Work sucks.
And long meetings where everyone complains about how bad everything is and how nothing works right?
Sucks big fat turtle turds!!!
And now back to some regularly scheduled crap...
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Monday, June 13, 2005
2 (out of the many) reasons why I love My Boyfriend
1) He cooks me breakfast in the morning and 2) he does it naked.
:)
The HB didn't have to work last night and had a class early this morning so we were actually able to go to sleep together and wake up together (I hate it when I have to get up and he gets to sleep in.) While I couldn't play Supreme Ruler Over All Of Mattress Land and sprawl across the whole bed, as I've grown accustomed to doing while he works nights, it was nice to get some quality snuggle time in. Waking up together was especially nice because he occasionally likes to cook breakfast on weekdays and I usually don't bother. So today I had a home cooked breakfast. Yah!
When I got out of the shower I heard him messing around in the kitchen but I didn't get my hopes up that food was being cooked. He could have been scavenging for any number of miscellaneous items crammed in our kitchen junk drawers. But as I was throwing on clothes I began to smell food, so I went to investigate.
"Are you cooking breakfast?!" I whisper-yelled in giddy anticipation.
"You know that guy that calls himself the Naked Chef?" the HB answers in response. "He's a poser."
"A poser, huh?"
As I round the corner and step into the kitchen he exclaims, "I'm the real naked chef!"
And indeed he was. Cooking bacon no less! That boyfriend of mine, he's so brave!
:)
I took over bacon duties while he took a quick shower and let me tell you something: cooking bacon while naked, or even semi naked (I hadn't put my shirt on yet) is freaking dangerous! The bacon was ornery this morning and threw a hot greasy spit ball at me. Mother Effin Son of an Ouch! It's like some kind of sadistic Murphy's Law: When you have a shirt on, nothing happens (hot-ornery-grease-ball-wise). When you go without a shirt, you get zapped in a million places. I still have a red dot on my hand from the second spit ball. Stupid home cooked breakfast. Phooey!
But damn, did it taste gooooood.
:)
The HB didn't have to work last night and had a class early this morning so we were actually able to go to sleep together and wake up together (I hate it when I have to get up and he gets to sleep in.) While I couldn't play Supreme Ruler Over All Of Mattress Land and sprawl across the whole bed, as I've grown accustomed to doing while he works nights, it was nice to get some quality snuggle time in. Waking up together was especially nice because he occasionally likes to cook breakfast on weekdays and I usually don't bother. So today I had a home cooked breakfast. Yah!
When I got out of the shower I heard him messing around in the kitchen but I didn't get my hopes up that food was being cooked. He could have been scavenging for any number of miscellaneous items crammed in our kitchen junk drawers. But as I was throwing on clothes I began to smell food, so I went to investigate.
"Are you cooking breakfast?!" I whisper-yelled in giddy anticipation.
"You know that guy that calls himself the Naked Chef?" the HB answers in response. "He's a poser."
"A poser, huh?"
As I round the corner and step into the kitchen he exclaims, "I'm the real naked chef!"
And indeed he was. Cooking bacon no less! That boyfriend of mine, he's so brave!
:)
I took over bacon duties while he took a quick shower and let me tell you something: cooking bacon while naked, or even semi naked (I hadn't put my shirt on yet) is freaking dangerous! The bacon was ornery this morning and threw a hot greasy spit ball at me. Mother Effin Son of an Ouch! It's like some kind of sadistic Murphy's Law: When you have a shirt on, nothing happens (hot-ornery-grease-ball-wise). When you go without a shirt, you get zapped in a million places. I still have a red dot on my hand from the second spit ball. Stupid home cooked breakfast. Phooey!
But damn, did it taste gooooood.
Friday, June 10, 2005
FifWoFicFri
Step Right Up And See Carl The Amazing Couch Potato!
Kids pay good cash to see Carl Connors, the crotchety old coot who croaked on his couch. One day Carl's boredom peaked until he couldn't even be bothered to breath. Death by chronic ennui. Now he is stuffed and mounted on his couch for all the paying public to see.
This week's theme is ennui. I thought I'd come up with something better than I did, since I'm doing some extremely mind numbing work right now and I'm bored out of my gourds! I started and quickly abandoned three other stories that just plain sucked. Well, okay, two sucked, the other sort of turned out to be anti-ennui. And with each story I was stuck on using as many words as possible that started with same letter. Or, with the first sentence of the above story, same sounding letters. Yes folks, the alphabet can be fun! I almost gave up on this story because I was quickly bored with it, but I decided I might as well finish it so I could be bored with something else. Like typing this paragraph. Bor-ing. Blah.
I need a stimulant.
Coffee?
Caffeine?
A fierce game of dodgeball where I run for my life while my peers try and bean me to death with big rubber balls?
Maybe a good laugh. Yeah, that would do the trick.
Because laughter is, after all, like a Chicken Soup Enema For The Soul™.
Kids pay good cash to see Carl Connors, the crotchety old coot who croaked on his couch. One day Carl's boredom peaked until he couldn't even be bothered to breath. Death by chronic ennui. Now he is stuffed and mounted on his couch for all the paying public to see.
This week's theme is ennui. I thought I'd come up with something better than I did, since I'm doing some extremely mind numbing work right now and I'm bored out of my gourds! I started and quickly abandoned three other stories that just plain sucked. Well, okay, two sucked, the other sort of turned out to be anti-ennui. And with each story I was stuck on using as many words as possible that started with same letter. Or, with the first sentence of the above story, same sounding letters. Yes folks, the alphabet can be fun! I almost gave up on this story because I was quickly bored with it, but I decided I might as well finish it so I could be bored with something else. Like typing this paragraph. Bor-ing. Blah.
I need a stimulant.
Coffee?
Caffeine?
A fierce game of dodgeball where I run for my life while my peers try and bean me to death with big rubber balls?
Maybe a good laugh. Yeah, that would do the trick.
Because laughter is, after all, like a Chicken Soup Enema For The Soul™.
If I had a place for spiffy new t-shirt's in my budget...
... I'd buy this shirt from freekatie.net. Because seriously, Tom Cruise isn't too stable right now.
Free Katie!
I'd also buy this Who's Your Spy Daddy tee. And a few other t's from glarkware.
*sigh*
Maybe some day...
Free Katie!
I'd also buy this Who's Your Spy Daddy tee. And a few other t's from glarkware.
*sigh*
Maybe some day...
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Fun with google!
Stolen from Miss Zoot.
Go to google and click on the "Images" link. Type in the following and post the first (or your favorite) picture the search engine finds.
The name of the town where you grew up.
- I hesitate to post this picture, since it is a picture of 'the enemy' (i.e. hometown high school rival) but its better than a picture of a stupid bus stop sign, which was the first pic. There's a really cute picture of my mom in one of these getups somewhere in my parent's house, and if I didn't fear disownment (which, really, at this point is pretty much just a house with extremely ugly green shag carpeting, so no big loss there) I'd post that picture here for all the world to see. Because my mommy was cute! No, I mean is cute. IS cute!
The name of the town where you live now.
- This isn't a picture of where I live, but isn't it pretty? It's so green! I think it's a picture of Scottish farmland, so this is, possibly, a place where some of my ancestors used to live.
Your name.
Your grandmother's name.
- This past weekend I was admiring the purse my aunt had made for my grandma. It had the names she goes by written all around the outside of the purse. Kathy. Mom. Grandma. Wife. M-I-L. etc. Also had name Peanut on there. Peanut? I've known my grandma for 26 years and I've never heard that name before! I was going to ask where the nickname came from (hubby? girlfriends? her kids? childhood pals?) but everyone was too busy saying their goodbyes and helping grandma into the truck so she could be driven back to the airport. I didn't have the chance then, and quickly forgot about it later. But now I'm curious again. Peanut?
Your favorite food, drink, song, smell.
- None of these are really hard core definite favorites. It's too hard to pick just one, so I picked whichever popped into my head first. They're good picks though, because I'd be happy as a fly at a shit farm if right now I had me some fresh, hot french fries, a glass of ice cold dr. pepper, Kermit singing in the background about lovers and dreamers and rainbows, and a little air freshener that smells like soap. That'd would be sweeeeeet. And, actually, I think I can manage all but the soap smell. Time to go on a ff/dr. p run!
Go to google and click on the "Images" link. Type in the following and post the first (or your favorite) picture the search engine finds.
The name of the town where you grew up.
- I hesitate to post this picture, since it is a picture of 'the enemy' (i.e. hometown high school rival) but its better than a picture of a stupid bus stop sign, which was the first pic. There's a really cute picture of my mom in one of these getups somewhere in my parent's house, and if I didn't fear disownment (which, really, at this point is pretty much just a house with extremely ugly green shag carpeting, so no big loss there) I'd post that picture here for all the world to see. Because my mommy was cute! No, I mean is cute. IS cute!
The name of the town where you live now.
- This isn't a picture of where I live, but isn't it pretty? It's so green! I think it's a picture of Scottish farmland, so this is, possibly, a place where some of my ancestors used to live.
Your name.
Your grandmother's name.
- This past weekend I was admiring the purse my aunt had made for my grandma. It had the names she goes by written all around the outside of the purse. Kathy. Mom. Grandma. Wife. M-I-L. etc. Also had name Peanut on there. Peanut? I've known my grandma for 26 years and I've never heard that name before! I was going to ask where the nickname came from (hubby? girlfriends? her kids? childhood pals?) but everyone was too busy saying their goodbyes and helping grandma into the truck so she could be driven back to the airport. I didn't have the chance then, and quickly forgot about it later. But now I'm curious again. Peanut?
Your favorite food, drink, song, smell.
- None of these are really hard core definite favorites. It's too hard to pick just one, so I picked whichever popped into my head first. They're good picks though, because I'd be happy as a fly at a shit farm if right now I had me some fresh, hot french fries, a glass of ice cold dr. pepper, Kermit singing in the background about lovers and dreamers and rainbows, and a little air freshener that smells like soap. That'd would be sweeeeeet. And, actually, I think I can manage all but the soap smell. Time to go on a ff/dr. p run!
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Me vs. Darth PaperTowelDispenser
Downstairs, they have these crude devices, these paper towel dispensers that you have to crank by hand.
By hand!
But upstairs, we have fancy schmancy Automated Touchless Paper Dispensers. They are awesome.
Well, they are when they're working.
When I first relocated to the all important Upstairs, and encounter my first Automated Touchless Paper Dispenser in the ladies restroom, I was much impressed. All I had to do was wave my hand in front of the little sensor and voila - instant paper dispensing! I was immediately filled with self importance and knew I'd finally hit the big time.
My second encounter with the ATPD did not run so smoothly. I moved my hand in front of the sensor but nothing happened. I waved again. Still nothing. Wave. Nothing. Wave, wave, frantic waving. Nothing, nothing, nothing. The ATPD was taunting me.
I stood there, waving and shaking my hands about like a mad woman for a good thirty seconds. My hands were almost completely air dried by the time the stupid thing finally spit out my allotment of paper.
Sure, I could have just wiped my hands on my pants and that would have been that, but I was not going to let the Dispenser get the best of me. I would be triumphant! And, eventually, I was. I think it was my thinly veiled threat to start shaking my ass at it and really show it who was boss that brought the paper dispenser to its senses. Take that stupid paper dispenser! Smack!
I've been Upstairs for a while now, and have mastered the art of Automated Touchless Paper Dispensing. I no longer have problems with it. (Well, sometimes I do, but they're just minor scuffles, nothing like the previously mentioned incident.)
Today, when I needed a paper towel, I did a little 'Jedi-Mind-Trick' hand wave. You know, with my pointer and middle finger pointing out together, traveling in a little rainbow arch.
These are not the droids you are looking for.
You will dispense 12 inches of paper towel.
'Cuz I be geeky cool like dat.
By hand!
But upstairs, we have fancy schmancy Automated Touchless Paper Dispensers. They are awesome.
Well, they are when they're working.
When I first relocated to the all important Upstairs, and encounter my first Automated Touchless Paper Dispenser in the ladies restroom, I was much impressed. All I had to do was wave my hand in front of the little sensor and voila - instant paper dispensing! I was immediately filled with self importance and knew I'd finally hit the big time.
My second encounter with the ATPD did not run so smoothly. I moved my hand in front of the sensor but nothing happened. I waved again. Still nothing. Wave. Nothing. Wave, wave, frantic waving. Nothing, nothing, nothing. The ATPD was taunting me.
I stood there, waving and shaking my hands about like a mad woman for a good thirty seconds. My hands were almost completely air dried by the time the stupid thing finally spit out my allotment of paper.
Sure, I could have just wiped my hands on my pants and that would have been that, but I was not going to let the Dispenser get the best of me. I would be triumphant! And, eventually, I was. I think it was my thinly veiled threat to start shaking my ass at it and really show it who was boss that brought the paper dispenser to its senses. Take that stupid paper dispenser! Smack!
I've been Upstairs for a while now, and have mastered the art of Automated Touchless Paper Dispensing. I no longer have problems with it. (Well, sometimes I do, but they're just minor scuffles, nothing like the previously mentioned incident.)
Today, when I needed a paper towel, I did a little 'Jedi-Mind-Trick' hand wave. You know, with my pointer and middle finger pointing out together, traveling in a little rainbow arch.
These are not the droids you are looking for.
You will dispense 12 inches of paper towel.
'Cuz I be geeky cool like dat.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Just another manic tuesday that's really my monday because I was still on vacation yesterday and oh my gawd I can't believe I'm back at work already.
Sheesh. I come back from vacation and all of a sudden there's a massive, mad-scientist-manufactured-mutant-sized amount of work to be done! I can't even climb through the backlog of emails without people calling me for help, asking me questions, making me do some research that needs to be done now now NOW! Don't you people know I don't want to work today?!?!?!?
Silly me, I almost called in sick today.
Why didn't I? Because I knew there was a ton of work to do. And the thought of having to deal with it (the backlog), plus all the stuff in my calendar for today, all on Wednesday didn't sound appetizing. Plus, I'd feel bad. I know how the bosses and everyone else rolls their eyes and shakes their heads disapprovingly when someone calls in sick the day they're supposed to come back from vacation. I'd have felt guilty for lying.
Isn't that sad?
I guess I could have claimed an allergic reaction to bugs. Can't come into work today as the socks and shoes and pants are rubbing against my itchy mosquito bites and it hurts and is driving me FUCKING BAT SHIT CRAZY! That should be a good enough excuse, I think. I have at least 8 bites on each leg. Seriously. I probably have more but I stopped counting after the first few and started scratching the rest of them. And I swear, I practically doused myself in Fuck-Off-Bug-Off spray.*
* Names of actual insect repellents have been changed in order to protect the worthless pieces of crap.
More on that later. But first I need to go run a report for the boss's boss. All while trying not to fall asleep at my desk.
Step right up ladies and gentleman and see the Amazing Loonini juggle reports and emails and bug bites and people asking stupid questions that they can answer their own fucking selves if they just take one minute out of their precious schedules to look it up instead of wasting many minutes of the Amazing Loonini's time because they have to explain what the problem is because the Amazing Loonini has no fucking idea what the hell is going on because she's been gone for four days... *deep breath* ... see her do all this, all while sleep walking!
Ahhh... it's good to be back. :)
Silly me, I almost called in sick today.
Why didn't I? Because I knew there was a ton of work to do. And the thought of having to deal with it (the backlog), plus all the stuff in my calendar for today, all on Wednesday didn't sound appetizing. Plus, I'd feel bad. I know how the bosses and everyone else rolls their eyes and shakes their heads disapprovingly when someone calls in sick the day they're supposed to come back from vacation. I'd have felt guilty for lying.
Isn't that sad?
I guess I could have claimed an allergic reaction to bugs. Can't come into work today as the socks and shoes and pants are rubbing against my itchy mosquito bites and it hurts and is driving me FUCKING BAT SHIT CRAZY! That should be a good enough excuse, I think. I have at least 8 bites on each leg. Seriously. I probably have more but I stopped counting after the first few and started scratching the rest of them. And I swear, I practically doused myself in Fuck-Off-Bug-Off spray.*
* Names of actual insect repellents have been changed in order to protect the worthless pieces of crap.
More on that later. But first I need to go run a report for the boss's boss. All while trying not to fall asleep at my desk.
Step right up ladies and gentleman and see the Amazing Loonini juggle reports and emails and bug bites and people asking stupid questions that they can answer their own fucking selves if they just take one minute out of their precious schedules to look it up instead of wasting many minutes of the Amazing Loonini's time because they have to explain what the problem is because the Amazing Loonini has no fucking idea what the hell is going on because she's been gone for four days... *deep breath* ... see her do all this, all while sleep walking!
Ahhh... it's good to be back. :)
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