Deep Dark Depression, Excessive Misery

Gloom, despair and agony on me.

I didn't get the job.

Not only that, but I was informed of it via automated robo-email sent to my gmail account. We appreciate your interest... careful consideration... decided on another candidate. Blah. Blah. Blah.

I see these people every day and have known them for almost a year and they couldn't even be bothered to send me a real email? Motherfuck. It was so impersonal. I cried when I read it. I might cry again thinking about reading it. Bastards.

So I remain a temp. (An angry temp.)

All I can think of is Bag O'Mice, my monumentally stupid old man past retirement age co-worker. How has someone like him remained gainfully employed for so long? We're talking over 30 years. He is a very stupid man.

Do you know I walked into the break room the other day and found him leaning down, with his face almost pressed against the window of the microwave staring at his lunch spinning round and round? He was riveted.

Stop It

Estee Lauder Introduces Worlds First Vibrating Wand Mascara

Sometimes there is a reason why nobody has ever come up with an idea for something before and the reason is that it is a very, very stupid idea.

Click to enlarge the stupidness.

Tink Itt's Brocken?

Haz annyboddy elst notaced tat teh spelcheker on Blogger iz nit werkin?

Cat-like Gag Reflexes

If you're a parent you can never leave your children alone for a moment. You know how you hear all the time from the parents of the 5 year old you see on the news, who drove an 18-wheeler into a barn or fell off the roof of the grocery - "I only turned my back for a second!"

Well, that's too long.

You can't turn your back ever and here's a little story from my childhood as more evidence that turning your back is not a good idea.

We lived in a house that didn't have central air conditioning, but we had 2 window air conditioners, one in the kitchen/dining room combo and one in my parents bedroom, because in the 70's the parents were the really important people in the house and children were second class citizens who were made to suffer and sweat.

These days I think such a thing may be considered child abuse and things are all turned around and now parents are suffering for the children. What gives?

My brother in law Las Vegas is a prime example of this. MDH once went to a UMASS football game with Las Vegas and his oldest son who at the time was 18. The three of them stayed in a hotel room with 2 full size beds. MDH slept in one of the beds and Las Vegas slept ON THE FLOOR and let his young, spry perfectly healthy 18 year old son have the other bed. In my youth this would never have happened unless I was crippled or something and even then I'm still not sure my parents would have let me have the bed.

Anyhoo... the window air conditioners were expensive and I wasn't allowed anywhere near them for any reason.

We also (for a couple of years) had a pet cat. Her name was Calico and I loved her severely, but nobody had ever shown or told me how to care for or play with a cat properly and as a result Calico stayed as far away from me as possible at all times. I was a tail pulling, force-the-cat-into-my-doll- clothes kind of child. In short, the cat thought I was a little asshole and her instinct for self preservation was correct.

I was constantly chasing after our beloved kitty and the kitty was constantly skulking, low to the ground, as fast as she could away from me.

I soon learned however that she could be coaxed, temporarily, with food.

We kept our pantry stocked with can after can of a disgusting, although very popular at the time, brand of cat food called Puss 'N Boots. No doubt made with ground up horse meat, old phone books, o'possum innards and fish guts, for flavor cats love. Whatever was in it you can be sure that it stunk to high heaven and if you looked at it or had to smell it long enough your gag reflex would begin to kick in.

At the time my sister, who I mentioned before had Down's Syndrome, was going through a phase where she too was obsessed with our cat and also especially with dogs (though we didn't have one). She would spend a great deal of time on her hands and knees barking and meowing. Once she got into trouble for insisting that my mother serve her dinner on the floor instead of the dining room table.

My mother said, "Get up here and eat your dinner at the the table this minute! You're a big girl!", to which my sister replied with a loud yapping bark and then said, "NO! Me a boy doggie!", and barked again as to further prove her point.


Actually she said "Goggie" and it was all ridiculously adorable, up to a point.

Now that you know all of this I can tell you about the series of events that unfolded one summer evening when my mother left my sister and me alone for a few moments. Moments that would change all of our lives forever. Or at least until we finally moved out of that house.

As soon as I realized that for whatever reason my mother was going to be gone for awhile I made my move to the pantry and grabbed a can of Puss N' Boots, slithered over to the electric can opener I that could barely reach on the kitchen counter and the cat food can opening noise began.

As I'd hoped, Calico came running immediately.

My plan was working.

I scooped the stinking pile of cat food into a clean dish, set it down on the kitchen floor and laid down next to it as close as I could stand so that I could pet the cat while she ate.

So absorbed was I in watching the cat enjoy her bonus dinner I did not notice that my sister was observing the event as well.

She walked over to Calico and me, plopped herself down on all fours, shoved the cat out of the way, face planted herself into the bowl and began to eat the cat food herself.

I leapt into action, grabbed the bowl of cat food and started running at full tilt for the dining room. Not so much because my sister had started eating the food, but more because she had ruined my rare and special cat petting moment. I looked around for a new spot to begin again with the cat lovin'.

It was at this time that I tripped over my sister's outstreched leg.

So the bowl of stinking cat food in in my hand went rolling and flying across the dining room, the gooey blobs of cat food rolled and tumbled through the air and landed with a wet, sloppy splat right on the air conditioner.

Cat food was in every single little slat, nook and cranny.

I tried to clean up as much as I could as quickly as I could before my mother came back. Meanwhile my sister had grabbed the bowl that fell to the ground and resumed her mealtime kitty impersonation.

Of course my mother showed up right about this time and I don't remember much after that.

I do remember this: My mother and I were so busy, furiously cleaning the air conditioner, that we had kind of forgotten about my sister having eaten the cat food. Later, when my dad came home from work he nearly vomited when he greeted my sweet baby sister with a kiss. He recalled later that her breath could have knocked over a grizzly bear.

And I remember this: We were never able to get all of the cat food cleaned out of the air conditioner and every time we turned it on the entire house smelled like rotten sardines.

Shameless Cat Exploitation

I'll check back in Monday with a full report of Nanny's 100th birthday party. To keep you entertained until then - here is a video of our cat Turtle eating his kibble. Yes. He is in perfect health and no limbs are broken or damaged, yet he always eats this way.

Watch it over and over - it'll totally freak out MDH when he sees that the number of views has dramatically increased. Seriously. Watch it as many times as you can stand it.

Dodging A Bullet

I posted the other day about how I don't like to answer the phone. Well I'm sure it's no stretch for you to imagine that I don't like to answer the door either. In fact I dodged a huge bullet yesterday by following my standard format of never answering the door. It was 9:30am. I had just woken up. I was wearing only 3 small items of clothing; a very small t-shirt, very large underpants and a wristwatch. My hair was a scary fright wig and I had the previous day's mascara smudged around my eyes. (My husband is a lucky devil to be sure.)

I hadn't yet had my tea.

They knocked which MDH always says is a clear sign that it is someone of experience who is up to no good because that is what they teach you to do when you are learning the art of the door to door pitch. Don't ring the bell. Knock. MDH, a lifelong sales and marketing man, refers to this principle as Cold Calling 101.

I knew they could hear me ferreting about and then suddenly stop in my tracks the second I heard the knock because when I think that I am alone I pound around the house with all the delicacy of a water buffalo. I also happened to be very near the front door when they knocked. It was a close call because we have a stained glass front door and I was standing almost directly in front of it where I could have easily been seen.

It was a showdown.

I knew that they knew that I was home.

They knocked again and I stayed put. Frozen in mid step until I looked up at my ratty haired half naked reflection in the mirror over the sideboard and realized I was being a chump.

This is my house and I will sport about in it wearing whatever I please and y'all can stand out there until the rapture comes. I'm not answering the door.

They knocked a third time. What great balls you have, whoever you are! It was at this point that I became seriously indignant and decided to just continue doing what I was doing pre-knock and stomped past the front door to the bathroom where I had originally been headed.

I steeled myself knowing that there was now the possibility that they had seen me or at the very least heard or seen my movement in front of the door. I decided that if they had big enough balls to knock a fourth time I would give them exactly what they deserved. I mentally prepared to open the door in my underpants and start telling them all about atheism and godlessness and how rewarding it can be to have an open mind and think or say whatever I damn well please with no fear of repercussions from an angry blasphemed god, à la the video I had seen on Some Guy's blog (in a post called Devangelism from Sept. 2007).

In my crazy head I was really getting into it. I started to adjust my clothes so that my shirt got shorter, my undies got larger and my boobs were even more out of control, so I'd look even crazier than I knew I already did.

There was no fourth knock, but thankfully I came to my senses before it came down to that anyway.

I somehow realized in the haze of my un-caffeinated state that I didn't know who the fuck was out there. It could be my sweet neighbor, Patty with a flat tire or her even sweeter teen-age daughter locked out of the house or something. It could be the gas meter reader dude whom I've been avoiding all summer. It could be well, anyone.

I put on a bra and some jeans, swiped a cotton ball doused with make-up remover under my eyes and reluctantly, sheepishly opened the door.

There was nobody there, but this little booklet was rolled up in the screen door handle:

Up With Thumbs

I will be stepping away from my blog for the next several days to go on a big swanky 5th wedding anniversary trip to Las Vegas.

As we recently seem to have turned into gambling addicts the trip is all comped. For you casino gambling virgins out there comped stands for complimentary, meaning we (my darling) have (has) blown so much money on video poker at Harrah's properties that most of our expenses are on the house.


We will be whisked to our free Augustus Tower junior suite via free limo from the airport. We will dine for free and spa for free. They offered to entertain us for free with tickets to see Tony Danza starring in The Producers, but we declined as we both believe Tony Danza to be an unwatchable buffoon.


Meanwhile in a lame effort to keep you entertained in my absence I found this fun little thing on someone else's blog and now I don't remember who or where as I have lost the link. Sorry! Whoever you were, but thanks for the idea!

Turns out I'm a Thumb

You Are the Thumb

You're unique and flexible. And you defy any category. Mentally strong and agile, you do things your own way. And you do them well. You are a natural leader... but also truly a loner. You inspire many but connect with few. You get along well with: The Middle Finger Stay away from: The Pinky

What Finger Are You?

I took the liberty of answering the questions for MDH too because he thinks such things are bullshit and would never waste his time taking an idiotic bullshit finger quiz.

Turns out if I were MDH he'd be an Index Finger.

You Are the Index Finger

You are ambitious, driven, and capable. You aren't afraid to take responsibility for your actions - or place the blame on whoever deserves it. You are honest, free thinking, and objective. You see things in your own way - and you aren't afraid to let everyone know about it. You get along well with: The Thumb Stay away from: The Ring Finger

New Rules

Since not much is going on in my life lately, as I have mentioned before, I will be pulling a story for you today from my past. A disgusting story from my recent past that gives me a reason to be glad I am not currently working. If you are the least bit squeamish stop right here. Come back and visit another day and I will do my best to amuse you at that time, but today for some reason this is the story that is foremost in my fat head and I'm typing it out come hell or high water. I may even hit the "Publish" button.

You have been warned.

My last week of work had the the unfortunate coincidence of also being the week that my supervisor decided that I would be a good candidate to have the newest member of our team tag along with me to observe my work. I was really good at what I did (oh, shut up - there is documented proof) so they did this to me quite a lot. In my cloud of emotion from quitting I totally forgot that the dude was coming with me until I got off the plane and heard his cheerful voice mail message on my cell phone saying that he was waiting for me at our hotel and very excited to meet me.

Norman Newguy had no idea that I'd quit my job hours before and I didn't see any reason to tell him. I decided that I would be completely professional and keep that information to myself and give him the best on-the-job learning experience possible. After all, it wasn't his fault I was disgruntled.

I met with Norm about 30 minutes after arriving at the hotel. I asked if he minded if I smoked, he said not at all, so I lit up (my one week of cheating after having quit in December) and proceeded to tell him what I expected from him throughout our work week together. The rules that follow are based upon things that I finally figured out must be said out loud and made clear to new employees after several previous less than stellar experiences:

• You are observing only and are not to pipe in or interrupt when I am speaking unless it is of extreme emergency such as the building, me or a member of the class is on fire. If you are on fire, please stop, drop and roll and keep the noise down.



• If I have left a topic from the training guide or outline un-discussed I have done it for a purpose and do not wish for you to publicly point out my omission. You may ask me about it later in private if you wish, at which time I will make you feel stupid for questioning my logic.



• We, meaning YOU are to follow the rules of the clinic at all times. If the staff are not allowed to have a beverage at the front desk then neither are you. If they are not allowed to chew gum, then neither are you, etc..
  


• We, meaning YOU, do not accept invitations from clinic owners or staff without discussing it with ME first. YOU do not go anywhere outside of this practice (bar, strip club, home) with the clinic owner or staff without my permission.
  


• When I tell you "No" what I really mean is "Are you out of your stupid mind?" and do not wish to be questioned about my decision.



• You will not approach any animal no matter how cute, cuddly or harmless looking without permission from either the clinic staff or the pet owner. If you disobey this rule and are bitten and/or scratched I will admonish you later in private and make you wish you were never born. Do not expect any sympathy no matter how serious the wound.
  


• You will not leave your belongings strewn about the clinic and will take away with you each night what you brought with you each day. Do not leave your breakfast, lunch, laptop, car keys, cell phone, soda, or any other tangible item in the clinic for someone else to eat, spill, lose, drop, break, or (in one instance involving an incontinent clinic cat) pee on.



• You are not to gross out or act like anything, ANYTHING, you may see is beneath you. It's a vet clinic, kid. There will be poop, blood, guts and many other oozing oddities. I suggest watching several episodes of Emergency Vets if you have a problem with this.



• When you are on the job you are asexual. Do not flirt. Do not make any kind of overture that may be construed as being of a sexual nature. Do not refer to any persons body or body parts, tattoos or clothing (this is a point I tried to make especially clear for male trainees as most people who work in vet clinics these days are chicks).
  
• Oh, and don't wear black clothes. They're just a magnet for pet hair.

I think that covers most of it. Do you understand? Good. Let's have some fun!

Ordinarily one of the beautiful things about my old job was this - I did it ALONE.

The next beautiful thing about my old job was this - I was in complete CONTROL at all times. Doing the job alone helped to guarantee that I was in control. My voice, my decisions, my time, my choice of restaurant, and so on.

What interesting things you must be learning about me by knowing these particular facts, eh?

Here's something else about me: I have tremendous patience and empathy for grown-ups who are learning new things, having been one myself for most of my adult life. If not in real life, in professional situations my goal was always to remain calm, no matter how nutty or overstimulated my trainees were getting. It's not unknown for me to dance or sing to get people to refocus and stop freaking out. Most people don't adapt to change (learning new comptuter system) easily and tend to act like nut jobs. Poor lambs.

Another detail that is crucial to this story: The clinic where this training occurred had a kick-ass coffee machine. More of an elaborate brewing system really. I noticed it the minute we walked in the door and couldn't wait to test it out (once I'd established it was permitted of course). It was similar to what you see on the right here only it had a huge compartmentalized contraption around it containing coffees, teas, hot chocolate, froth packets, straws, stirrers, and cups. I suppose it's really the cups that caused the problem. Well that and complete brainless, thoughtless, idiotic, syahoaogaglakg!!! Gag, gag, gag.

Excuse me, please.

Moving on. Are you sure you want to keep reading? Very well then.

The coffee machine was relatively new for the clinic too, so everyone was as in love and impressed with it as I. Unfortunately I never travel with my own mug after my favorite one broke in my suitcase a few years ago. I, along with most of the clinic staff was using the paper cups that were located in the compartment contraption. Norm was too, only I didn't realize he wasn't drinking coffee.

Now if this were not my last job I would have had to add a new rule.

DO NOT CHEW TOBACCO PRODUCTS IN OR NEAR THE CLINIC

You may see where this story is leading.

After two days of Norm by my side in the clinic I was feeling very positive about his future. He was polite, charming, professional, followed the rules and it seemed to me that he may not be a pain in the ass after all. In fact I found him to be quite helpful.

We had finished the classroom style portion of the training and were sitting in the owners office going over some manager type stuff. Whatever it was you can be assured it involved me talking, pointing, ignoring Norm and concentrating on the client while Norm listened and was generally being a very good boy. I announced a recess and casually reached over for my coffee cup and took an enormous, queen-size swig.

And then I died a little inside.

You may have gathered if you've been reading this or any of my other posts that I'm kind of a priss.

It's hard to be prissy when you realize you just drank a big swaller of someone elses spit. Not just spit either. But spit mixed with menthol flavored chewing tobacco.

Spit mixed with menthol flavored chewing tobacco that has been resting between the cheek and gum of Norman Newguy for christ only knows how long.

It was body temperature warm, it was menthol-ish, it was slimy and I wished I was dead. I somehow maintained my composure and calmly clicked my prissy kitten heels to the closest bathroom where I immediately began retching up the vile mixture, thereby reliving the experience all over again in reverse.

Upon my return I could barely manage to say to Norm, "I'm going to step outside for a moment would you please come with me?"

In the parking lot I led him to the rental car without a word and bade him to get inside. I in the driver's seat, he in the passenger seat, I simultaneously gagged and screamed at him while he bleated out unaccepted apologies. I loudly pointed out to him how very lucky we were (HE was) that it was ME who drank his vile swill and not the clinic owner, who was also drinking out of the same type of paper coffee cup.

The rest of it was something like: Remove the tobacco from your repugnant mouth and don't ever, ever, ever, EVER DO THAT AGAIN. Anywhere, at any jobsite, alone or unsupervised ever, ever, EVER.

Why am I sharing this delicious story? I'm not sure.

A better question may be, why have you continued to read it?

What's the lesson here? Maybe it's this, look before you drink. Or maybe it falls into the category I've featured before about being direct and specific. Ask your new employees if they chew tobacco and if they say yes tell them not to. Or if you work in the bowels of hell where (I still can't imagine) tobacco chewing is permitted, tell them to clearly label their makeshift spitoons with some kind of warning.

Don't assume like I did that people (I say people so as not to be sexist even though I have yet to meet a woman who chews tobacco) who seem perfectly charming and normal have enough sense not to leave cups of their own expressed bodily fluid laying about for dimwits like me to chug.

Apparently the rules must be laid out more specifically than anyone realized. If you have to tell someone that it's not okay to roll diced dried weeds in your mouth for hours on end and then spit the remains into a paper cup within reach of woeij;vnaiv gag, gag, gag. Sorry.

We might was well lay down these rules of work behavior that people may have been taking for granted as well:

• Don't shit on the floor or anywhere but in a toilet. When and if you do please flush the toilet and watch to make sure your entire contribution has been dispatched.


• Don't use the key to the supply cabinet to clean your ears.


• Don't microwave onion and stinkloaf sandwiches in the break room at 8:15 am. It's not okay at any time, but less okay at that early hour.


• Don't take off your shoes ever, for any reason or length of time. Your feet stink and nobody needs to know this about you.


• Don't pick your nose and wipe the results under your chair. We see you. You don't think we can and you are wrong. You are a genuine pig and nobody needs to know this about you.

I think that covers it, but just in case:

• Don't move or speak


• Don't even open your stupid mouth or make eye contact


• Don't make me tell you again