Thursday, September 24, 2009

My psychic powers kick ass!

Normally, at work, if I'm cold I'll adjust the a/c up a degree or two. Problem solved!

Or, if Other Office Chick is in the office, we take turns messing with the thermostat. When I get cold I turn it up a few degrees. When she feels stuffy and claustrophobic, the a/c gets dialed down a couple of degrees and I try not to freeze.

Normally, this isn't a big deal.

Normally, sure, I'll get cold, but hey, at least I'm not working outside! I suck it up, continue on with my work, and wait for Other Office Chick to go out for lunch or head to a meeting so I can bump the a/c up again.

Normally, this isn't a situation that would compel me to put pen to paper fingers to keyboard.

Today though, today I was freakishly cold. The a/c was hovering around 74 degrees but to me it felt like 64. I tried blaming it on my wet hair, but I've had wet hair before and I've never felt so cold in a really-not-that-cold room. I felt almost flu-like cold. I'm not sick, thank Elvis, but for some reason... well, there was just something plain wrong with me.

I was going to suffer being so freakishly cold for no good reason but then I thought, 'Dang it! I have a sweatshirt in the car! That's why its there!' and decided not to be a lazy ass and make the small hike to the car.

The sweatshirt has been in the car since last winter. During the cold season I wear a sweater/sweatshirt every day in the office because yes, even in winter these silly office coworkers like to turn the a/c on. I left the sweatshirt in the car in case I needed it one day, and I've thought on a couple of occasions over the last few weeks, 'Hey! I'm cold! Maybe I should go get it!'

But then I think about how hot it is outside and realize staying inside is a much better idea. And eventually I forget that it's cold. And then Other Office Chick leaves and I can set the thermostat back to a more comfortable level.

But today... something compelled me to go outside and grab the sweatshirt.

And after I did? Well, it was so hot outside I quickly got over my cold spell. My hair dried up. I got super warm. And by the time I returned to the office I was no longer in need of a sweatshirt.

'Oh well,' I thought, and chalked it up to a nice mini diversion from work.

And then three hours later my pants ripped.

I'm not talking about a little tear either.

I think they heard the horrible rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrripping sound all the way in the next county.

The hole in my pants is almost too big for my hand to cover, as if I wanted to walk around with my hand over my ass for the next few hours.

Holy crap, if I didn't have my sweatshirt I don't know what I'd do!

Wear my pants backwards and hold some object in front of the massive hole?

"Oh, hi, don't mind me! I'm just carrying this empty box out to my car in a really weird way. Thanks for not looking too closely at my pants!"

I don't know what Other Office Chick was thinking after she heard the rrrrrrrrrrripping noise. Two rrrrrrripping noises actually, as I moved too fast in my chair in a 'what the hell?' kind of move that made the pants rip again. Did she think I farted? Does she know the sound of ripping pants and know that I do indeed have a huge hole in the ass of my pants now?

Can this day be over already so I can go home, throw these pants away, and pretend this never happened?

Stupid pants. :(

But hey! I've got psychic powers now apparently. Because that's too much of a coincidence to be anything else. The one time I go out to my car for the sweatshirt is the one time I tear a big ass hole where the left cheek pocket used to be. What are the odds?!

Stupid pants. :(

Friday, September 11, 2009

The fruit worries the approving bread under the pride.

The last couple of days I've not had much to eat for lunch. I've subsisted on granola bars and crackers and while both are quite yummy, especially when paired with a cup of coffee, neither is very filling. Yesterday I did have some nuked leftovers, but I ate that more as a brunch than a lunch, so by the end of the day I was starving.

This morning though, I packed a GLORIOUS lunch:

  • 1.5 peanut butter (generic non crunchy) & jelly (smuckers raspberry) sandwich on wheat bread
  • 1 yogurt (raspberry)
  • 1 tupperware container full of chopped up chunks of watermelon, cantaloupe, & honey dew melon

Okay, not really that glorious, but it sure as hell beats the last couple of lunches I've had.

I was pleased with my selection of munchies for the day. Then Visitor Guy (who's here for the day, visiting from a sister facility) walked over and said, "I'm going to Farmer Boys to pick up something to eat. What do you want?" And my munchies seemed not so munchable.

"Oh. Nothing. I'm good," I said, while hoping I wasn't visibly salivating.

"You sure?"

I looked sadly at the pb&j sitting on my desk. I brought lunch, I reminded myself. And I love pb&j sandwiches so I should be satisfied with that. Farmer Boys is greasy and good but greasy and that's bad, bad, bad.

"I'm sure. I brought food. I'm good."

"Come on, it's on The Company."

Oh... Well...

Then he flashed me the corporate card he'll be charging breakfast to.

"I'll have a breakfast sandwich!"

Of all the days he showed up with his fancy shmancy corporate charge card, he had to pick the day I actually managed to bring food with me!


I guess I could have said no. Been good and stayed with my semi healthy lunch. But its free food. At the expense of the company! I haven't gotten a raise in years. I'll take what I can get.

Thursday, September 03, 2009

Show Me On The Doll Where The Bad Word Touched You


Less than 24hrs fresh from harassment training and I'm already using inappropriate words.

"Hey Lisa," says a co-worker. "Do you have a flashlight?"

My mind instantly flashes (heh) to the mini flashlight hanging from a zipper on my backpack that I received from a butt-kissin' vendor. The thing technically works. It does produce light when the button is pushed, but you can't see shit from the faint wisp of light than emanates from its light-emanating orifice.

So I say to my colleague, "Yeah, but its retarded--"

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh crap.

"I apologize for my inappropriate word," I say to my co-worker, one of the dudes I sat next to during the airing of the cheesy (are there any that aren't?) harassment video.

He waives his hand in a casual 'fuggedaboutit' move and chuckles. "I'm not offended."

"Yeah, but it's still offensive. And I'm bad for saying it."

I feel horrible now.

The word just slid right out!

I was on a kick some months ago, using that word way too much. It filled me with inappropriate joy to do so. I'm not proud to admit it, but I will.

I blame this blog, on the writer's obvious joy from using the word. I read the blog and started using myself. It was addictive. Especially when said with a horribly faked Boston accent. "That's wicked retahhhhded."

But I made a concerted effort not to use that word after awhile and I was doing a really good job of it too. That is, until I watched the video yesterday. It shoved that word right back into my Vocab Database.

Oh yeah, I thought as I watched Inappropriate Office Worker Number 1 in the video use that word in front of Offended Office Worker Number 2, I used to say that word in front of coworkers!

I get really bothered by some of the other examples demonstrated in that video, which put a double whammy of shame on me for ever using an inappropriate word. If the video's purpose was to make me feel bad for ever saying The "R" Word... well, mission accomplished. And rightly so.

And now I've gone and said it again.

:( :( :( :(

I blame Inappropriate Office Worker Number 1.

Plan B

So things are going good in HB-land. Everybody chilled out, except for the asshat who wouldn't chill out even if a chill pill was administered to him rectally. (Amusing mental image is amusing.) I think the HB actually started to enjoy himself on the Dreaded Business Trip of Doom. But now they're shipping him back a week early to fix a problem back here.

So yippee for me!

But... ummm... that means I need to scrap my plans for the upcoming Super Productive Weekend, an awesome two-day event where I planned to do all kinds of errands and chores (no really, actual plans and stuff!) and do them... holy crap, tonight!


That's not going to happen.

Well, the errands I can save for the weekend still. They are sanctioned for Boyfriend Drag-A-Longs. But all the spiffy chores I was going to have done as a welcome home pressie? Meh.

I'll make my lazy ass wash some dishes at least.

Laundry is out, as we still live in the same non-washing-machine-furnished apartment and the temperature this week has been dancing in triple digits while wearing a big sombrero of humidity. Bleagh. I really don't care to make a trek across the parking lot to the non-air-conditioned hotbox just to wash towels. Screw that.

I'll, um... sort out the recycling a bit instead. Yeah. Because that'll take all of five minutes.

Oh, come to think of it! I probably have some time on Friday as well. I don't know what the HB's ETA is but I bet his ass won't get in until midnight or some silly crap like that.

I think I might even mop the bathroom floor!

That'd be a nice "I'm Sorry The Big Mean Boss Made You Fly Out Of Town Here Smell This Floor Its Pine-y Fresh" kind of gift. One he'd really appreciate.

I am Domestic Goddess. Hear me roar vacuum.

Tuesday, September 01, 2009

This. Is. SPARTA! No, really. I'm wearing a loincloth and everything!

It's hard when your sweetie is on the other side of the continent and having a crap time of it. We chatted online last night but there was nothing I could have done to cheer him up, short of flashing a boob on a webcam, which, I'm sure, would have had some sort of perk up power. Alas, I am webcamless.

I tried agreeing with him because yes, some of the people he works with are ginormous asshats. And yes, it sucks to be harassed by the people you're there to help before you get the chance to check into the hotel. It's not like he arrived in the morning and had plans to head over in the afternoon. His plane landed in the early evening. That's, like, after "leave work and go home" time, not prime "hey let's generate reports!" time. He's going to be there for two full weeks, it's not like there won't be ample time to use and abuse him.

I tried cracking a few jokes as we chatted, but was afraid to be too cheery/optimistic. Still, it seemed as though there was nothing in my power to turn his :( upside down.

And that made me :(

Hopefully, after a full day there under his belt, his outlook on the remaining two weeks will improve. But I'm dreading the melancholy of tonight's chat.

On a more positive note, there are some things I'm enjoying about being HB-less for a couple weeks. I can walk around the apartment in my underwear! Woooo!

Yeah, that might get old by next week. But last night? There was no one around to see my chunky thighs. My beloved HB loves me, chunky thighs and all, but I just don't feel comfortable walking around in unmentionables all the time. But last night? I was rockin' the hell out of my Shirt+Undies Combo of Awesome.

Also, I do enjoy having the bathroom all to myself in the morning. When I was still in school I was waking up at least an hour before him. I could wander from the bathroom to the kitchen to the living room to the bathroom to whatever. At my leisure. In whatever order my still-waking-up brain slotted them. And not worry about him confiscating the bathroom before I'd had the chance to brush my teeth.

Let's see... anything else to add to the plus column? Oh! I'm going to pickup Subway one night! That silly man of mine does not like Subway. Sometimes I can talk him into going to Quiznos, but those trips are rare. I could always get my Subway fix during my lunch break at work, but lately it's just a pain in the ass to do so. So tonight... we dine... AT SUBWAY!


Hmmm... what else? Oh! I don't have to clean up after myself! He's the neat freak of the bunch so I can be super messy the next two weeks. Not that that is particularly fun but, um... I don't have to hang my clothes up! I can leave them in the basket, like, um... they have been for a week. While he was still here. So okay, things were a mess before he left. But I have TWO WEEKS before I have to clean any of it up!

No that I have to clean anything. I just figured it'd be a nice welcome home to see stuff picked up/put away.

Anything else?


I have control of the television remote! That means no more Man vs Food repeat marathons or horrible sci-fi syfy channel crap-fest b-movie of the weeks.


Yeah, that's it.

The "plusses" don't really add up to much.

Not when I have trouble falling asleep at night without him beside me, knowing how far away he is.