Continuing To Make A Great Impression With My Sausage Fingers

How is your job going?

I really hate that question. My parents ask it every time we talk and I hear it at least once a week from either Captain Carl or friends or my sister. I hate that question because I don’t ever know what to say. Sometimes I say “I hate it” but that’s not really true. I don’t hate my job. I don’t anything my job. It’s just there. It’s just my job. It’s what I do during the day to pay the bills each month until I can quit and become a photographer full-time. Okay, some days I really do hate it, but who wants to hear me say that? So I just say “Oh it’s fine” and move on to a different topic.

But there are days at my office that I actually enjoy. Usually it’s the days that we screw around and don’t get any real work done. Someone brings in donuts or candy and it's probably a Friday and we're all happy because we're wearing jeans and things get silly and then someone ends up emailing out a stupid and embarrassing picture of me. Because for some reason when I’m having a good time, I decide someone just has to take my picture. I’m all “Check it out! I’m totally doing this super hilarious thing! Take my picture!” and then we all laugh and I think maybe this job isn’t so bad after all. And then I go home and come back in the morning and see the picture that got emailed around and I wonder what the hell I was thinking.

So this month’s picture?

Yeah.

I thought it was hilarious at the time because hahaa omg this mask is sooo funny!

And then it got emailed to everyone in the office.

And then it went in the monthly newsletter. The newsletter that goes out to not only my office but also the parent company’s office. The parent company, y’all. Thanks to my stupid-ass self getting all hopped up on Halloween candy, me and my sausage fingers are now currently touring the CEO’s computer screen.

*sigh*

At least I’ll have something to tell my parents this weekend in response to their question…

How is your job going?

Great! Last week I ate five mini-Twix bars and then wore a Frankenstein mask around the office and someone took a picture of me making a stupid face with sausage finger claws and they totally put it in the company newsletter!

Is that……good?

I’ll probably get a promotion because of it. Or fired. One of the two.

Oh dear....

Carpal Tunnel Here I Come

So I haven't been blogging. Because I'm super important and very busy at my new job. And also because I have to limit my typing on account of all the carpal tunnel I'm developing at the office.

See, the problem is my chair. Best I can tell, it's been around since bell bottoms were in style the first time. The arms are all scratched up and the seat is basically a piece of wood covered in something that probably once resembled some kind of fabric. My left butt cheek is completely numb by the time 5pm rolls around each day. One of the wheels falls off. A lot. I will be rolling one way or the other and suddenly I've got a gangsta lean and my wheel has shot across the room and into the next cubicle and the guy that sits there picks it up and is all "Lose something??" and I'm all "Hahahaa that was just as funny as the last six times you said it, Greg!" and he's all "Ahhhahhaaa, I'm hilarious right?" and I'm all "Hey Greg, adouchebagsayswhat?" and he's all "What?" and I'm all "Exactly. Now give me my goddamn wheel."

But the worst part about this chair? The height adjustment lever is broken, leaving me sitting dangerously close to the floor and typing with my elbows up by my ears. I'm pretty sure this is a direct OSHA violation. I shouldn't have to look up at a 90 degree angle to see my computer screen. And I'm pretty sure my mouth is not supposed to be at the same level as my desktop.

Dudes, seriously. This company is small, but they build expensive things. I have a Windows 7 Professional computer with a screen as large as my Taurus windshield. It's weird that I can't get a new $40 office chair. Our office is located in an upscale neighborhood where Dallas Cowboys football players live, but there are no tape dispensers or black pens anywhere in the place. We have security cameras and a glass and marble reception area with black metal folding chairs for our vendors to sit on while they wait (on camera) for their meetings.

Oh, and we can't wear jeans on Fridays and I'm not allowed to leave at the end of the day if anyone else is walking out already. I have to wait a few minutes so that I don't seem "too eager to go home". For reals, yo.

These bitches better keep up with the free Diet cokes or I am so out of there.

A Child Is In Charge Of My Pay Check

So my new boss is 29 years old. He's seven years younger than me. And he's my boss.

When I was 13 and going through puberty, my boss was in kindergarten.

When I was 18 and going off to college, my boss had no pubes and was in middle school.

When I turned 21 and got smashed drinking slippery nipples and something something apple bomb something's, he turned 14 and was probably popping his pimples and trying to hide his spontaneous erections in math class.

And now I'm 36 and he's 29 and totally the boss of me.

*sigh*

How did I get here, people? I have a degree! I was going places once! I had ambition! Goals! Purpose! Perky tits!

Blah.

My only consolation? He's prematurely balding. It's not much, but I'll take what I can get.

Stupid baldy baby boss man.

Security Camera + Obscene Gesture = Awesome

Day 3 at my new job. I only accidentally walked into the conference room instead of the copy room twice today. Yesterday was five times. Hurrah for improvement!

I've already decided who I am going to hate the most there. She's in charge of office supplies and wears capris with tennis shoes and has a Martina Navratilova haircut and thinks she's the boss of everyone. But not me. No sir.

I am an independent thinker.
I am setting my own pace.
I am totally going to piss her off on purpose.



My new company is so small, they don't have a receptionist. They have a receptionist's desk but no receptionist. They also have nowhere for me to sit until the office remodel is complete in two weeks. Guess who's sitting at the receptionist desk?

Lucky for them, I have a natural sweet and helpful manner that lends itself well to a reception area. Shut up, I totally do.

Also, there is a camera in the ceiling of the reception area that points directly at the back of my head and my computer monitor. And not only does my manager have a giant flat screen mounted in his office where he can watch my every move, but there is also one mounted in the general cubicle area for the entire office to view. Presumably so they can see when a customer walks in. But customers hardly ever come in, so mostly what they do is watch me type emails and file things and eat my sad little lunch at my desk while I read my sad little book. It's like being on a reality tv show, except with less fist fights and lesbians making out. My goal is to figure out new sneaky ways to flip everyone off. Today I used the old "head scratch with middle finger raised" technique. Classic.

Job Interview Tip #1: Always Be Rhyming

I had a job interview a couple days ago. If they hire me, I would be getting a significant pay increase. I have no idea what my odds are, but I felt like I had a really good interview. When I told Captain Carl about it, he said I should send the manager I interviewed with a follow up email to thank him for his time. I was all "What do I say?" and he was all "Keep it short and sweet" and I was all "I can totally do sweet" and I guess that made alarm bells go off in the Captain's head for some reason because he was all "Don't be inappropriate". I have no idea why he would say that to me.

So here's the email I sent the guy.

Dear Mr Manager,

Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to meet with you today. I sincerely appreciate your time and consideration. You seem like an accomplished purchasing manager. In my eight years in the purchasing business, I've known many managers *wink wink* and you are easily the most intelligent and snappiest dresser of all of them. For reals. I especially liked your slacks and how they fit you so well in the buttocks area. I know most people wouldn't say that to you. Most people would use the word "pants" instead of "slacks". Call me old fashioned. Or awesome. Whichever.

Anyway, I feel that I should perhaps clarify my answer to your question about what kind of salary I am looking for. When I said "I would prefer to start out high enough that I don't have to come to your house and perform special favors to earn overtime wages like I do with my current manager" I really meant "I am totally done exchanging sexual favors for money". Hope that clears things up for you. Because you looked kind of confused and I would hate to start out our business relationship with a misunderstanding. Although I thought you would have gotten my meaning, what with all those hand gestures I was making. But whatevs.

In conclusion, awesome slacks. If you hire me, I'll totally have your back. I just made up that rhyme. Can you believe that? It just like, totally came out of my brain and through my fingertips and into this email. Like magic. Or God. Unless you don't believe in God, then forget that part. Go back to magic. Or Buddha. Or ummm, Allah? I don't know, I'm not good at pretend religions.

Sincerely,
Miss Yvonne

UPDATE: Y'all. I got the job. For reals. Clearly I am a thank you letter writing genius.

The Sexiest Man Alive Is Apparently 17 Years Old

Well, another Halloween has come and gone. I'm always sad when November 1 comes around because October is my favorite month. Weather gets cooler...if you are lucky enough to live in a cold enough place, the leaves turn beautiful colors...people start making stews and soups...I stop getting the boob sweats just from walking outside to get the mail. You know, it's basically just awesome.

We had no trick or treaters last night at our house. That really pissed me off. I mean, I put out the light up pumpkins and the scary sounds doormat and everything. Not one little shit rang our doorbell. I went outside around 9pm to see what the problem was and none of our neighbors had their lights on. Jerks. Of course kids won't come down our street if only one house is lit up...it's bad Halloween policy to waste time on that street.

The Kiddo is too old for trick or treating...so of course he told us he wanted to go with his friends. A pack of 17 year old boys out wandering the streets at night. Yeah, not a good idea. He had a Halloween party to go to anyway, so it worked out. His girlfriend came over and got dressed up as Marilyn Monroe. I asked the Kiddo if he was going to go as Joe Dimaggio and he was all "Who?" and I was all "The baseball player" and he was all "Huh?" and I was all "He was married to Marilyn" and he was all "So?" and I was all "See, because they were married so if you went as Joe, you would be like....oh nevermind" and he was all "I'm going as The Sexiest Man Alive" and then he put his hands on his hips and stared confidently into space.

For reals, this was his "costume".



So I told y'all that I was dressed like a pirate at work on Friday. And for those of you who don't believe I was really drinking on the job, I submit to you my proof.

Picture taken at 8am

Picture taken at 1pm

Told ya.

Mr. Dr. Professor Sexy - Now With More Drunk Comments!

I'm sitting at my desk right now dressed as a pirate. My division at work spent 4 days decorating our office to look like a pirate ship. Now I'm wearing a scarf on my head and a gun and dagger on my hips. I look so hot it's ridiculous. I'm like the sexiest overweight pirate lady ever. I'll probably be drunk by noon because I brought a bottle of "fake" rum as a prop. It's filled with "ginger ale" and I've already drank a third of it and it's only 8am. I'm totally getting a raise after today.

Last night the Captain and I were talking to the Kiddo about college. Time is fast approaching for him to submit applications to his favorite places and I was telling him stories about all the things I wished I had done and not done while I was in college. Like more drinking, less driving two hours home every weekend to see my loser boyfriend who was cheating on me and also less worrying about him showing up at my dorm room drunk and screaming and less of him threatening to beat the shit out of me and less of him pretending to be suicidal when I tried to break up with him. You know, the things everyone regrets basically.

Then we moved on to his graduation stuff. The Kiddo brought home a packet of crap from school filled with things to buy "for your special graduate". Yeah, my kid is special but he ain't "$80 deluxe graduation package" special. Seriously? $80 for a cap and gown and "souvenir" tassel and 25 invitations that look exactly like the ones I gave out in 1992? No thanks. Captain Carl told the Kiddo that we just don't love him enough to buy him a souvenir tassel. He seemed okay with that.

There was also a letter in his packet that detailed his diploma options. Now, when I graduated from high school, the only option we had was "get one" or "not get one because you aren't graduating". The Kiddo can get just a plain old diploma like I had, or he could get the upgraded diploma, which has drawings of puppies and kittens on it or some shit like that. OR he could get the upgraded diploma in a "special memories" wooden shadow box. For reals, yo.

The Captain: It says here you can have your name on your diploma however you want it.
The Kiddo: What does that mean?
Me: It means you can put just your first name and last name, or add your middle name or whatever.
The Captain: I think you should put Danger for your middle name.
The Kiddo: That would be awesome!
Me: I don't think that is a good idea.
The Captain: You're right...it isn't a good idea. It's an AMAZING idea.
The Kiddo: Or how about Dr. Daniel Danger Jones? (not his real name, of course).
Me: Umm, great except you're not a doctor.
The Kiddo: They don't know that.
The Captain: He has a point.
The Kiddo: Wait! Dr. Professor Daniel Danger Jones!
Me: *sigh*
The Captain: Even better.
The Kiddo: MR. Dr. Professor Daniel Danger Jones!!!
The Captain: Too long, maybe.
The Kiddo: Right. Okay, then I'll just do Mr. Dr. Professor Sexy.
The Captain: That's my boy. *sniffle* I'm so proud.

Seriously, I'm totally outnumbered.

UPDATE: It is now 3:08pm and my boob popped out of my shirt at lunch, but only once and it was totally hilarious. Our division won best group contest and I made about 50 jokes about my ship's porthole. Yep, totally getting that raise.

I Do Really Important Shit At My Job. Really.

I just spent 45 minutes of company time having this conversation with two co-workers.

Me: Jadon just totally winked at me.
Jadon: I did?
Me: Yes, and you just winked at Anna too!
Anna: He did?
Jadon: That's gonna be my thing today.
Me: Winking?
Jadon: Yep.
Anna: Like that witch on that old tv show?
Me: Sabrina?
Jadon: No, that was the teenage witch. You're thinking of Samantha.
Me: Oh yeah.
Jadon: And Samantha had a daughter named Tabitha.
Me: And a husband named Deron.
Jadon: And there were two Derons.
Me: Right, but Anna means the genie show, not the witch show.
Anna: I do?
Jadon: Yeah, she used to blink her eyes to do her magic genie stuff.
Me: What was her name again?
Jadon: I don't know. Barbara something.
Me: No, her name on the show.
Anna: Genie?
Me: And her husband was....
Jadon: JR!
Me: No, that was his name on Dallas.
Anna: Wait, that guy was on the genie show?
Me: Yeah, but he was a lot younger then.
Anna: Well duh.
Me: Oh what was his name???
Jadon: Tony.
Me: No, that can't be right.
Jadon: Genie was also in Harper Valley PTA.
Me: That was a song.
Jadon: It was also a movie.
Me: Really?
Jadon: Yeah. Dolly Parton sang the song I think.
Me: Did she? I thought it was some other lady. The same one that sang that song about the kid on the bridge.
Anna: Huh?
Me: Hmmm mmmm, something something me and Bobby McGee. Or something like that.
Anna: I don't remember that song.
Jadon: Probably because you were an embryo when it was popular.
Anna: Yeah, you guys are old.
Me: They made a movie about that song too.
Jadon: Wasn't that guy with the mole in that movie?
Me: No, that was John Boy. It was the guy that was in the movie about the runner.
Jadon: The runner?
Me: Yeah, in the 70's. I don't know...he wore really short shorts and had long hair in it.
Jadon: Huh.
Anna: So anyway....
Me: *sigh* I suppose I should go back to work.

20 minutes later my phone rings

Me: Hello?
Jadon: Larry Hagman. Major Anthony Nelson.
Me: What?
Jadon: I Dream Of Genie. That was his name.
Me: Oh right! And he had that creepy friend. Crap....what was his friend's name again?
Jadon: Hmmmm....wasn't it Rog?
Me: That was What's Happening.
Jadon: I'm pretty sure it was Roger or Rog.
Me: Dyn-o-mite!
Jadon: That was Good Times.
Me: Oh shit.

I should totally get a raise.

A Mosquito Almost Got Me Killed This Morning

I woke up this morning with a giant coochie spider bite on my inner thigh. I'm assuming it was a coochie spider that did it, because of it's proximity to the cooch. But he obviously didn't go to spider class on the day they taught how to bite the coochie, because he missed it by about 5 inches. Not that I'm complaining. I'm actually quite grateful that he missed the mark because, as embarrassing as it is to be sitting at work scratching my inner thigh all day, it would be way worse if he had actually bit the part he was probably aiming for.

I told Captain Carl about my coochie spider bite and he just stared blankly at me and I was all "Hello, I have a spider bite! It's not weird, everyone gets them." and he was all "There's no such thing as a coochie spider." and I was all "Ummm, clearly there is because look at my thigh." and he was all "Yeah, you're making that up. And it was probably an ant that did it, not a spider." and I was all "Holy shit, there are coochie ANTS too???" and he was all "Seriously, what's the matter with you?" and I was all "Your mom." and then he was all "Right." and then I was all "Come back here, I need you to scratch my coochie bite!".

Then when I was leaving for work, our West Africa Missionary neighbor came over to chit chat for a minute without his shirt on because he had been out running and I left my car door open. When I got on the highway, there was a mosquito flying around in there with me. I'm pretty sure the bastard snuck in when I was talking all churchy with the neighbor while trying not to stare at his chest because the guy's pretty old and practically a priest but damn, nice pecs Reverend!

So I'm driving and the mosquito started buzzing around my face. Every time it did, I would swing wildly and try to catch it in my fist of death. At one point I started up with the windmill arms while yelling "Get the fuck out of my face, fucker!!!!" A couple of times I went over into the next lane, but only SLIGHTLY because I am an excellent driver, especially when I'm distracted by flying insects or by texting or by opening another beer. Then I had to yell for awhile at the guy next to me that started honking during one my my wild arm swings because dude! I'm about to get West Nile over here! I can't be worrying about your stupid Honda, okay? Some people are so inconsiderate. Geesh.

I ate the biggest nectarine known to man when I got to work. I'm not even kidding. This thing was about the size of softball. No, bigger than that. It was the size of a large-ish shrunken head. Or about a B cup boob. Which is a somewhat small breast size compared to my giant bazoombas, but it's a huge size for a nectarine. And the thing was so freaking juicy. I was squirting nectarine juice all over myself and my desk. You are totally turned on right now, aren't you? Well don't be, because it wasn't sexy because I was wearing clothes and plus I wasn't moaning and making sex faces. Okay, it might have been a little sexy because every time I took a bite, the nectarine made sucking noises. But you know that line "I can eat a peach all day" or something like that? I forget what movie that was in but I know it was supposed to be all hot and sexy because ha ha! he's talking about cunnilingus! . Well, I'm here to tell you that there is no way anyone could do that all day because things start getting sticky and messy really fast and that shit gets old pretty quick, especially when you don't have enough paper towels available. Plus, have you ever seen a man doing anything all day besides sit around and not do laundry?

So I had to go into the break room to wash my face and hands because of all the juice and wouldn't you know it, The Cup Nazi was in there cleaning the front of the refrigerator. Awesome, I love that lady. I'm pretty sure she loves me way more though, because she never talks to me or makes eye contact and everyone knows that when someone does that they secretly like you a whole lot and are probably just shy or planning how they could get away with murdering you.

The Cup Nazi got new coffee makers yesterday for the office. They are the kind that you put the individual little coffee grind containers into and it brews one cup at a time. People got all excited and clappy and all day I kept hearing "Have you tried the new coffee machine yet?? OMG, you have to try the pecan praline!" Pecan fucking praline, people. It's almost like the second coming of Christ, except instead of getting forgiveness for your sins you get sweet hot beverages.

The Cup Nazi sent out a three page email with directions on how to use it and I was all "Oh please, three pages on how to make a cup of coffee?? I'm not a moron!" and then I went in there to try the hot chocolate and I put my cup under the wrong part of the machine and the hot chocolate came out and splashed all over the counter. Dudes, she didn't put ANYTHING in that email about where to put your cup! What a bitch.

I'm Working On Them, I Swear!

Okay, so I'm totally slacking on the blogging side of my life. I swear I really am working on all my giveaway winners' cards...honest! I've had a string of new photography business in the last week, so I'm basically working two full-time jobs right now. So shut up about your stupid gum already, it'll get there when it gets there! Geesh.

I'm sorry I yelled at you. Please don't go! I promise I'll never do it again...even though you kind of deserved it.

I'm also working on my sex toy review...and I know you pervs can hardly wait for that.

Every Day Is A Winding Road. A Big, Douche-Baggy, Soul Sucking, Winding Road.

Two days in a row now I've discovered that I've been walking around the office for an unknown length of time with an essential button on my shirt unbuttoned. I'm talking about the one just below my boobs. No one told me. Both times. Assholes.

Every day for the last week, I'll be at work and I'll think "Oh I have to remember to put gum in my purse when I get home so I'll have some tomorrow for after lunch" and then I forget. And then the next day I'm all pissed off because my mouth tastes like old tuna. You don't realize how awesome gum is until you really really need it.

My stupid thyroid is being a jerk again and I'm falling asleep at my desk at 2:32 every afternoon. I don't want to go back to the doctor because I know I'm overdue for my pap smear and my doctor is going to be pissed when she asks me if I've been to the gyno yet and I tell her no again. And besides, I don't want to get it done because my pubes haven't grown long enough to shape into a fancy mohawk yet.

My cats won't stop shedding and puking. My house is like the Rock of Love bus except instead of pubes and human vomit, it's covered in fur and hairballs. Also, we don't have Bret Michaels. Which really is okay with me because dude looks like a walking disease. At least I know that my cats don't have gonorrhea or crabs.

I have a dental cleaning tomorrow morning at 7am and an eye exam at 11am. Nothing better than a little bit of plaque scraping followed up with that stupid machine that blows air into your eyes. The only way tomorrow could get better is if I had scheduled that pap smear for the afternoon. And while we're on the subject, what is up with that air blowy thing? I hate that machine so hard. The eye doctor is all "put your chin here and stare directly into the light" and you know what's coming so you're all clenchy and then he bumps the machine by accident and you're all "Gah!!" and jump back in your chair and he's all "Oopsy daisies. Just go ahead and put your chin back on here" and you do but you're eyes are all bulgy and your eyelids are all fluttery in preparation and so you're doing this rapid blinking thing and you're eyes are getting really dry and you have a death grip on those little bars on either side of your head and you just know the doctor is loving this and so he's taking his sweet time with the air and then you think you hear a clicking noise so you're all "Holy shit!" and jump back again and he's all "Ma'am this isn't the machine that blows the air" and then you karate chop him in the throat.

My company's CEO came for a visit today and had a little "town hall meeting" and I had to sit through two hours of him talking about how things will get worse before they get better, but hey turn that smile upside down friends! because we're almost down to our "core group" of employees and then things will really get better. Thanks for the subtle hint that more layoffs are coming. P.S. That dude's salary was $31 million dollars last year. Up yours, Richy Rich.


That's it. I'm drinking a whole bottle of wine when I get home tonight.

The Cube Farm Is Sucking My Will To Live

For the past seven years, I have spent the majority of my waking hours in a cubicle. My cubicle used to be big and roomy and had windows so I could see the outside world. And then my company downsized and then downsized again and then downsized yet again. And now I no longer have a window and my cubicle is so small that it only qualifies as a cubelet.

And that is where I spend nine hours a day, five days a week. I say nine hours instead of eight because we're broke, so I bring my lunch and eat it at my desk almost every day. It's depressing to even write about it.

So to combat the depressing fact that I am exposed to more fluorescent light than sunlight, I have filled my cubelet with things that make me smile and laugh. I have many pictures of the Kiddo, the Captain and my nieces. I have a few plants to remind me that there is a world somewhere out there that is alive and green and not all shades of gray.

I also have this stuff....

The most awesome mouse pad on the planet.
Hung on the wall for maximum effectiveness.


Stupid cat calendar with cut out picture of Harry Connick Jr. taped to it.
Ahhhh, Harry....you complete me.

Creepy chocolate finger on a stick that I received on Halloween.
I use it to point at people when they piss me off.


Picture of Rainn Wilson dressed as Xena Warrior Princess.
I've had more questions about this than anything else in my cubelet. People get confused and say things like "Who's she?" and "Whoa, Xena really let herself go."

But my absolute favorite items hanging in my cubelet are all the cards that came with the flowers Captain Carl has sent me at work over the past seven years. There are many...I've got the Captain wrapped around my little pinky. Like a string, people.

This one is my favorite.


Yeah, I call him Big Daddy...what of it?

I Have A New Weapon And It's Name Is Saliva

I'm tired today. I got in my car this morning and the next thing I knew, I was in the parking garage at work. I have no recollection of how I got there. I was probably teleported without my consent. Or maybe I'm just so tired that I risked hundreds of innocent people's lives by driving while half asleep. Do you ever do that? Sometimes I will zone out while I'm driving and my eyes will go out of focus for a second and I'm all "whoa, I'm totally out of focus up in here!" and then I realize that could be dangerous so I decide to re-focus and have you ever tried to do that? It's super hard, especially when you start focusing and everything starts to get all sharp and pointy and harsh and you would really rather be unfocused and how hard is it really to drive in a Monet painting anyway? I'm thinking not very and it's way more relaxing. I hate when society tells me I have to be in focus all the time and paying attention....fuck you, society.

I just yawned a really huge yawn and sprayed myself and my keyboard with my own saliva. That's gross and yet kind of awesome when you think about it. If I could figure out how to do that on purpose, I could totally use it as a weapon to defend myself. Like when the guy who never washes his hands at my office moves in for a high five, I could just yawn and spray him with spit and also I would make a terrifying noise when I do it, like "Squeeee!!. I bet I would never have to high five him ever again.

There is a box next to the fax in our copy room that says "Fax Conformations". Really? I had no idea there was a need for this. Is there a contingency of rogue faxes out there needing to be corraled and conformed? And conformed to what? Collated copies? Laminated pages? Seriously, this is shit I need to know. Also, has anyone seen the fax confirmations box? Because I have a bunch that need to go in there.

P.S. Someone please email me at 9:15pm central standard time tonight and tell me to go to bed. Because apparently I need to be saved from myself as I cannot manage to crawl under the sheets until after 10:30. Also, when you email me? Remind me to buy Pop Tarts.
Thanks, bitch.

My Computer Is Trying To Get Me Fired

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The 90's Called. They Want Their Music Back.

I got moved to a different cubicle in my office. I really liked my old cubicle...I called it my cubelet, because it was super tiny. But it was at the back of the office and was up against the wall, so no one came back there unless they needed to see me.

This new cubicle blows. I know in the grand scheme of things it's not a big deal. I've got a job, which is more than I can say for 3/4 of the people that used to work here with me. There was another layoff last Friday, so my complaint today is very petty. I know this. But I'm going to bitch about it anyway. That's just the way I roll.

The chick two cubicles down from me has apparently never heard of an ipod. She has a boom box on her desk and the volume is way higher than what is considered appropriate for a cube farm. Seriously? A boom box? Damn, I had one of those when I was 13 years old and I used to play Mr. Mister and Lisa Lisa and Wham on it. I used to tape record songs off the radio on it. Then I would cover myself in Johnson's baby oil, carry my boom box outside and listen to my taped radio songs while I tanned on my mom's plastic lawn recliner.

Today she is listening to The Counting Crows cd. Over and over and over. I remember the Counting Crows. It was 1996 and I was in college and I had a huge crush on a guy we called "Beamer" and I used to watch videos with him in between classes and he loved that song Mr. Jones. I have heard Mr. Jones four times today.

I'm about to send her this email....tell me if you think it's too much.

Listen bitch, the mid-90's were not the best time for me. Your stupid cd is giving me flashbacks to an abusive relationship, an unrequited love, poor class attendance and fat pants. Please, for the love of all that is good and holy....turn that shit off!

I wonder how many times you can listen to Round Here before you want to shoot someone in the face?

The Cup Nazi

There is a lady in my office that has appointed herself in charge of our break room. Her official title is the extra special executive assistant to the regional vice president of cow tipping, or something like that. But her secret title is "Cup Nazi". Apparently my office is going through styrofoam cups at an alarming rate. Because one day a few weeks ago I walked into the break room to find a padlock on the cabinet where the cups are kept.

A PADLOCK.

To guard the cups.

That is the actual cabinet...I'm not even kidding.

So the Cup Nazi comes to the break room every morning and puts out our allotted number of cups for the day. She also makes two pots of coffee of the flavors she has deemed "Coffees of the Month". She even bought a dry-erase board that she mounted to the cabinet and writes on it every day "Coffee made fresh at 7:35am". Then she went out and bought all these fancy glass jars to put the sweet'n'low, sugar, creamers, etc. in. And she now has a little rolling cart she uses to bring all the super important coffee supplies to the break room in. So I guess what she is saving the company in cups, she is spending on that crap. Makes sense to me.

Oh, and she changed the brand of hot chocolate we have too. And the new brand sucks monkey balls. And one day there wasn't any at all. So because I am a passive aggressive smart ass, I wrote a little note on her stupid dry-erase board that said "Hey we need more hot chocolate!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!". I swear I used that many exclamation points. And then I skipped back to my cubicle to wait. Low and behold, the next morning there were 5 (Five!) hot chocolate packets and my note had been scrubbed from the board. So I went ahead and wrote another note that said "I'm sorry your job sucks so hard that you have resorted to ruling over the break room with an iron fist, but please change the brand of hot chocolate back to Nestle' as this brand is awful and also I like products that end with an e'....." Strangely enough, that note also got scrubbed from the board, but still no Nestle'.