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Jan. 14th, 2011 09:58 pmMy next day off work should be rightaround Feb 21st. Good news, bad news, you decide! I think I'll be okay so long as I maintain a sleep cycle, and I will like all the extra money.
I am totally digging the work, though - have been getting to see clients and be a giant tax code nerd, spend slack time drafting porn (...and almost left my notebook there at the end of my shift today, o god), etc. Crazy boss is endearing herself via being left-handed and claiming to mark up her fees for cops. (I doubt this is true but, curiously, working tax filing last year did give me corroboration of negative opinions about jerkass entitled pigs; see also Mormons and megachurches - anyway, DM is also a military fetishist (prob literally) and this kind of disconnect between civilian and military uniformed menacing is, once again, guiding us towards the forthcoming junta.)
I have only made two massive fuckups so far and one of them was fixable with minimal embarrassment in less than five minutes and the other wasn't entirely my fault. I've also been having to go through DM's files from last year and phone clients to ask if they want to come back this year; not the most fun task ever but I've only cold-called one dead person so far. Etiquette failed me. *facepalm*
(PROTIP: never give a tax preparer your real phone number - make up a plausible fake one, take their business card and call them if you think they might have news for you, or just ask them what day you need to come back; if you're getting a refund they will be able to tell you exactly when you'll be getting it (unless you file on a Thursday). You are worth $$$ to us in return for an hour or so's work; we have a lot of time and incentive to call you and we are required to hold on to all the information you've told us for at least three years, whether or not you are dead).
Banksy, here:
Precious is sitting on my lap and licking the porn notes I wrote at work earlier. I don't even.
I am totally digging the work, though - have been getting to see clients and be a giant tax code nerd, spend slack time drafting porn (...and almost left my notebook there at the end of my shift today, o god), etc. Crazy boss is endearing herself via being left-handed and claiming to mark up her fees for cops. (I doubt this is true but, curiously, working tax filing last year did give me corroboration of negative opinions about jerkass entitled pigs; see also Mormons and megachurches - anyway, DM is also a military fetishist (prob literally) and this kind of disconnect between civilian and military uniformed menacing is, once again, guiding us towards the forthcoming junta.)
I have only made two massive fuckups so far and one of them was fixable with minimal embarrassment in less than five minutes and the other wasn't entirely my fault. I've also been having to go through DM's files from last year and phone clients to ask if they want to come back this year; not the most fun task ever but I've only cold-called one dead person so far. Etiquette failed me. *facepalm*
(PROTIP: never give a tax preparer your real phone number - make up a plausible fake one, take their business card and call them if you think they might have news for you, or just ask them what day you need to come back; if you're getting a refund they will be able to tell you exactly when you'll be getting it (unless you file on a Thursday). You are worth $$$ to us in return for an hour or so's work; we have a lot of time and incentive to call you and we are required to hold on to all the information you've told us for at least three years, whether or not you are dead).
Banksy, here:
We realized halfway through the edit that the ending needed to be as unresolved as possible. I've learnt from experience that a painting isn't finished when you put down your brush - that’s when it starts. The public reaction is what supplies meaning and value. Art comes alive in the arguments you have about it. If we've done our job properly with EXIT, then the best part of the entire movie is the conversation in the car park afterwards.
Precious is sitting on my lap and licking the porn notes I wrote at work earlier. I don't even.
