothing to do. Go figure. Then the magical medical form with questions like "Do you have a heart problem? Yes or No" "Do you have glaucoma? Yes or No". I mean there were no options to write "Yeah but it was a mild heart attack. I just took an ibuprofen and got over it" or "why are you offering marijuana? I don't smoke it but I can help some poor farmers in South America sell it". Unfortunately I just got to click the little circle with no. Poor poor farmers won't get my marijuana selling skills...of which I really have none. I think I heard somewhere about a quarter..or dime of marijuana...does that mean how much it costs or its size or what?

I'm too much of a straight shooter. I need to know these mad gangsta' skills before I do the Peace Corps. I need to represent America right. Probably should work on daying "dawg", "foo", and "ya'll" without having a smirk.

Anywho, I'm waiting on my toolkit from the Peace Corps and a phone call in order to continue this adventure. Knowing me I'll be like "okay time to go to the doctors and get all the tests done tomorrow". Paperwork is either my best friend or my nemesis. If I do it as soon as I get it then it's grand. But if it requires little energy then it sits (ex: my taxes sat at home for a month...all they needed was a signature).