Burn!

I freaking hate it when your daily website changes the design without any warning. I could go to that damn site and click around with my eyes closed, but no, you just had to go and mess with my mind. Bite me ESPN.com!

Is it time for Thursday evening $10 Martinis and Manicures yet?

Say It, Say We Are Unagi

Five girlfriends got together for dinner and drinks tonight; three hours of laughter and $147.89 worth of sushi, beer and sake later they emerged from the restaurant. A few items overheard from their corner table include:

"Tight jeans fool you everytime; it's like a Jack in the Box."
"Pinch me off some of the green stuff."
"Was it a picture of the whole thing, or just the wiener?"
"I don't give a damn; scabies are just part of the fun."
"Shut your piehole and show me your wiener."

But the best overheard tidbit came from the newbie. Quite happily, it turns out the batteries provided by the vibrator store were just inadequate. She had an epiphany, switched them with some high grade Duracells, there is plenty of power now and all is good.

You're Killing Me Smalls

Apparently, we've hit a major budget deficit here at work. I say apparently, because most of us cannot fathom how a budget surplus, when one president retires, can suddenly turn to a $5 million budget deficit when the new president takes over and "re-analyzes the books". Let's just say there's been an unofficial/curiosity look at the books, amongst a few inside accounting type people, and they strongly disagree, too. To make a long story short it just seems as if the public broadcasting of said financial situation, and continual public use of recently retired president's name as the reason for the "poor financial outlook", just seems like a crappy attempt to drag someone else's name through the mud.

The "budget problems" have caused many changes and cuts. Let's take a moment to talk about a few of them, shall we?

Change # 1:
We received an email from Facilities informing us that the cost of new trash bags is simply too daunting to handle. Therefore, office receptacles will no longer be emptied daily. We are now being asked to not throw any garbage in our office receptacles. Instead, we should carry items to the lone recycle bin within each building, or to the trash barrel located in the only staff workroom of each building. Rest assured those will continue to be emptied every other day.

Hmmmmm. What do I have to say to that? I'll tell you what I have to say to that; "MY ASS!" You really think I'm going to be carrying my garbage all over this freaking place to save the fifty cents one trash bag costs? I don't think so, and if you do think so, well then why don't you pass me the bowl you're smoking from.

Change # 2:
Departmental budgets have been cut, so new office supplies are simply out of the question. Basically, bring your own pen and pad of paper.

Riiiigggghhhhttt. To that one I say, "BITE ME!"

Change # 3:
Staff members are being asked to keep a daily log of their activities; not just a list of tasks they completed, but a minute by minute account of their day. (8:00 to 8:15 - I emailed Stick Up Her Ass in Accounts Receivable, 8:15 to 8:45 - I met with Tells Lame Jokes the Senior Accountant).

What do I think about this change? I think my list will look a little something like the following.

8:15ish - Arrived at work, like every other asshole here does at this time of day.
8:15ish to 8:45ish - Checked email and talked with cubicle mate about cocktails from last night.
8:45ish to 10:45ish - Surfed the web a bit and completed TPS report, but forgot the cover letter.
10:45ish to 10:50ish - Excused myself to the ladies' room as I am on my period and, well, I needed to take care of some female business. Is that okay, or am I supposed to check in and show you my tampon for approval first?
10:50ish-11:50ish - Bitched with co-workers about this fucking kindergarten bullshit and discussed what a fucking dumbass you are for attempting to make us do it.
11:50ish-1:15ish - Took an extended lunch to talk more extensively about what a dumbass you are.
1:15ish-3:30ish - Surfed the web some more, this time looking for a new job, and completed another needless report you requested, that you could've completed yourself, if it weren't for the fact that you're too much of a moron to even email.
3:30ish-3:50ish - Excused myself to the ladies' room again, but remembered that I needed approval first, so I went to your office. I had to wait for you to get your nose out of the president's ass, but was finally able to show you my tampon. Whew! It's a good thing you approve of the Playtex brand.
3:50ish-5:00ish - Packed up my desk because this is bullshit, and I won't be back tomorrow.

Do you think that list will work? Yeah, me neither. Now that the holidays are over, the job search/extreme to desire to move somewhere new is back in full swing. I turn to you, my avid readers, and ask you to help me, please. Here it is; toss your dart and tell me where it lands.

Who Does That -- Parts IX, X, XI and XII

A collection from the last few weeks of blogging absence; everything from moronic drivers to "fashion" choices to horrible attempts to pick up a woman.

Part IX

You're peacefully driving along in your car, enjoying the Top 20 on XM Radio, when suddenly you're greeted by a rogue car entering your lane and coming within about six inches of you and your life. You slam on the brakes, narrowly escaping untimely death, only to realize the reason you almost saw the light was because lady in the lane next to you is reading a book! No, she's not just attempting to glance at a piece of paper for a split second; she's freaking reading a book! Did you hear me? She's reading a book! I'm talking dome light on, book opened up on the steering wheel, flat out, reading a book!

Who does that?

Part X

Excuse me. Little girls. Yes, I'm talking to you three little fourteen year old girls, half dressed in hoochie mama outfits, blocking the walkway in the mall because you're standing there talking quite loudly on the speakerphone about your boy troubles. And I do mean boy. That's right, you all can talk about what little Tommy told Susie you said about liking little Johnny tomorrow in Algebra. Stop acting like little morons, in the middle of the mall, and get out of the way. But before you go, could one of you dial up your mom and hand me the phone so I can ask her what the hell she's doing while you're at the mall advertising your goods for two dollars?

Who does that?

Part XI

Oh look there she is, our own little Pamela Anderson right here in Missouri. How are those new boobs treating you? Really, that good, huh? They upped your take at the strip club every night by that much? Well, who knew? That's so interesting.

Did those new boobs also make you think that I'd really want you, the skank who cheated with my best friend's man while she knew he was in a committed relationship, to come over and say hello to me? Did those new boobs really make you think that I would be okay with that? And did those new boobs really make you think that those fake Birkenstocks worn with black socks was a good fashion statement?

Who does that?

Part XII

You're out enjoying the rare, and beautiful, 70 degree day in the middle of January. You're running your butt off on the nature trail; feeling the burn. You've just finished cranking it up your third steep ass, quarter mile long hill, therefore, you're sweating, red faced, doubled over and really hurting. When all of a sudden, some guy decides he wants to attempt to hit on you. What in the hell?

First of all, I'm not looking. But let me assure you that if I were looking, I certainly wouldn't be doing it while dressed in workout clothes (which includes a ratty t-shirt advertising my uncle's auto repair shop), face as red as a beet, sweating my ass off and doubled over grabbing my thighs and butt. Okay, okay, maybe the grabbing isn't helping you and your dumbness. But, believe me, it's a "holy insanely on fire thighs and sore butt Batman! Wow, that's going to hurt in the morning" grab. It's most definitely not an invitation to "please come and tap it" grab. Do you not see that I'm dying here? Can you not hear me gasping for air and asking my friend to please kill me now?

If a woman is working out, and dying, you're more than welcome to ask her if she would like a drink of water. You can certainly ask if she would like a ride to her car so she doesn't have to walk back. But you cannot attempt to hit on her.

Who does that?

I Love Kung Fu

Do you have someone in your office who just can't seem to shut up? The kind of person who no matter what the situation they always have to say something. Even if it's just to say "cool", they have to say something. Well I do and I can't stand it!

We'll call her Chief Shut the Fuck Up. Chief Shut the Fuck Up is in her mid forties, is a very short and round lady and talks about her nerdy daughter all the live long day. Not only does she talk about her daughter all the time, but she also talks about work all the freaking time. She is also not the kind of person who can just say "I need to finish this report". She must tell you all the details of the last four days worth of conversations regarding the report before she says "I need to finish this report". You know what? I don't give a shit. It's not my work. I don't need to hear all the details, and her trying to take the time to tell me is keeping me from doing my own work.

Chief Shut the Fuck Up doesn't just talk about work when we're working. If we're taking a break, she's talking about work. When we're walking to our cars after work, she's still talking about work. I'm sorry, but at 4:59 I no longer think about work. I think about the beer or glass of wine I want to have, the game I want to watch, the shoes I want to go shopping for, lying on the beach anywhere in the Caribbean, how much I can't wait to talk to the fabulous man in my life, eating some sushi, all sorts of stuff that have diddly to do with work. And I can definitely assure you that I won't be thinking about work again until tomorrow morning at about 8:30. That's right, I won't be back until at least 8:15 and I won't begin working until approximately 8:30. That's just the way we do it around here. I know she's still a little wet behind the ears, but she has been here about three months, surely she has noticed a pattern amongst the thirty other people she sees constantly.

You see, Chief Shut the Fuck Up, it's not that I'm lazy, it's that I just don't care. Mother... shitter... son of an... ass! Shut up for the love of god!