It’s me or you, pal. And just for the record, I never lose.

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Just to prove that I’m not exaggerating about the mutha sucka (the trainee who sucks his teeth CONSTANTLY), here’s an IM conversation with a co-worker today. She has to sit right beside him, and she hasn’t killed him… yet. She must have some good drugs. I need to find out.

Coworker says: Is M deaf or oblivious? (our other co-worker, who is a guy, doesn’t seem to notice the sucking sounds)
ME says: yes, but mostly oblivious. his book is so good he’s lost his hearing. (MS sucking teeth – really long and loud) wow… it never stops. i quit. you can tell bossman why.
CW says: I know , I know….. you and I need to move or he needs to move…..over by J
ME says: oh… em… gee! (he just sucked a diddy through his teeth) no, he needs to move OUT!!
CW says: (sending a pretend email from boss) It has come to my attention that there may be some issues with distracting bodily noises while on the floor. Please be aware of your surroundings and any body sounds whether conscious or not and be considerate of your teammates
ME says: I’m sending it to boss to use as a template. (another LONG, LOUD sucking noise – followed by several more in a row) REALLY?!? every 5 seconds now???
CW says: He just finished some choc and peanut butter, he has stuff stuck maybe it will get better in a min
ME says: that could take a while… peanut butter is tricky. OMG… i miss peanut butter
CW says: especially that kind in butterfinger
ME says: now i have a reason to hate him. well, another reason.
CW says: maybe I will sit over here and eat and smack really loud and he’ll hear me and say something and I’ll be like OMG how could you hear that with that chipmunk slurping sound you have goin on. omg or better yet let’s all start making the same sound and maybe he’ll get annoyed
ME says: i seriously tried that the other night. every time he made the sound, i did, too. he never noticed. or if he did, he didn’t care.
CW says: omg, you so did not! maybe he has a pet cricket in his pocket
ME says: so, i should kick him there?
CW says: that would be better than sitting in his lap and all
ME says: ewwww…

And now… NOW, not only is he making the teeth sucking sound… he’s added snorting! You know? That sound when someone is sucking all the snot out of their nose so they can spit it out? UGH!

I seriously need some tranquilizers. And not for me.


Silence!! I keel you!

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Oh. Em. Gee. I may be in jail by the end of this work day. For reals.

One of my trainees has this habit that is urging me to down a bottle of Jager and go on a killing spree. He sucks his teeth. You know? That irri-fucking-tating slurpy-sucking sound like the person making it is trying to pull a small woodland creature through their mouth bones?! Well, it’s one of my pet peeves. I HATE that noise. And he’s making it. Over and over and OVER. AND OVER. Like every 30 seconds.

I’m already extremely stabby today. It’s my Friday, but it started off rotten, and keeps getting worse. Slow traffic, stolen parking spaces, sucky emails, broken badge, and now… THIS. And he keeps doing it! Gah! Ever heard of floss, pal? WTF is stuck in there?!?

I don’t think this asshat is gonna last long. Right now, he’s making me want a couple of candy bars. One to schkoff and one to shove down his fucking throat. If he’s choking, maybe he’ll stop sucking his mutha-fuckin’ teeth. Maybe he’ll pass out from lack of oxygen and make the rest of my day awesome.

Ah, blessed silence, I long for you so.

Fuck it. I’m going on a hunt for duct tape. See if he can suck through that.

FYI – I drop the F bomb a LOT when I’m cranky-pants. Just in case you hadn’t already noticed.

I hope that cabana boy is worth the $5k

Sunday, May 15, 2011

I took out a loan on my 401k in order to pay off some bills. I’ll have a little over $5k left after paying off those bills (check!), getting a sweet new computer (check!), and getting some work done on my car (almost check!).

Now, the goal was for me to put any extra cash toward my student loan (yes, I’m still paying it off! shut yer pie hole, mom!), but I’m not sure I can make myself do it. When I close my eyes, I see islands, and cabana boys. I see mountains, and camping with cabana boys. I see cruises, and cabana boys holding my hair back while I puke because I forgot to take my dramamine. Ok, not so much on that last one, but you get the drift.

I haven’t had a REAL vacation in years. When I say real, I mean one in which I go far, far away and forget about e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g I’ve left behind (except Princess Fuzzybuns Beardlicker – she might have to come with) – especially work. My last semi-real vacation was in 2008 (I think?) to my friend’s awesome vacation home in Sarasota, but I got calls from work while I was there, so even though I enjoyed it immensely (that house is AMAZING!), I don’t count it as a REAL vacation.

I want a REAL vacation. I NEED a REAL vacation. But I also want to be free of debt, and my fucking student loan is the last of it. I should really just hold off on the vacation and do the right thing. Right? Sigh. I need a sign. I really need a sign.


Does someone walking by in a green hat count as a sign? Yes! I thik it does! Huzzah! I think Ireland just stomped the frikka-frakin’ student loan’s arse! Hey, Blarney Stone! I’m coming’ to kiss you on the lips! (Not really – that thing hasn’t been cleaned in, well, ever. And I do have SOME standards. Sort of.) Put down that shillelagh, you half-baked leprechaun! I just paid $5k for a crack at yer pot o’ gold! This is gonna be the best vacation EVER!

Gasp. Do they have cabana boys in Ireland?

Sunday funday? Not so much.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

I hate it when someone promises me something and then backs down. I especially hate it when the broken promise was to come in early for work in order to relieve me. I’ve been here for over 10 hours now, after less than four hours of sleep, and I WANT TO FUCKING GO HOME ALREADY!!!

Aaaand… just as I was typing that she called and said her alarm didn’t go off and she’s on her way. Awesome. No one has to die.

Here’s some haiku to honor all you muthas!

(the first one’s dedicated to my brother who had to spend the day with preacher mom – better him than me! snort!)

preaching on sunday
does not a happy day make
pass me the muzzle

(and this one’s to me mum)

only mom i know
you didn’t give birth to me
you gave me much more

Bunnies! (with a side of taters)

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Happy Easter, Blogiverse!

I hope you’re enjoying your food induced coma while I’m slaving away at work on this beautiful Easter Sunday. You’re probably watching TV, too. I think you suck sooo much for not being here to share in my misery. I’ve been debating whether or not to use my corporate powers for evil and leave early. But I’ve got vacation coming up next week (WOOT!) so I’m trying to stick it out. Sigh. It’s hard. I really want to leave. I’ve got a terminal case of the ITIS. If you loved me, you’d pull the fire alarm. But you don’t love me. I want a divorce. Chocolate might make me love you again.

the bunneh cometh
and bringeth candied delights
he makes me arse fat

i like colored eggs
and bunnehs taste like chicken
or so kitteh says

One more week ’til Beltane! Anyone up for some sky-clad pole-dancin’? No?

may day approacheth
put ye celtic accent on
feeleth medieval!

lighting a bonfire
in the navel of ireland –

Chirp. I feel all eggy now.

Parts is Parts

Friday, April 15, 2011

In talking with my co-workers a couple of weeks ago, I discovered that I have to have my birth certificate in order to get my drivers license switched over to this state. Yes, I’ve been living here for over a year and this is just now coming up. I’m a procrastinator. I’ve admitted as much on my “about me” page. So shut it.

I was worried because I was going to have to ask my mom to send the original to me.

First of all, the sweet, old broad has cataracts and can’t see worth a shit anymore, especially close up and far away. So her finding my actual birth certificate (as opposed to a recipe card, knitting pattern, diagram for world domination, blueprints for the apocalypse, etc.) and getting it into an envelope with the correct address on it was pretty much gonna be a crap shoot.

Second of all, she was sending me my ORIGINAL birth certificate. Like from the year I was born and stuff. Which was during the time of free love and junk. I’m pretty sure they didn’t laminate important documents back then, and if they did, you probably don’t wanna know with what. And, well, I was worried that if the mumster did indeed find the BC, and if she did indeed manage to get into a correctly addressed envelope, was I going to be getting an envelope full of dust? Or potting soil, if it rained? But it all turned out okay. I’ve got the BC and will be getting my license switched over within the next 2 years. Maybe five.

This whole license thing sparked another conversation this evening. I found out that if you’re an organ donor, you don’t have to pay as much for your license. The conversation went nothing something like this.

Me: “Well how much do you have to pay if you’re a donor?”
Co-worker: “I think it’s like $4.”
Me: “So how much is it if you’re not a donor?”
CW: “I think it’s $8.”

And I just sat there for a sec thinking about the price tag on my body.

Me: “So my innards are only worth $4??? WTF? I think they were worth more in SC. I feel very undervalued and do not think I will be sharing my parts with people from a state that thinks I’m more inexpensive than I really am.  Because I’m already pretty fucking cheap.”
CW: “But woudn’t it make you feel good if you were a donor and someone who was blind got your eyes?”
Me: “I’m pretty sure I won’t give a shit if I’m dead. And any blind person who was gifted with my eyes would probably want to stab me. I mean, I know my vision sucks ass, but it’s better than not seeing at all, right? Ungrateful wretches.  And hey, speaking of dead donations, you do have to actually be dead before they start strippin’ you for parts, right?  ‘Cause it would piss me off right good and proper if I was in a car accident and some transplant doctor decided to steal my stuffing while I’m still kickin’.”
CW: “… Ummm…”
Me: “Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ve made my decision. If I can’t enjoy my parts, then NO ONE will. Especially not for four fucking dollars.”

And that’s that. I will not be donating my sauced liver, my smoke-filled lungs, my legally blind eyeballs, my black & empty heart, my sub-par grey matter, or my cellulite-pocked arse to science or to YOU. My parts is my precious!  So back off, Frodo!

Bathroom Curtains

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Crappy (pun intended) bathroom curtains.

Everytime I make a visit to the executive cubicle in the elimination oasis (that’s the handicap stall in the crapper), this is what I see. Looks like someone thinks all the ladies at work are horny lesbians thirsting for an unimpeded ogle at a bare naked va-jay-jay. Better cover your lady parts! If a lesbian gets a clear view of your nether jungle you’re sure to succumb to her homoerotic wiles! Hey, I wrote a haiku about your homophobia, dumbass!

peeking through my stall
if you see you might make me
want to lick carpet

Wait… maybe the decorator in question isn’t afraid of lesbians. Maybe she has a super-powered snatch. Maybe she’s worried someone will find out that a radioactive spider bit her down there (what was she doing naked in a roomful of experimental spiders?) and gifted her with the ability to shoot sticky, spider spooge from her lady cave! Ewwww! Keep those curtains closed, you webbed wacko! Haiku rewrite!

bug done bit my bush
maybe i’ll catch a manwhore
in my nether webs

I never take down the curtains. I’m not sure what that means.

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