For the first time in six years I have realized that it is my blogaversary on the actual day of my blogaversary. Six years ago today, I posted two very short blog posts: one because I was upset that CAKE hadn't scheduled a show in Cleveland until after I'd already driven all the way to Columbus to see them and the other because earlier that day, the CEO of the company I was working for at the time had asked the question "What is the process of statement processing?" which he thought constituted a double entendre (per the fabulous Mary (who I miss terribly) immediately after leaving that meeting, "I believe the word you're looking for is 'redundancy'. 'REDUNDANCY'!"). And thus Bizzybiz was born.
I started a blog primarily because I had started reading the blog of Salam Pax a.k.a. the Baghdad Blogger, a young Iraqi architect who was writing an amazing blog about what he was experiencing as a resident of Baghdad while we were bombing it called "Where is Raed?". I was tremendously impressed with his writing but moreover I was completely fascinated with the medium. The idea that regular people could share anything they wanted to say with everyone in the world who had an internet connection seemed completely amazing to me back then. H-town also had a blog at the time (she's been on extended hiatus for a few years) which turned out to be instrumental in changing our relationship from college buddies who called to catch up once in a while to the one we have now where she is my very best friend because it enabled me to keep up with her life on a daily basis. Also it was frikkin' hilarious. I wanted in.
I don't think I've ever taken the time to explain what "bizzybiz" actually means. I named this journal "The Bizzybiz Blog" because of an incident that occurred in close proximity to the time I started think about starting a blog. When I worked at the number factory, there was another company on the same floor of our building and like most office high rises, everyone on the floor shared a bathroom. Most of the women who worked there were nice when you'd run into them at the sinks, but there was this one angry looking red-headed girl who would scowl at you every time you walked in as if you were scum coughed up from hell just to ruin her private hand washing moment. The women of my company were discussing it on our way to the sundry shop to buy cigarettes (this was also right around the time that I tried to take up smoking because I wanted to be a cool kid. I hated it and couldn't stand to have a cigarette unless I also had a big glass of chocolate milk to kill that horrible charred ass taste. It was my smokin' milk. This adventure lasted 4 months before I finally woke up and said "What the fuck am I DOING?") and I said something along the lines of "That girl is a biz-atch" because I sometimes like to talk like Snoop Dogg. Bia, who was from Romania and who spoke impeccable English except for when she was trying to repeat words I had just made up, agreed with me by saying "Yeah! She is a...bizzybiz! Or whatever you just said." The new word wound up being a staple of our conversations. So "Bizzybiz Blog" literally translates as "Bitch Blog". Now you know.
When I first started the blog, I didn't set up a stat counter because I am an incorrigible narcissist and I would never have gotten anything done because I would have constantly been checking to see how many page views I had. Fortunately or unfortunately, earlier this year when blogger did a redesign, one of the changes they made was a tab that automatically tracks your stats whether you asked for it or not. I am fucking obsessed with my stats now, exactly as I predicted (to be fair, so is the comic. "How many page views do you get per day?" he wanted to know last week as we both kept frantically hitting the refresh button.). What I found out was I have a LOT more lurkers than I realized, and in places I wouldn't have expected. For instance, I have far more pageviews in the Netherlands than I do in the U.K. despite the fact that I go to England to visit friends every year but have never been to Holland and don't know anyone Dutch. India and South Korea seem to have taken a great deal of interest as well. Also, hello to my lovely readers in China, I am pleased that you are here since I just assumed I was banned in China. People seem to find the site while searching for some really bizarre things ("slutty Hogwarts", "men and women licking frosting", "huge naked grandma boobs"). The most viewed blog post is Amber And The Intern: Bad Wedding Guests and I have absolutely no idea why unless the intern is running around driving people to that page (thanks if you are. I still think your decision to take up the bagpipes is really weird). I've also want to say thanks to a couple of readers who have been around since the beginning: my wonderful Canadian friend Pronto and the amazing but spider loving monogodo whose home I will never be visiting as he and his wife have surrounded themselves with tarantulas. You guys rock.
Thanks to each and every one of my Bizzybiz readers for your inexplicable interest in the ramblings of a highly accident prone, sex obsessed, boy crazy, immature, neurotic, socially inept, Christmas loving, moderately drunken midwestern girl with a Girl Scout Cookie addiction. You complete me. (But seriously, naked grandma boobs? How the hell does that search get you to here?)
Showing posts with label the number factory. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the number factory. Show all posts
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Ask A Silly Question...
Among his other responsibilities, Catholic Dennis runs a football pool at the number factory. When I first started playing, he walked around with little half sheets of paper and scored them by hand, but now he's all high tech and we make our selections on the internet. I've played off and on since I started working there. So far this year I've missed about half the season, though I did win one of the weeks I played. The past two weeks I didn't get around to it, so when he sent out the link today, it was accompanied by another e-mail asking, politely, where I've been lately. After I answered him, I got another e-mail that read "Boy did I open myself up to that one! Note to self: never ask open ended questions to Amber." I can't imagine why:
I know, I’m sorry!!!!!!! I missed the window Thanksgiving week due to traveling, then I forgot to ask Jeff for his real-gambler-with-two-fantasy-teams insight last week. Actually, none of that is true; I was kidnapped the day after Thanksgiving and forced to join the circus, until the powers that be in the MINI Cooper cult noticed I hadn’t been “motoring” and mounted a rescue mission led by Marky Mark Wahlberg and Ed Norton. On the way back we robbed a sauerkraut factory, then gave everything away to a band of homeless gypsy orphans (we were feeling the Christmas spirit, you see). When we got back, Ed signed my copy of American History X and Mark tried several times to give me a copy of Planet of the Apes, which I declined. Then we all went to see Blue Man Group, but it was sold out so we went bowling instead. So I didn’t really have time to make my picks, but I will this week, Scout’s honor.
I know, I’m sorry!!!!!!! I missed the window Thanksgiving week due to traveling, then I forgot to ask Jeff for his real-gambler-with-two-fantasy-teams insight last week. Actually, none of that is true; I was kidnapped the day after Thanksgiving and forced to join the circus, until the powers that be in the MINI Cooper cult noticed I hadn’t been “motoring” and mounted a rescue mission led by Marky Mark Wahlberg and Ed Norton. On the way back we robbed a sauerkraut factory, then gave everything away to a band of homeless gypsy orphans (we were feeling the Christmas spirit, you see). When we got back, Ed signed my copy of American History X and Mark tried several times to give me a copy of Planet of the Apes, which I declined. Then we all went to see Blue Man Group, but it was sold out so we went bowling instead. So I didn’t really have time to make my picks, but I will this week, Scout’s honor.
Friday, September 30, 2005
BruisyBruise
Here's the thing: I'm kind of a klutz. OK, maybe not kind of; I am a klutz.
Once, when I still worked at the number factory, I was walking down the hallway toward my office with Mary and our VP of Operations following in my wake. Now I had walked down this hallway many hundreds of times in my day; after all, my office lived there. So walking down that particular hallway should have been pretty routine. But alas, nothing is routine if it involves both me and any kind of motor skills or coordination. So when I got to the bend in the hallway (which had ALWAYS been there), I managed to completely miss the yards of open space to my immediate right and plant my face square into the wall. Mary, the world’s most patient best friend, is accustomed to seeing these types of walking fuck ups from me, but Operations didn't spend nearly as much time observing my inability to navigate minor obstacles, and was surprised.
"Did she just run right into the wall?" Operations asked of Patient Mary.
"Yup." Mary checked her wristwatch. "She's about due."
These close encounters with inanimate objects happen far more frequently than even I can imagine. So frequently, in fact, that I very rarely remember them at all. How do I know that these events occur if I can't remember them? Well, by the evidence they leave behind, of course. Because I am always covered in bruises. Always. I always tease whoever I'm currently dating and/or pseudo-dating that people are going to think they beat me because of the purple welts perpetually visible all over my body. (Fish doesn’t beat me by the way. And I don’t beat him either. He fell.)
The current leader of the pack is a quarter sized contusion on the back of my right leg, just above the knee. It is so purple that it’s black, and it’s actually raised like some kind of relief map. Also, it throbs whenever I so much as change my pants. Obviously I backed into something with some serious force. You’d think I’d be able to remember a mishap that would cause that level of damage. But you’d be wrong. A total blank as to how it got there. I only noticed it because I ran a washcloth over it in the shower kind of roughly and was rewarded with a startling pain that almost made me fall forward and achieve a matching bruise in the middle of my forehead.
I love the advice I get from people when I show off my latest transient body art. “Eat more bananas,” people will tell me. “They have potassium.” Or “You need to start taking iron supplements.” Funny how no one ever suggests, “Maybe you should start paying more attention” or “Quit walking into things, you dumb ass.” Because really, giving my body the nutrients it needs to fight the bruising is treating the symptom rather than the problem, isn’t it?
Once, when I still worked at the number factory, I was walking down the hallway toward my office with Mary and our VP of Operations following in my wake. Now I had walked down this hallway many hundreds of times in my day; after all, my office lived there. So walking down that particular hallway should have been pretty routine. But alas, nothing is routine if it involves both me and any kind of motor skills or coordination. So when I got to the bend in the hallway (which had ALWAYS been there), I managed to completely miss the yards of open space to my immediate right and plant my face square into the wall. Mary, the world’s most patient best friend, is accustomed to seeing these types of walking fuck ups from me, but Operations didn't spend nearly as much time observing my inability to navigate minor obstacles, and was surprised.
"Did she just run right into the wall?" Operations asked of Patient Mary.
"Yup." Mary checked her wristwatch. "She's about due."
These close encounters with inanimate objects happen far more frequently than even I can imagine. So frequently, in fact, that I very rarely remember them at all. How do I know that these events occur if I can't remember them? Well, by the evidence they leave behind, of course. Because I am always covered in bruises. Always. I always tease whoever I'm currently dating and/or pseudo-dating that people are going to think they beat me because of the purple welts perpetually visible all over my body. (Fish doesn’t beat me by the way. And I don’t beat him either. He fell.)
The current leader of the pack is a quarter sized contusion on the back of my right leg, just above the knee. It is so purple that it’s black, and it’s actually raised like some kind of relief map. Also, it throbs whenever I so much as change my pants. Obviously I backed into something with some serious force. You’d think I’d be able to remember a mishap that would cause that level of damage. But you’d be wrong. A total blank as to how it got there. I only noticed it because I ran a washcloth over it in the shower kind of roughly and was rewarded with a startling pain that almost made me fall forward and achieve a matching bruise in the middle of my forehead.
I love the advice I get from people when I show off my latest transient body art. “Eat more bananas,” people will tell me. “They have potassium.” Or “You need to start taking iron supplements.” Funny how no one ever suggests, “Maybe you should start paying more attention” or “Quit walking into things, you dumb ass.” Because really, giving my body the nutrients it needs to fight the bruising is treating the symptom rather than the problem, isn’t it?
Thursday, February 17, 2005
I Am Costanza
Tuesday morning. Two flash reports are needed for a client meeting. The Gander is leaving at noon. I have no statements. The Gander is desperate. Amberance to the rescue! I make a few phone calls and get enough data to do a very reasonable approximation of the client's performance so far this year. I fly through it and quickly rig something up. I send it to the Gander at 11:30. He kisses my feet. Okay, really he just said "thank you", but I like to imagine this is more meaningful to him than it actually is. I begin to come down from the adrenaline rush you get from racing to beat a looming surprise deadline. And then...
The headache crashed into me with such force that I could have sworn someone had bashed my head in with a baseball bat.
I don't know what's with the headaches all of a sudden. I'm not one of those people with a perpetual headache. At least I wasn't before. My two best guesses are that my body is either having a violent reaction to the copious amounts of caffeine I've been consuming recently, or that it's a physical manifestation of the stress that is caused when one decides to uproot one's entire life and everything they know and start over from scratch. Catholic Dennis suggests it's carbon monoxide poisoning. I think this is silly (but asked him to pray for me just in case). However, I digress.
My head. Hurt. Like a mother fucker. I was writhing in agony. The pain was such that I was actually nauseous from it. I would have cried, but I was afraid it would hurt more if I did. I moaned piteously instead. Replacement was worried about me - she rushed off to the kitchen to get me some generic aspirin alternative and a glass of water. I ate the faux-aspirin. I might as well have eaten a couple of Tic Tacs for all the good it did me. It was lunchtime. "Go home," said Replacement. But I couldn't, I had a lot of crap to teach her that day. There was only one thing to do.
It was bliss, I tell you, absolute bliss. Every white collar stiff's fantasy come true. I pushed my chair up against the wall. I then took my guest chair and placed it right next to my own. Then I shut my door, turned off the lights, threw a sweater over top of me and TOOK A NAP AT WORK IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY. A contented smile formed on my lips as I drifted into sweet, sweet sleep. In my office. During working hours. It was so George Costanza of me. A one-legged bum on the street outside my window played soft lullabyes to me on his out of tune saxophone as unconsciousness stole over me. I slept for an hour. Possibly the best nap of my life.
Of course, as soon as I sat up the raging headache overtook me once again and I was in agony until Sandi brought me some of the hard stuff she keeps in her desk (generic Aleeve). But I ran around the whole rest of the day telling everyone who crossed my path, "Guess what? I took a nap....at work!" Oh, the envy in their eyes. Phenomenal.
The headache crashed into me with such force that I could have sworn someone had bashed my head in with a baseball bat.
I don't know what's with the headaches all of a sudden. I'm not one of those people with a perpetual headache. At least I wasn't before. My two best guesses are that my body is either having a violent reaction to the copious amounts of caffeine I've been consuming recently, or that it's a physical manifestation of the stress that is caused when one decides to uproot one's entire life and everything they know and start over from scratch. Catholic Dennis suggests it's carbon monoxide poisoning. I think this is silly (but asked him to pray for me just in case). However, I digress.
My head. Hurt. Like a mother fucker. I was writhing in agony. The pain was such that I was actually nauseous from it. I would have cried, but I was afraid it would hurt more if I did. I moaned piteously instead. Replacement was worried about me - she rushed off to the kitchen to get me some generic aspirin alternative and a glass of water. I ate the faux-aspirin. I might as well have eaten a couple of Tic Tacs for all the good it did me. It was lunchtime. "Go home," said Replacement. But I couldn't, I had a lot of crap to teach her that day. There was only one thing to do.
It was bliss, I tell you, absolute bliss. Every white collar stiff's fantasy come true. I pushed my chair up against the wall. I then took my guest chair and placed it right next to my own. Then I shut my door, turned off the lights, threw a sweater over top of me and TOOK A NAP AT WORK IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY. A contented smile formed on my lips as I drifted into sweet, sweet sleep. In my office. During working hours. It was so George Costanza of me. A one-legged bum on the street outside my window played soft lullabyes to me on his out of tune saxophone as unconsciousness stole over me. I slept for an hour. Possibly the best nap of my life.
Of course, as soon as I sat up the raging headache overtook me once again and I was in agony until Sandi brought me some of the hard stuff she keeps in her desk (generic Aleeve). But I ran around the whole rest of the day telling everyone who crossed my path, "Guess what? I took a nap....at work!" Oh, the envy in their eyes. Phenomenal.
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Mother Nature Sucks My Ass
At 7:00 am this morning my phone rang. Normally, if my phone rings at 7:00 am, it's my bartender, calling to tell me bar stories from the night before, or to bitch about what a cunt his roommate's girlfriend is (she really is). Today it was Bia, wanting to know if I was going to work.
For those of you who are not living in this part of the country, let me give you some background. It's been snowing like a mother fucker for over 24 hours. Actually, it snowed, then it rained, then it freezing-rained, then it snowed again, and it is still snowing. There is about 16 inches of snow on the ground, as well as standing water everywhere from the rain last night. I dug my truck out of the driveway this morning while standing in snow more than halfway up to my knees. It's wet sticky snowball makin' snow, and it's heavy. I nearly had a heart attack trying to scrape the stuff off my windows.
Bia wanted to know if I was going to work because she was worried about the Cherub. The Cherub didn't have anyone to back her up on phones today, and Bia was going to do it. However the roads where Bia lives are impassable and there was no way she was going to make it here, so since I live in the city and have 4 wheel drive she called to make sure I was going.
I had considered not going. The freezing-rain woke me up at 3 am and I looked out my window and said "Fucking A." Then I, erm, rocked myself back to sleep. When my alarm went off I looked out and saw that it was even worse than when I looked at 3, and the roads hadn't been plowed AT ALL (This was not a surprise. Cleveland never plows my neighborhood, or anyone else's for that matter. It sucks here, hence why I'm leaving). Today is only a half day at the office anyway, our company's little gift to us to kick start our holiday weekend. We close up shop at noon. It's even listed on the corporate calendar. I thought "Fuck the half day, fuck changing the back up tapes in the server room, fuck everything. I'm staying in bed with my cat." She was adorably sleeping on my head at the time. But then Bia called to see if I would go. And I felt bad for the Cherub, so I went.
Holy freakin shit! I have never, ever seen anything like that in my life. Dumbasses were out in cars, CARS! careening around like bumper boats in a hurricane. Visibility was...well, invisible basically. I myself felt like I was off-roading the way my big honking truck was handling in that miserable slush. And I'm out driving in it with my heart in my throat because even though I have 4 wheel drive, most other people don't, and I know one of them is going to spin right into me and kill us both. I'm not ready to die, I just got my life back for crying out loud! And I'm pissed off that no one has called from the office to say "We love you. Please don't go out and kill yourself for a half-day. Stay home and watch porn instead."
Next, Mary hits me up on the TM.
Mary cell: U R not going in R U?????
Me: Have to. Bia is not going, [Cherub] needs help on phones. Bad out. Don't go.
Mary cell: WHAT??? R U fucking kidding me? Why is the office even open?
Me: Who knows?
Mary cell: Call when you get there.
When I get here, the Cherub is sitting all cute and cherubic at the front desk. "Did Bia call you?" I asked.
"Yes. Thanks! I was the only one here until about 10 minutes ago, when [Captain Morgan] came in."
"Wow. I think it's going to be just us today. That will be fun."
WRONG. Twenty minutes later the CEO shows up. I think I've mentioned before, but I'll say it again anyway, the CEO's head is so far up his own ass he can see his lungs. "You made it!" I said to him. "Are you still alive?"
"Piece of cake," he said, grinning stupidly. The CEO truly believes he is the best at everything. Even driving his crudded up Lexus in the snow. "Seriously though, it's getting bad outside. [Cherub], why don't you stay til about 2, to answer the phone, and the rest of us, let's all go home at noon." And with that he walked away, whistling obliviously.
The Cherub stood there shocked. "He's kidding right? He has to be kidding. He's not going to make me stay here is he?" I was too dumbfounded to answer her. I mean, the guy is stupid, but his name is on the fucking door, you'd think he'd be know when his own office is closed. Fortunately for our stunned selves, Captain Morgan overheard this surreal exchange and informed the CEO that we were ALREADY closing the office at noon, as per the corporate calendar, and there was no reason for the Cherub to stay.
Someday I'm going to figure out how a guy that disconnected from any events transpiring around him got to be so successful. In the meantime, as it's nearly 12, I'm going to pack up my shit and go the hell home before I get snowed in here for the holidays.
P.S. With not being at work I'm not sure when if I'll get a chance to blog over the weekend. But you all should be spending time with your families anyway, so go be merry and I'll be back on Monday. Peace, love, and lots of Christmas gifts for you all. And Happy Birthday to my cat Kristen and my bartender Jeff, both Christmas Eve babies, and both a joy to be around. I'm out like the fat kid in dodgeball.
For those of you who are not living in this part of the country, let me give you some background. It's been snowing like a mother fucker for over 24 hours. Actually, it snowed, then it rained, then it freezing-rained, then it snowed again, and it is still snowing. There is about 16 inches of snow on the ground, as well as standing water everywhere from the rain last night. I dug my truck out of the driveway this morning while standing in snow more than halfway up to my knees. It's wet sticky snowball makin' snow, and it's heavy. I nearly had a heart attack trying to scrape the stuff off my windows.
Bia wanted to know if I was going to work because she was worried about the Cherub. The Cherub didn't have anyone to back her up on phones today, and Bia was going to do it. However the roads where Bia lives are impassable and there was no way she was going to make it here, so since I live in the city and have 4 wheel drive she called to make sure I was going.
I had considered not going. The freezing-rain woke me up at 3 am and I looked out my window and said "Fucking A." Then I, erm, rocked myself back to sleep. When my alarm went off I looked out and saw that it was even worse than when I looked at 3, and the roads hadn't been plowed AT ALL (This was not a surprise. Cleveland never plows my neighborhood, or anyone else's for that matter. It sucks here, hence why I'm leaving). Today is only a half day at the office anyway, our company's little gift to us to kick start our holiday weekend. We close up shop at noon. It's even listed on the corporate calendar. I thought "Fuck the half day, fuck changing the back up tapes in the server room, fuck everything. I'm staying in bed with my cat." She was adorably sleeping on my head at the time. But then Bia called to see if I would go. And I felt bad for the Cherub, so I went.
Holy freakin shit! I have never, ever seen anything like that in my life. Dumbasses were out in cars, CARS! careening around like bumper boats in a hurricane. Visibility was...well, invisible basically. I myself felt like I was off-roading the way my big honking truck was handling in that miserable slush. And I'm out driving in it with my heart in my throat because even though I have 4 wheel drive, most other people don't, and I know one of them is going to spin right into me and kill us both. I'm not ready to die, I just got my life back for crying out loud! And I'm pissed off that no one has called from the office to say "We love you. Please don't go out and kill yourself for a half-day. Stay home and watch porn instead."
Next, Mary hits me up on the TM.
Mary cell: U R not going in R U?????
Me: Have to. Bia is not going, [Cherub] needs help on phones. Bad out. Don't go.
Mary cell: WHAT??? R U fucking kidding me? Why is the office even open?
Me: Who knows?
Mary cell: Call when you get there.
When I get here, the Cherub is sitting all cute and cherubic at the front desk. "Did Bia call you?" I asked.
"Yes. Thanks! I was the only one here until about 10 minutes ago, when [Captain Morgan] came in."
"Wow. I think it's going to be just us today. That will be fun."
WRONG. Twenty minutes later the CEO shows up. I think I've mentioned before, but I'll say it again anyway, the CEO's head is so far up his own ass he can see his lungs. "You made it!" I said to him. "Are you still alive?"
"Piece of cake," he said, grinning stupidly. The CEO truly believes he is the best at everything. Even driving his crudded up Lexus in the snow. "Seriously though, it's getting bad outside. [Cherub], why don't you stay til about 2, to answer the phone, and the rest of us, let's all go home at noon." And with that he walked away, whistling obliviously.
The Cherub stood there shocked. "He's kidding right? He has to be kidding. He's not going to make me stay here is he?" I was too dumbfounded to answer her. I mean, the guy is stupid, but his name is on the fucking door, you'd think he'd be know when his own office is closed. Fortunately for our stunned selves, Captain Morgan overheard this surreal exchange and informed the CEO that we were ALREADY closing the office at noon, as per the corporate calendar, and there was no reason for the Cherub to stay.
Someday I'm going to figure out how a guy that disconnected from any events transpiring around him got to be so successful. In the meantime, as it's nearly 12, I'm going to pack up my shit and go the hell home before I get snowed in here for the holidays.
P.S. With not being at work I'm not sure when if I'll get a chance to blog over the weekend. But you all should be spending time with your families anyway, so go be merry and I'll be back on Monday. Peace, love, and lots of Christmas gifts for you all. And Happy Birthday to my cat Kristen and my bartender Jeff, both Christmas Eve babies, and both a joy to be around. I'm out like the fat kid in dodgeball.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
My Last Office Christmas Party
And so it was, that on December 15th, 2004 I attended my last holiday luncheon here at my firm. And it was good. Maybe a little too good.
We started the afternoon by indulging in a little vino. I believe I mentioned in an earlier post about the Yankee swap. The gifts were layed out on a table off to the side. Several of us were standing there, attempting to divine their contents when the CEO came ambling by. "Did we all stick to the $75 limit this year?" he joked, as the limit was only recently increased to $25 from $20 the prior year. In the spirit of my impending departure I said, "Yeah right. As soon as I get that 75% raise." Probably a little out of line, but what the hell.
This was followed by the getting to know you game I had complained of earlier. It turned out to be fairly entertaining. Everyone's "fact" was listed on a sheet of paper and you had to go around interviewing people about themselves without asking any direct questions to try to match up the people with the fact. I spent most of my time copying other people's answers, and still only got 6 right, most of those being things that I already actually knew. But I did learn that the FNG partied with Keith Richards in Germany, so that was pretty cool.
We took the group picture, which I was very surprised at being invited to join in. Had I but known I would very much have worn a dress. And make up. Mary wore both and looked quite fetching, but per her usual routine she tried to hide behind a pole anyway.
We sat down to lunch. I am now on my third glass of wine, when one will usually do me. Hence I was more than a little amused by the corner of my menu, which read "Today's Beautiful Soup". Likewise, it didn't take much cajoling from Bia and Mary to get me to sing "All I Want For Christmas is You" at the table in front of everyone. It was well received.
After the show broke up, most of us headed down the street to the Treehouse, so called for the large tree that holds court behind the bar. Much hilarity ensued when Bia couldn't figure out how to light my cigarette and somehow between the two of us we broke it. While demonstrating how it was broken for Mary, I went to lean on Bia, who stepped away from me. I was surprised to suddenly find myself on the floor of the bar rather than on the bar stool where I had been only moments before. I'm pretty sure the only person who didn't see me fall was...me.
Finally I hauled my drunk ass home and stumbled up the stairs and into my bed. Kristen, who always sleeps with me, wouldn't come by me for some reason (because I reeked like a brewery perhaps?) even though I drunkenly called to her for 20 minutes and sang her song over and over ("Kitty meow meow meow, meowmeowmeow..."). So I got up and tried to grab her, but she (wisely) ran away. Finally I got out a bunch of kitty treats and put them all around my pillows in the bed to try and trick her into coming up there, and then promptly passed out. When I came to Kristen was snuggled up to me and the cat treats were gone. And I'm pretty sure that she ate them and not me.
I've been at work today for 5 hours, and yet I don't seem to have gotten anything done...
We started the afternoon by indulging in a little vino. I believe I mentioned in an earlier post about the Yankee swap. The gifts were layed out on a table off to the side. Several of us were standing there, attempting to divine their contents when the CEO came ambling by. "Did we all stick to the $75 limit this year?" he joked, as the limit was only recently increased to $25 from $20 the prior year. In the spirit of my impending departure I said, "Yeah right. As soon as I get that 75% raise." Probably a little out of line, but what the hell.
This was followed by the getting to know you game I had complained of earlier. It turned out to be fairly entertaining. Everyone's "fact" was listed on a sheet of paper and you had to go around interviewing people about themselves without asking any direct questions to try to match up the people with the fact. I spent most of my time copying other people's answers, and still only got 6 right, most of those being things that I already actually knew. But I did learn that the FNG partied with Keith Richards in Germany, so that was pretty cool.
We took the group picture, which I was very surprised at being invited to join in. Had I but known I would very much have worn a dress. And make up. Mary wore both and looked quite fetching, but per her usual routine she tried to hide behind a pole anyway.
We sat down to lunch. I am now on my third glass of wine, when one will usually do me. Hence I was more than a little amused by the corner of my menu, which read "Today's Beautiful Soup". Likewise, it didn't take much cajoling from Bia and Mary to get me to sing "All I Want For Christmas is You" at the table in front of everyone. It was well received.
After the show broke up, most of us headed down the street to the Treehouse, so called for the large tree that holds court behind the bar. Much hilarity ensued when Bia couldn't figure out how to light my cigarette and somehow between the two of us we broke it. While demonstrating how it was broken for Mary, I went to lean on Bia, who stepped away from me. I was surprised to suddenly find myself on the floor of the bar rather than on the bar stool where I had been only moments before. I'm pretty sure the only person who didn't see me fall was...me.
Finally I hauled my drunk ass home and stumbled up the stairs and into my bed. Kristen, who always sleeps with me, wouldn't come by me for some reason (because I reeked like a brewery perhaps?) even though I drunkenly called to her for 20 minutes and sang her song over and over ("Kitty meow meow meow, meowmeowmeow..."). So I got up and tried to grab her, but she (wisely) ran away. Finally I got out a bunch of kitty treats and put them all around my pillows in the bed to try and trick her into coming up there, and then promptly passed out. When I came to Kristen was snuggled up to me and the cat treats were gone. And I'm pretty sure that she ate them and not me.
I've been at work today for 5 hours, and yet I don't seem to have gotten anything done...
Thursday, December 09, 2004
A Fragile Truce
Don't you just love it when you have a falling out with someone and you decide it's not worth maintaining a friendship anymore, so you write them off, and then 3 months later they come back and start acting like nothing ever happened? Of course you don't, because that's a dick thing to do, and it's annoying.
The Gander, my primary confidant-turned-arch nemesis has apparently decided I'm pretty darn neat after all. I had actually been debating calling a truce myself, not because I wanted to, but because I need some electrical work done in my kitchen and sometimes you just have to swallow your pride in order to sucker your friends into helping you out for free. But The Gander beat me to it.
His first overture was to offer me free Browns tickets. Out of the blue he walks into my office and says "One of the investment management firms we deal with rented out a suite for the Browns/Patriots game on Sunday. It's like a vendor meet-and-greet, of sorts. I have two extra tickets, I thought you and Mary might like to go. Open bar starting at 11."
"Wow," I said. "I'd LOVE to go. Thank you so much for thinking of me. I'm really flattered." I really was really flattered, the dude hadn't done anything but spit nails at me since August. It appeared to be one of the best olive branches ever.
"Well Jay, V-man, Brian and Tom are all going, and I already asked Tim and Dennis, and neither of them can go. So after that I thought of you." A-ha. So really what happened is he ran out of football fans in the office and, lest the tickets get wasted, was forced to offer them to me. A little bit of a let down, but he DID offer them to me and, hey, open bar starting at 11, who am I to complain? So that was nice.
Fast forward to yesterday. I'm at home last night watching a tape of Friday night's Star Trek: Enterprise episode (OK, I'm a GINORMOUS nerd, so sue me) and my phone starts ringing. Mind you, my phone doesn't ring much, largely because I have almost no friends, which may or may not be related to things such as the fact that I like Star Trek. So I'm a little startled, because I just paid all my bills so I don't owe anyone money and I can't think of another reason why someone would want to get in touch with me. But since I am a Star Trek nerd I ignore it because, damn it, I'm watching Star Trek right now! When it's over I grab my phone to see who called and am extremely surprised to see the words "1 missed call: Gander cell" blinking up at me like a beacon of confusion. I assume he's still at work and in the midst of a self-inflicted crisis, that he's lost something he Desperately Needs Right Now, and that he's calling to 1) ask me where the FUCK CHRIST the GODDAMN FUCKING thing is or 2) accuse me of never sending it to him. I decide I had better call him back before he has an aneurysm.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it's Amber."
"Oh, hi."
Long pause.
"Um, I saw you called. Did you need something?"
"What? Oh. No. I was just out drinking with [007], and he really wanted to talk to you." 007 is one of our clients. One of our most demanding clients and our single biggest revenue source. I don't work on that account, and therefore I don't ever have any occasion to talk to him. What's more, I had been under the impression that he was only peripherally aware of my existence.
"He wants to talk to ME? What for?"
"I don't know. Here, let me put him on."
Pause.
"Amber? Hey, it's [007]. I'm with one of your clients...?"
"Yes [007], I know that. How are you?"
"I'm real good, thanks. Listen, I was at your place today, and I was going to stop by your office and talk to you, but [The Gander] dragged me into another room for a conference call." The conference call was the only reason he was in our offices in the first place. "[The Gander] tells me you're leaving the company."
"Yes, I'm moving to Chicago."
"Wow, that's great for you. I know [The Gander] will be sorry to see you go. He thinks very highly of you, you know. You'll have to come back sometime and we'll all go out and have a drink." ?????????????????????????????????
"Sure, [007], that would be great. Thanks so much." Thanks for what? I'm reeling; I can't think of a single coherent thing to say.
"Ok, well I'm going to give you back to [The Gander], I know he really wanted to talk to you."
Pause.
"Amber?"
"Yeah?"
"Ok, I guess I'll see you in the morning then?"
"Sure." Right. What the fuck just happened? First of all, he has not mentioned to me once anything about my resignation. He has also spent the last 3 months meticulously explaining to me how very incompetent I am. But he's out telling a client how brilliant I am, and how my leaving is such a big blow to the company? And not only that, but apparently that I'm also a rip-roarin' good time at bars? I have no words.
Which brings us to today. The consultants all got new e-mail capable cell phones. The Gander is a total gadget-head, and must immediately drop whatever he's doing to try out each and every new feature. He comes tearing into my office. "We got new wireless devices! I just sent you an e-mail from it. Let's see how long it takes for it to get here!!!!" He's all fidgety, practically dancing as he stands beside my desk peering over my shoulder at my screen. He looks like a kid trying not to pee his pants. Twenty seconds later a little envelope pops up. "Open it!" he cries giddily.
I open it. "eat shit :)"
"Nice," I say.
"No, wait! Now you send me one and we'll see how long it takes to get to me!"
Exasperated sigh. "Alright." I type "you too" and hit send.
waiting....waiting...ding! He pokes the screen with his little stylus. "'You too.' Thanks a lot. HEHEHE!" He gives me his best Charlie Brown grin and skitters away like a chipmunk on crack.
Incidentally, I e-mailed Mary about the exchange and received the following reply: "It's kind of comical to think of how sometimes, that gadget will ding-ding some happy little tune, and then the little guy checking the corresponding email will turn red and his head will pop off." True that.
In the meantime, it appears I have my friend The Gander back. At least until some really minor thing goes wrong and he goes all "The Shining" on me. HEEEEERRE'S JOHNNY!!!!!!!!!
The Gander, my primary confidant-turned-arch nemesis has apparently decided I'm pretty darn neat after all. I had actually been debating calling a truce myself, not because I wanted to, but because I need some electrical work done in my kitchen and sometimes you just have to swallow your pride in order to sucker your friends into helping you out for free. But The Gander beat me to it.
His first overture was to offer me free Browns tickets. Out of the blue he walks into my office and says "One of the investment management firms we deal with rented out a suite for the Browns/Patriots game on Sunday. It's like a vendor meet-and-greet, of sorts. I have two extra tickets, I thought you and Mary might like to go. Open bar starting at 11."
"Wow," I said. "I'd LOVE to go. Thank you so much for thinking of me. I'm really flattered." I really was really flattered, the dude hadn't done anything but spit nails at me since August. It appeared to be one of the best olive branches ever.
"Well Jay, V-man, Brian and Tom are all going, and I already asked Tim and Dennis, and neither of them can go. So after that I thought of you." A-ha. So really what happened is he ran out of football fans in the office and, lest the tickets get wasted, was forced to offer them to me. A little bit of a let down, but he DID offer them to me and, hey, open bar starting at 11, who am I to complain? So that was nice.
Fast forward to yesterday. I'm at home last night watching a tape of Friday night's Star Trek: Enterprise episode (OK, I'm a GINORMOUS nerd, so sue me) and my phone starts ringing. Mind you, my phone doesn't ring much, largely because I have almost no friends, which may or may not be related to things such as the fact that I like Star Trek. So I'm a little startled, because I just paid all my bills so I don't owe anyone money and I can't think of another reason why someone would want to get in touch with me. But since I am a Star Trek nerd I ignore it because, damn it, I'm watching Star Trek right now! When it's over I grab my phone to see who called and am extremely surprised to see the words "1 missed call: Gander cell" blinking up at me like a beacon of confusion. I assume he's still at work and in the midst of a self-inflicted crisis, that he's lost something he Desperately Needs Right Now, and that he's calling to 1) ask me where the FUCK CHRIST the GODDAMN FUCKING thing is or 2) accuse me of never sending it to him. I decide I had better call him back before he has an aneurysm.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it's Amber."
"Oh, hi."
Long pause.
"Um, I saw you called. Did you need something?"
"What? Oh. No. I was just out drinking with [007], and he really wanted to talk to you." 007 is one of our clients. One of our most demanding clients and our single biggest revenue source. I don't work on that account, and therefore I don't ever have any occasion to talk to him. What's more, I had been under the impression that he was only peripherally aware of my existence.
"He wants to talk to ME? What for?"
"I don't know. Here, let me put him on."
Pause.
"Amber? Hey, it's [007]. I'm with one of your clients...?"
"Yes [007], I know that. How are you?"
"I'm real good, thanks. Listen, I was at your place today, and I was going to stop by your office and talk to you, but [The Gander] dragged me into another room for a conference call." The conference call was the only reason he was in our offices in the first place. "[The Gander] tells me you're leaving the company."
"Yes, I'm moving to Chicago."
"Wow, that's great for you. I know [The Gander] will be sorry to see you go. He thinks very highly of you, you know. You'll have to come back sometime and we'll all go out and have a drink." ?????????????????????????????????
"Sure, [007], that would be great. Thanks so much." Thanks for what? I'm reeling; I can't think of a single coherent thing to say.
"Ok, well I'm going to give you back to [The Gander], I know he really wanted to talk to you."
Pause.
"Amber?"
"Yeah?"
"Ok, I guess I'll see you in the morning then?"
"Sure." Right. What the fuck just happened? First of all, he has not mentioned to me once anything about my resignation. He has also spent the last 3 months meticulously explaining to me how very incompetent I am. But he's out telling a client how brilliant I am, and how my leaving is such a big blow to the company? And not only that, but apparently that I'm also a rip-roarin' good time at bars? I have no words.
Which brings us to today. The consultants all got new e-mail capable cell phones. The Gander is a total gadget-head, and must immediately drop whatever he's doing to try out each and every new feature. He comes tearing into my office. "We got new wireless devices! I just sent you an e-mail from it. Let's see how long it takes for it to get here!!!!" He's all fidgety, practically dancing as he stands beside my desk peering over my shoulder at my screen. He looks like a kid trying not to pee his pants. Twenty seconds later a little envelope pops up. "Open it!" he cries giddily.
I open it. "eat shit :)"
"Nice," I say.
"No, wait! Now you send me one and we'll see how long it takes to get to me!"
Exasperated sigh. "Alright." I type "you too" and hit send.
waiting....waiting...ding! He pokes the screen with his little stylus. "'You too.' Thanks a lot. HEHEHE!" He gives me his best Charlie Brown grin and skitters away like a chipmunk on crack.
Incidentally, I e-mailed Mary about the exchange and received the following reply: "It's kind of comical to think of how sometimes, that gadget will ding-ding some happy little tune, and then the little guy checking the corresponding email will turn red and his head will pop off." True that.
In the meantime, it appears I have my friend The Gander back. At least until some really minor thing goes wrong and he goes all "The Shining" on me. HEEEEERRE'S JOHNNY!!!!!!!!!
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
Little Known Fact
Every year at my company we have a holiday outing. We used to go out for a fancy dinner, but a couple years ago when the budget was tightened we changed it to lunch. This actually works out better because since we all imbibe alcohol at these events, we are not required to go back to work that day. At these events there are a number of activities. The standard one is a Yankee swap gift exchange, which is very popular. Every year we forget how to do it and every year we make Dennis stand up and re-explain the rules. Other activities have varied in the past, from "Match the Team Member with their Baby Picture" to the CEO dressing up as Santa and reciting a poem he wrote making fun of everyone (it was surprisingly funny).
This year, the activity is "Getting to Know You." Our task is to come up with a fact that no one here knows about us and e-mail it to Chris, the party organizer. She will then compile the list and at the party we will try to guess who said what.
Anyone see the problem here? If it's not obvious to you already, I can't shut up about anything. I can't think of a single thing, not ONE, that at least five people here don't know about me. I have been combing through my life for a week now trying to come up with something. One thing that I thought would be a funny little known fact about me would be to make that my resignation. Picture it: room full of stunned employees trying to guess who goes with the little known fact of "I quit." But alas, I ruined that by resigning the proper way. But that got me thinking that what I'd really like to do is come up with something that would be funny for me, and maybe Mary, but totally uncomfortable for everyone else. I delight in other people's discomfort. It wouldn't have to even be something that nobody knows, just something that would startle everyone out of their revelry. Some possible candidates I've come up with:
I like pie.
I showered today.
My mom's dead.
The voices made me do it.
My dad is the mailman.
I killed my cactus through overwatering.
I eat paste.
I'm a Branch Davidian.
My ovary hurts.
Are they gonna miss me or what?!?
This year, the activity is "Getting to Know You." Our task is to come up with a fact that no one here knows about us and e-mail it to Chris, the party organizer. She will then compile the list and at the party we will try to guess who said what.
Anyone see the problem here? If it's not obvious to you already, I can't shut up about anything. I can't think of a single thing, not ONE, that at least five people here don't know about me. I have been combing through my life for a week now trying to come up with something. One thing that I thought would be a funny little known fact about me would be to make that my resignation. Picture it: room full of stunned employees trying to guess who goes with the little known fact of "I quit." But alas, I ruined that by resigning the proper way. But that got me thinking that what I'd really like to do is come up with something that would be funny for me, and maybe Mary, but totally uncomfortable for everyone else. I delight in other people's discomfort. It wouldn't have to even be something that nobody knows, just something that would startle everyone out of their revelry. Some possible candidates I've come up with:
I like pie.
I showered today.
My mom's dead.
The voices made me do it.
My dad is the mailman.
I killed my cactus through overwatering.
I eat paste.
I'm a Branch Davidian.
My ovary hurts.
Are they gonna miss me or what?!?
Monday, November 29, 2004
Photo Update
Ok, so Bia freaked when I told her I blogged her picture and she made me promise to take it off. So I did, and replaced it with a picture of just me, which I think is not as good, but what can you do? My friend Tim immediately volunteered to take photos of me dressed up in my black shrink wrap outfit, then ruined it for himself when he told me that he had taken some pictures of his wife which were well posed, but came out badly because "the photographer wasn't very good". Not the best way to go about selling your services, I must say. Silver medal try Tim, but I'm thinking no.
Friday, November 19, 2004
From the Desk of the CEO...
Today, the founder and CEO of my company told me he wants to promote me. Now, before you go congratulating me, let me give you a little bit of background:
This is not the first time since I've been here that I've been told by someone that they "want" to promote me. In fact, it's more like the 10th time. I used to get really excited a la Sally Field ("You REALLY like me!"), but after about the 3rd or 4th time, I finally realized that when people here say they "want" to promote you, it is akin to when I say I "want" a penis for 24 hours. As much as I dream of peeing my name in the snow, it ain't gonna happen.
But today was a little different. I was in his office having just gotten off a conference call when he said, "Amber, I have to talk to you about something. Actually, I don't have to talk to you about it. I want to talk to you about it."
Queue the red flags.
"How do you view your role in this company going forward?"
Uh oh. I don't view myself as having a role in this company going forward. I am moving to Chicago in 2 months. I wisely decide it is not the appropriate time to bring this up. I decide instead to take the extremely rare opportunity to give him some insight into what I do think.
"Well, I'll be honest with you. I think my skills are being under-utilized in this company. I am capable of handling much more analytical work than the things I am currently responsible for. I once was getting to do some of that work, but when the new system was brought online and didn't work, I had to stop doing that, and concentrate on getting done what is basically busywork for me. I was very disappointed." Yes, I really did use the word busywork. How many chances like this do you get?
"I understand how you feel. I'd really like, in the next few weeks, to start to transition you out of that role, and into a role of greater responsibility. [The Gander] has been asking me for a while to transition you to a support consulting role and assign you exclusively to him."
I kind of knew this already. There was even a time when I thought that was something I wanted. The Gander and I used to be friends, pretty close friends actually, but his tantrums and seizures became unbearable to me and ultimately destroyed not only my desire to work with him, but also our friendship. I no longer wish to fill this role. "Uh huh," I say.
"Now I know he can be hard to work with sometimes. [The Gander's] problem is that he overextends himself, and then he doesn't know how to prioritize all the work." (The Gander's problem is that he's a dick.) "He needs someone that can help him with setting those priorities and help him to get the work done." (He needs someone to kick him in the nuts and tell him to shut the fuck up.) "I think you are a person who could handle helping him do that." (I think I am a person who can handle kicking him in the nuts and telling him to shut the fuck up.)
At this point, possibly because he sees the maniacal look on my face as I imagine caving in The Gander's nads, he changes course a little bit. And here, dear reader, is where it gets REALLY good.
"Ambitious people need to look for companies where there is growth. Companies that are growing offer opportunities to ambitious people for greater responsibility and compensation." So I've heard. But I wouldn't know that firsthand, because I work here, and this is not one of those companies. "I think this is one of those companies." For the record, he also thinks the phrase "What is the process of statement processing?" is a double entendre, and that there is "a right way and a wrong way" to go about sleeping with your secretary behind your wife's back. But I digress. "Now when you are given an opportunity for greater responsibility, the greater compensation does not come with that right away. When you are given an opportunity, you need to prove yourself. Then you can come back in 6 months to a year or so and say, 'Look at all I have accomplished. I deserve greater compensation!' and no one will be able to argue with that."
Put your eyes back in your head; you read that right. He basically just told me that he wanted to promote me, but not pay me more. This is not the way I understood promotions to typically work. I think it goes like this: You get promoted BECAUSE you have proven yourself, and you get paid for your newly earned responsibilities accordingly. Right? Is that right? I think that's right. I've never heard of it working where the dude in charge said, "Well, we don't really know about her abilities. Let's give her something harder to do, and if she doesn't suck at it, we'll give her lots more money!!!"
"I think sometime next week, you, me and [The Gander] should sit down and talk about this a little more. What do you think?"
"Okay. That sounds fine."
"Good. I'll set it up. Thanks a lot lady." (he calls me that sometimes, I think when he forgets my name.)
I think when this resumes we should continue the discussion in MY office, where I can use my giant desk for support while I bend over.
This is not the first time since I've been here that I've been told by someone that they "want" to promote me. In fact, it's more like the 10th time. I used to get really excited a la Sally Field ("You REALLY like me!"), but after about the 3rd or 4th time, I finally realized that when people here say they "want" to promote you, it is akin to when I say I "want" a penis for 24 hours. As much as I dream of peeing my name in the snow, it ain't gonna happen.
But today was a little different. I was in his office having just gotten off a conference call when he said, "Amber, I have to talk to you about something. Actually, I don't have to talk to you about it. I want to talk to you about it."
Queue the red flags.
"How do you view your role in this company going forward?"
Uh oh. I don't view myself as having a role in this company going forward. I am moving to Chicago in 2 months. I wisely decide it is not the appropriate time to bring this up. I decide instead to take the extremely rare opportunity to give him some insight into what I do think.
"Well, I'll be honest with you. I think my skills are being under-utilized in this company. I am capable of handling much more analytical work than the things I am currently responsible for. I once was getting to do some of that work, but when the new system was brought online and didn't work, I had to stop doing that, and concentrate on getting done what is basically busywork for me. I was very disappointed." Yes, I really did use the word busywork. How many chances like this do you get?
"I understand how you feel. I'd really like, in the next few weeks, to start to transition you out of that role, and into a role of greater responsibility. [The Gander] has been asking me for a while to transition you to a support consulting role and assign you exclusively to him."
I kind of knew this already. There was even a time when I thought that was something I wanted. The Gander and I used to be friends, pretty close friends actually, but his tantrums and seizures became unbearable to me and ultimately destroyed not only my desire to work with him, but also our friendship. I no longer wish to fill this role. "Uh huh," I say.
"Now I know he can be hard to work with sometimes. [The Gander's] problem is that he overextends himself, and then he doesn't know how to prioritize all the work." (The Gander's problem is that he's a dick.) "He needs someone that can help him with setting those priorities and help him to get the work done." (He needs someone to kick him in the nuts and tell him to shut the fuck up.) "I think you are a person who could handle helping him do that." (I think I am a person who can handle kicking him in the nuts and telling him to shut the fuck up.)
At this point, possibly because he sees the maniacal look on my face as I imagine caving in The Gander's nads, he changes course a little bit. And here, dear reader, is where it gets REALLY good.
"Ambitious people need to look for companies where there is growth. Companies that are growing offer opportunities to ambitious people for greater responsibility and compensation." So I've heard. But I wouldn't know that firsthand, because I work here, and this is not one of those companies. "I think this is one of those companies." For the record, he also thinks the phrase "What is the process of statement processing?" is a double entendre, and that there is "a right way and a wrong way" to go about sleeping with your secretary behind your wife's back. But I digress. "Now when you are given an opportunity for greater responsibility, the greater compensation does not come with that right away. When you are given an opportunity, you need to prove yourself. Then you can come back in 6 months to a year or so and say, 'Look at all I have accomplished. I deserve greater compensation!' and no one will be able to argue with that."
Put your eyes back in your head; you read that right. He basically just told me that he wanted to promote me, but not pay me more. This is not the way I understood promotions to typically work. I think it goes like this: You get promoted BECAUSE you have proven yourself, and you get paid for your newly earned responsibilities accordingly. Right? Is that right? I think that's right. I've never heard of it working where the dude in charge said, "Well, we don't really know about her abilities. Let's give her something harder to do, and if she doesn't suck at it, we'll give her lots more money!!!"
"I think sometime next week, you, me and [The Gander] should sit down and talk about this a little more. What do you think?"
"Okay. That sounds fine."
"Good. I'll set it up. Thanks a lot lady." (he calls me that sometimes, I think when he forgets my name.)
I think when this resumes we should continue the discussion in MY office, where I can use my giant desk for support while I bend over.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Office
The nice thing about having my own office is that when I got it, they gave me this huge enormous desk, which comes in handy for bending over when people who work here try to fuck me in the ass.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
The Cherub
I am a big fan of our newest edition here at the office, The Cherub. The Cherub is very cute and little. She's not even 5 feet tall. I find that (most) things are cuter when they are in miniature. So she's got that going for her. She is also very very nice, disarmingly so. But most importantly, she has a bit of a naughty streak, to wit:
1. She attended her second sex toy party last weekend, and came back regaling us with tales of dildos you can suction cup to your shower wall. (???)
2. Her birthday is this month. Tim and Bia let her in on our favorite lunch place, the Crazy Horse(or Gold Horse or Platinum Horse or whatever it is they are riding on this month) strip club. Aside from having naked women (Athena is my fav) they also make a tasty burger. And The Cherub feels that it sounds like the perfect establishment for her birthday lunch this Friday.
Giddyup.
1. She attended her second sex toy party last weekend, and came back regaling us with tales of dildos you can suction cup to your shower wall. (???)
2. Her birthday is this month. Tim and Bia let her in on our favorite lunch place, the Crazy Horse(or Gold Horse or Platinum Horse or whatever it is they are riding on this month) strip club. Aside from having naked women (Athena is my fav) they also make a tasty burger. And The Cherub feels that it sounds like the perfect establishment for her birthday lunch this Friday.
Giddyup.
Monday, November 15, 2004
Working With The Gander
ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Fuckin Guy
The Gander is at it again. He's in and out of my office throwing a tantrum like a petulant child because of something that is neither my fault nor my problem. Today he wants to know if some transactions happened for a particular client. I asked what accounts were supposed to have activity, and what date that activity was supposed to have started. I get this response: "I need to know what happened and what didn't happen." Thank you Captain Obvious, for clarifying that.
So I go on the website and print out all the transactions for the month of November thus far. I leave the stack on his chair. Five minutes later he storms back in my office and asks me what he is supposed to do with them. Here's an idea - try reading them and seeing what happened and what didn't happen. I certainly hope that I'm not expected to teach an Ivy League educated individual how to read transaction statements. So I told him I didn't know what he was supposed to do with them, but probably what I would do is add up the transactions to see if they moved all the money or not. He said, "FINE. THANKS." and stomped back off to his lair.
*deep breath*
I am trying to not get that upset, because he is under a lot of pressure and his job is hard. But MY job is hard too, and I am under pressure, and I'm not flitting around the office like a seething tyrant with a Napoleonic complex and e-mailing people nasty-grams at the slightest provocation. An even better comparison would be the Great One, who does the exact same job as the Gander, but without all the cussing and throwing things. It's total bullshit, he's pissing me off, and I don't feel like doing this anymore.
And it's fucking cold outside.
So I go on the website and print out all the transactions for the month of November thus far. I leave the stack on his chair. Five minutes later he storms back in my office and asks me what he is supposed to do with them. Here's an idea - try reading them and seeing what happened and what didn't happen. I certainly hope that I'm not expected to teach an Ivy League educated individual how to read transaction statements. So I told him I didn't know what he was supposed to do with them, but probably what I would do is add up the transactions to see if they moved all the money or not. He said, "FINE. THANKS." and stomped back off to his lair.
I am trying to not get that upset, because he is under a lot of pressure and his job is hard. But MY job is hard too, and I am under pressure, and I'm not flitting around the office like a seething tyrant with a Napoleonic complex and e-mailing people nasty-grams at the slightest provocation. An even better comparison would be the Great One, who does the exact same job as the Gander, but without all the cussing and throwing things. It's total bullshit, he's pissing me off, and I don't feel like doing this anymore.
And it's fucking cold outside.
Monday, November 08, 2004
Monday Timisms 2
After a week of being asked "Hey Tim, what are opinions like?" Tim has this to say:
" I only said whatever because I didn't feel like saying assholes." Thank you for clearing that up.
Tim also says the election is not over. "Have the provisional ballots been counted? Have they been certified? Has the Electoral College voted? Has that been certified?" I didn't feel like arguing semantics with him, so I told him my left foot was about to vote for his nads, and then I backed down and threw a binder clip at him instead. That'll teach him.
" I only said whatever because I didn't feel like saying assholes." Thank you for clearing that up.
Tim also says the election is not over. "Have the provisional ballots been counted? Have they been certified? Has the Electoral College voted? Has that been certified?" I didn't feel like arguing semantics with him, so I told him my left foot was about to vote for his nads, and then I backed down and threw a binder clip at him instead. That'll teach him.
Monday, November 01, 2004
Monday Timisms
Today's jems, uttered with love by my unique and interesting co-worker, Tim:
When asked his opinion on Teresa Heinz Kerry: "First ladies are unimportant to me, unless they're hot, like Jacqueline."
In regards to a statement that 77% of the budget for the Cleveland Metroparks goes to employee salaries seems excessive: "It's a service organization! What are they supposed to do, go out and buy squirrels?"
And finally, with no context because I can't remember what we were talking about (and it doesn't really matter anyway): "Opinions are, like, whatever. Everybody has one."
That last one really gets me. I keep spitting out cough drop juice every time I read it.
Bia had one too. She was sitting in a chair in my office and felt the need to impart this: "I wish I could kill myself for, like, five days." Random, huh? I laughed for about five days, I'll tell ya that.
When asked his opinion on Teresa Heinz Kerry: "First ladies are unimportant to me, unless they're hot, like Jacqueline."
In regards to a statement that 77% of the budget for the Cleveland Metroparks goes to employee salaries seems excessive: "It's a service organization! What are they supposed to do, go out and buy squirrels?"
And finally, with no context because I can't remember what we were talking about (and it doesn't really matter anyway): "Opinions are, like, whatever. Everybody has one."
That last one really gets me. I keep spitting out cough drop juice every time I read it.
Bia had one too. She was sitting in a chair in my office and felt the need to impart this: "I wish I could kill myself for, like, five days." Random, huh? I laughed for about five days, I'll tell ya that.
Friday, October 29, 2004
The Gander
There is a page in these quarterly investment reports that I spend most of my waking hours creating called "Investment Policy Compliance". The whole point of the page is that if the investments are out of line with the policy, the client will know and can take action to correct it. So when I take this page to the Gander for a client that is out of compliance, he comes right back down here and tells me I have to change it because it is supposed to be in compliance. Ummmmm, no, see, cause that's not the truth. The truth is the people in charge of the money are putting it in the wrong place, and THEY need to fix that problem. My job is to call 'em like I see 'em, in this case, wrong. But whatever. Somehow I got on his ignore list a few weeks ago, so when he does actually have to speak to me he is always incensed. That's fine, I'm accustomed to his tantrums. Not that I couldn't do without them...I see those big city lights beckoning me away from all this bullshit. Sweet home, Chicago.
In the meantime, these political adds are driving me crazy. I can't wait for Tuesday to be over, I have had it with this campaign. It is so comforting to know that come next presidential election year I'll be living in Illinois instead of a swing state. Granted my vote won't really count, but at least there won't be people in town tying up traffic more than it already is.
In the meantime, these political adds are driving me crazy. I can't wait for Tuesday to be over, I have had it with this campaign. It is so comforting to know that come next presidential election year I'll be living in Illinois instead of a swing state. Granted my vote won't really count, but at least there won't be people in town tying up traffic more than it already is.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Twice the ignorance?
I thought double entendre was a pretty common phrase, but I guess not since half the people I know seem confused by it's usage. We can't all be word snobs I guess. Mary and Rob are going to be a double entendre for Halloween. Should be fun. Now if only I could find two hairy guys to be Playboy bunnies to my Hugh Hefner...
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