Exertion or effort directed to produce or accomplish something...

In case you were wondering,  I'm now employed, at yet another Large Corporation.  Almost gainfully.  I started about a week after my last post. 

I'm still considered a contractor, but now I'm in a situation that's called "contract to hire".  How exciting.  What exactly does that mean, you may ask?  I have no bloody idea, I may answer, but I'm keeping my nose clean, my mind open, and my fingers crossed, hoping that I may leverage my, charm and good looks, along with my kick-ass project management skills, into a full time, permanent gig.  We shall see.

Actually, at this point I have finished the planning portion of the project I have been given to manage and am now in full swing project-doing.  The project-doing phase has required me to move down from the shiny, cushy, corporate HQ office tower to a satellite call center, located close enough to my apartment that I can walk to work.  Although my commute is much improved, I'm having trouble adjusting from the professional, corporate culture to which I have become accustomed, to the elementary school level environment of the call center. 

I've been handed a crack team of ladies, or maybe a team of crack ladies, who are actually doing the work-work.  They have all been plucked from the mundane obscurity of the giant call center just for my project, and are considered the cream of the call center crop.  My role involves assigning tasks, doing the analysis as the project moves along, and to my surprise, a large degree of coaching, babysitting and mentoring. 

Basically it's 12 young women, all under the age of 25, and me, stuffed into a room together.  It's noisy, and frequently unprofessional and ridiculous in ways that I never considered possible before last month.  Every day I feel like I'm running a daycare.  I shouldn't have to ask you not to read the newspaper while you're at work, but on the other hand I don't need you to tell me every time you go to the ladies room to pee either. 

I'd like to strike some kind of balance where people use their own common sense to decide what is the right way to behave in a professional setting, but I'm beginning to come unravelled as I discover what has become the new norm among this next generation of working adults. 

There is a young woman (not the newspaper reader) who arrives every morning swaddled in a fleece blanket with Elvis on it.  It might be a snuggie.  Do they make snuggies with Elvis on them?  Whatever you want to call it, she wears it all day, every day.  Why?  Why?  All I can think of is that old adage "dress for the job you want, not the job you have".  What kind of career path does a fleece blankie prepare you for? 

Anyhoo... after a month of working with these young women I have discovered that I'm not only an old farty-fart who is out of touch with popular culture, I'm also a workaholic crank with a sour disposition and little patience for trifflin' bullshit.  Yeah.  It's a revelation.

You see... when I'm at work, call me cuckoo, but I WORK.  As in to work.  I agreed when I took the job that Large Corporation will pay a certain amount of money in exchange for me coming in every day and performing a particular service, so that's pretty much what I do.  I don't paint my nails or read magazines or call my stupid boyfriend or text my 10 best friends or balance my checkbook or shop online for boots.  It's not called lazy-ass-entitled-spoiled-motherfuckering, it's called WORK.

In an effort to bring some kind of order to the madness I've laid down some simple ground rules, in addition to the company policies they are required to follow.

1.  Shut up.

2.  Keep it down.

3.  Quiet please.

4.  Please shut the fuck up.

5.  Do your work.  There is work that needs to be done and a strict timeline in which to do it, so DO IT and button your damn lips.  Unless you have a question, in which case you should ask the question.  Then do your work while shutting up.

Now that I've said all that (this is the part where I get all high and mighty), let me also say to Large Corporations everywhere: When it comes to labor, you get what you pay for. 

When you treat people like shit, they will act shitty.  The young women who were chosen to work with me on this project are bright and capable and I have to remind them of this every goddamn day because they don't seem to ever get any other positive messages from the management of the company.  In addition to the real work that I have to do, I have to take time out of every day to perform like a flippin' cheerleader in order to get them all motivated and acting like they give even the slightest crap about themselves and the work they are doing.

If you give people incentives and spend the money on proper training programs and make them feel important and valuable, then your employees might actually become important and valuable to your organization.
 

Stay Away From Children

A few months have gone by and I'm settling into my new position at Large Corporation quite nicely. My new job isn't as data oriented as my last job, but you know what? It's far more fun to do and suits my skill set much better.

When I say my job is fun to do, that actually might be taking things a bit far, but certain aspects of my job are slightly amusing sometimes. Mainly because one of the many things my new job requires me to do is oversee translations for... hmm... you know I don't even know how many languages... too many to count, so let's just say all of them. I don't speak or read most of these these languages, or to be more precise, none of them. I don't speak or read any of these languages and yet it is my job to ensure that the translations make sense, follow regional legal requirements and standards and fit in the space provided. Whee!! See what I mean? Fun.

Mostly I make sure all this stuff is right by communicating with the people in the other countries and hoping like hell that they know what they are doing. Along the way I have learned some fascinating new stuff with which to pollute my brain tissue, for instance:

• The Swedish word for humidity is fuktighet. Say it with me, fuck tight.
  
• It can take up to 2 years to register new consumable products in either Indonesia or Malaysia, I can't remember which one, but that's a long fucking time. Jesus.


• Fuck them.


• Spanish and Portuguese are practically identical. I can hardly tell them apart. I like to call it Spanaguese.


• Sometimes I cheat a little and use Google Translate to spot check and once typed in what was supposed to be Romanian for "keep out of children's reach" and it translated to, "stay away from children". Good idea.

In other news, I have nicknamed one of my new co-workers Hipster McKnowItAll, for what I think may be obvious reasons, so I won't bother to explain it to you in graphic detail as if you were a nitwit, because I'm learning recently, first hand, how very annoying that can be. I will tell you this: she's an obnoxious 23 year old, who never runs out of ways to insert how she has lived in France* into unrelated conversations. She doesn't seem to realize that anyone else on earth or in America, aside from her has ever been to France and almost every day there is some point at which, I want to stab her in the face. Shut up kid.

While I'm speaking of my little hipster, know-it-all friend, I would also like to make the observation that isn't it odd how people who one might consider to be a hipster often themselves express annoyance of hipsters? No one ever owns their hipster-ness.

Let's see what else...oh yes, next month my whole department is moving to a different building in the complex. Our big boss manager lady just informed us the other day that the new cube configurations are going to have only 3 foot walls. This news seemed to bum everyone out, but frankly I don't give a shit as long as my new cublicle isn't right next to the kitchen like where I sit now. It stinks. Sometimes it smells nice, like the when the nice person makes cinnamon toast every day at 9:05 (you know who you are and I lurve you), but mostly it's burnt popcorn and god only knows what. People heat up some weird shit. I swear the other day someone microwaved a giant fart. I had to leave the area for awhile. Perhaps it was brussels sprouts, who can say? Either way I'd like my cube as far away from the fucking kitchen as humanly possible please.

Anyhoo... that's it for now. It's Friday, MDH just put some burgers on the grill (which smell fantastic BTW and not at all like brussels sprouts**) and I'm going to enjoy a nice cold beer before it starts snowing. I realize that it's only October 1st, but hey, it's Michigan, it could happen.

Bon week-end!

*for 6 months as part of a student exchange program - get over it!

**I happen to love brussels sprouts, but they reek, as do all other people's left overs. That's just the law of nature - only your own left overs smell good - they reek to everyone else.

If You're Happy & You Know It WTF?

How's your summer been? Mine has been smashing. I can't think of any one thing that stands out that should cause me to make such a positive statement to describe my life in general, especially over such a long expanse of time since my last post, butcha know what? I'm happy. And I know it. Kiss my ass.

MDH and I have had a summer filled with friends, travel and just the right amount of family (except for Knucklehead) and house guests.

Probably the biggest news is that I have a new job. I know, I know, but calm yourself, it sounds more important than it is... It's a new job, but it's still at Large Corporation and I'm still a contractor. I sit at my same desk, have my same parking space, and earn the same wage.

The good points are:

• It's a job I applied for a couple of years ago and wasn't even considered for an interview.


• It's a more prestigious position - when I tell people what I do now they say things like "Ohhh...good for you!" As in I had no idea you were such a smarty.


• Somebody up there likes me, saw potential in me, and specifically asked to have me on the team.


• It gives me an edge to eventually getting full time work with Large Corporation as it's a job with much more exposure and potential to showcase my talents to people who have sway.


• I love my new team and more importantly I LOVE the new work (as I knew I would when I originally applied for the job).

The bad points are..., well, "bad" is rather harsh so let's rephrase that.

The bleh points are:

• Although technically it's a huge promotion, I'm getting paid exactly the same. Boo!
  
• There is still no reason to assume that it might turn into a permanent gig. Boo!

Here are some other bullet points to catch you up with recent doings and goings on in Ladyland:

Went to Boston to visit my mother in law for her 80th birthday. Highlights included:

1. Stayed at a hotel within walking distance to the North End and during the course of the week we ate enough tasty Italian treats to last us the rest of the year. I tried some new things that were surprising and delightful (beef carpaccio - I tend to avoid raw meat, but this was so finely sliced it melted on the tongue like cotton candy) and some things that were surprising and revolting (Campari and Soda - I thought it looked refreshing and chic, but it tasted like what I imagine drinking a urine sample over ice in an elegant glass with a twist of lime might be like).

2. Visited Peacefield in Quincy Mass., homestead of 4 generations of the John & Abigail Adams family, including John Quincy Adams, which brings my list of presidential homes visited up to a whopping 10 (how ya like me now CDP?). Peacefield is a short T ride away from the city. No car needed for this adventure. It is awesome. You should go.

3. Spent a gorgeous afternoon wandering leisurely around Harvard Square, popping in and out of shops, laughing and generally enjoying quality, wholesome family time with MDH and my mother in law.
(Insert record scratch sound bite here.)
At least that was the original plan. Oh, we spent the day wandering around Harvard Square all right, but it was hardly leisurely, wholesome or enjoyable because for some reason my brother in law Knucklehead wanted to tag along and turn it into a shit sack.

These days Knucklehead, fresh from his last tour in the can, is whacked out of his mind on prescription pain medications (which provide only a slight improvement to his behaviour since the days when his drug of choice was crack). So we spent a gorgeous afternoon wandering around Harvard Square with Knucklehead, who stopped every five minutes to smoke, hollered at traffic, loudly made rude comments about me, my mother-in-law, MDH and random strangers that he considered to be "fuckin' freaks and freeloaders" (he was able to recognize his own kind apparently), and generally embarrassed the crap out of us for about 4 hours. It was exhausting.

4. Oh, and now Knucklehead walks with a cane that he occasionally shakes in the air at people and cars and goes, "Baaagh!"

5. He's only 47.

6. Spent some great nights hanging out with my brother-in-law Las Vegas, also in town for the 80th birthday festivities, and his 3 grown boys and their various girlfriends. We're so proud of the next generation of little rakes, not a crack head in the bunch. Although my one niece, Knuckleheads daughter, poor kid, kind of reminds me of (I hesitate to say it) Snookie (only taller and pretty). MDH and I are keeping an eye peeled for her.

Went Up North With Friends:

1. Our friends R&R and their two kids visited us here from Washington DC and we were thrilled. They actually spent their summer vacation in Michigan. People do that. They spent two nights here at our house and then headed up north to Glen Arbor, where MDH and I joined them a few days later for the weekend.

2. I went tubing, which in Ohio means that you get dragged along, bouncing uncontrollably behind a speeding pontoon, piloted by my lunatic hillbilly cousin-in-law Bubby, in a murky brown lake which typically goes something like this:
But in Michigan tubing is something entirely different and I loved it hard. We floated gently, and safely if I might add, down a clear, clean river. I opted for a tube with a bottom so that I could sit indian style. I also snagged a paddle so that I could more easily steer myself away from any potential dirty muck or imagined crocodiles and river sharks. I will do this again.

Went to see Doug Benson last Friday night:

1. He's known for his pot humor, so it might be odd for me to love him so much, since I don't smoke it, but I love his podcast and am very excited for his new show coming to Comedy Central this fall, The Benson Interruption. I think he's one of those people who is just naturally funny and I love him, there it is.

2. Had the beginnings of what I thought was a bad cold, so hesitated to say hello after the show, as I didn't want to make him sick. I know a thing or two about what it's like to travel for a living and be sick when you're on the road, but MDH encouraged me to go up. I am not a gusher, but I assume that when you are an entertainer by trade that you appreciate hearing nice things about your work so I mentally prepared a little mini-speech. Something quick and simple, like, I love your podcast, I think you're so funny and can't wait for the new show and then I move along.

3. I got up there and he tried to shake my hand and I declined, so he gave me a little arm around half hug. Ok. Time for my nice words... here we go...

4. All I was able to say was "love your podcast" and the next thing I knew I was somehow cockblocked by MDH. Yes. You read that correctly. Well, maybe not. I mean I wasn't trying to hook up, just say hi, be nice and move on. And last time I checked I don't have a cock, but still, whatever you want to call it, my own darling husband, my love and partner on my path of life, who had encouraged me to go up and say hi in the first place... People it was freakish. The moment words of my prepared mini-speech started coming out of my mouth, MDH nearly pushed me out of the way to buy a CD, get it signed and started making pothead smalltalk with Monsiuer Benson as if I wasn't even there. If you didn't know we were married you might have thought we were strangers. It was bi-zarre.

5. The ride home from the comedy club was a bit chilly. I'm sure you can imagine.

6. Turns out I had a rotten case of the flu. I am just now recovering. I hope I didn't give Doug Benson the flu. I've been checking periodically on Twitter to make sure he is OK. Very out of character for me to give enough of a shit about anyone to check their tweets (I shudder to even type that out), but I feel a strong sense of personal responsability about this. So far I think he's OK.

Anyhoo... I hope you've been having a great summer too! Tell me about it in the comments please.

BTW: Here are a couple of other podcasts I've been enjoying while I perform my new job this summer (available for free on iTunes):

The Nerdist
Matts Radio

Is This Thing On?

Is anyone still out there? Jesus. It's been a long time since my last post and you know what? I still don't have anything relevant to say. Not that I'm going to let that stand in my way. I never have, why should I stop now?

Anyhoo... I'm back in my old post at Large Corporation making the world safe for data management and things are things. My cubicle this time around, although equipped with a delightful ass caressing, lumbar supporting, real deal, gen-u-wine Aeron chair, is tiny. Miniscule. The cube is teeny-tiny. Insulting. More insulting - they have taken internet access away from all of the contractors in the department. More humiliating than insulting I suppose, but what can you do? Certainly not check gmail, live-stream NPR, read blogs or get a weather forecast. It's a drag, a huge donkey cock suck if ever there was one although I do enjoy endlessly bitching about it to anyone who will listen, so there's that.

It's great to be working again, and trust me I don't forget it. I keep reminding myself of it every day.

Since Bag O'Mice and Hey Mr. DJ both retired guess who got assigned both of their workloads? It's me! Hooray! Actually, so far it hasn't been all that bad and I'm not nearly as swamped as you might think. Come to think of it, now that I'm fully aware of the scope of the projects they were working on I'm not sure at all what those two old coots were up to all day before they left.

At least in the case of Bag O'Mice it seems he must have spent around three quarters of his day puttering back and forth between his desk and the copier as I have discovered that the heaving, giant dossiers, nearly bursting at the seams that I inherited from him are mostly full of printed email correspondence. Yes. Apparently Bag O'Mice printed all of his emails. Jackass.

What else? People I actually got offered a job one week after I started working for Large Corporation again. Not a great job. In fact kind of a shitty job working for the state and I turned it down. It was the right thing to do. It boiled down to pay (although surprisingly it wasn't that much less), but also the work was not exactly what I would call stimulating. Filing. Data entry. Been there. Done that.

I would have felt totally differently about it if I hadn't taken the call from the state's HR lady while luxuriating in the awesomeness of my fabulous new designer office chair and sipping a gratis vente Starbucks in front of my two 20 inch flat screen monitors, which were at the moment displaying the very latest in database software technology.

During the interview, which by the way took place the week before at an office located in a run down strip mall in a questionable part of town, when I had asked them(because I come prepared for that shit so when they say "do you have any questions for us? I immediately whip out a printed list and go to town) what was their most challenging obstacle to accomplishing the long term goals of the department (eh? eh? a good one I think) they replied that it was that a lot of people balk at using a computer, not using the new software we just got, but the fact that they have to use a computer, like at all. This is not the place for me.

The whole interview experience was like that Sesame Street song, One of These Things Is Not Like the Others. I mean if you could have seen the other people who were interviewing - I got to see the competition because they corralled us all together in this big giant room while we waited our turns to meet with the HR people. It was like a casting call for creepy losers and pressed, dry cleaned, prissy me. A couple of the creepy losers were already doing the same job in a different city and were merely interviewing to be transferred, a formality I guess, and spent their time commiserating between themselves at top volume about what a shitty job it was.

So between listening to that, the disconcerting interview-ee holding pen concept and the fact that I had gone through the trouble of hot rollering my hair and wiggling into pantyhose and was sitting next to a rumpled man wearing scuffed white (white!) cowboy boots, enough pomade to wax a Buick who smelled like he hadn't washed his suit since the civil war, when I realized that we were all interviewing for the same position I almost bailed.

I don't normally like to think that I'm better than anyone else, maybe that I'm better off, but not better. But in this case, better, better off, either way I knew that I didn't belong there. I stayed for the interview, but the whole thing felt wrong, wrong, wrong and I knew that it would be a huge step down. Clearly some of those other folks needed that job worse than me and if that's a snobby thing to say - well I just don't care.

Did I mention that the job was shitty? Have I harped enough on that or do you need to hear about that some more? Oh and it wasn't even a permanent job. Yeah. Up to 2 years. Not even a guarantee of two years. Only possibly two years. To me I might as well stay at Large Corp where I have so many friends and a new comfy spaceship chair, challenging work that I enjoy and a small modicum of hope.

It's funny though the feedback I got from different people that I talked to about it. Some people were like oooh a job with the state, like that in itself was a boondoggle. Even when I explained that it was a temporary, low paying, shitty job, some still insisted that it was a good opportunity and a "foot in the door". Perhaps I might feel it was a good opportunity if Large Corporation hadn't asked me to come back, or I was 21 and freshly out of college or didn't have a bachelor's degree and over 15 years of professional experience. To me it felt like a huge step in the wrong direction.

Anyhoo... (you get a bonus anyhoo because it's been so long since my last post) going back to Large Corporation has been like going to a family reunion only the people there are happy to see me and nice to me. It's been like putting on a pair of old slippers only not really because it smells better than my old slippers, which frankly still kind of smell like Cool Ranch Doritos even after I run them thru the wash.

Doling Out the Punishments - Passive Agressive Style

People have gotten really dumb this week - have you noticed? I mean good lord, it's only Tuesday, but I've already received record volumes of frantic voice mails and moronic emails chock full of flaming envelope symbols and red exclamation points and the word URGENT! in the subject line from project team mates and co-workers who are normally quite lovely and reasonable.

These people are making demands, kicking ass and taking names and I feel like I have spent my entire day talking them down from ledges and reminding them of existing procedures that have been in place for 1000 years and asking them to revisit their old friend Common Sense and I've had about all I can take.

Calm down crazy face.

We are not performing neurosurgery here and nobody's life or job is on the line. Think about it for a minute - why would I need to request graphics for a vat of goo? That's right genius. You just sent out an angry gram, flaming envelope style email, copied to twelve million people including my boss and yours, demanding that I put graphics on a vat of chemicals.*

Re-fucking-lax dumb people.

Take yourself down to whatever is your gender appropriate restroom and splash some cold water on your face (get a coolpapertowel). Calm down and prepare for your punishment for bugging me all day fucking day with this ridiculous bullshit.

Your punishment? I will hit "Reply All" and publicly humiliate you by pointing out your blunder and reveal to the world that you have cotton candy between your ears in the form an email designed to appear informative and friendly, reminding you in a joking fashion that we cannot put graphics on goo (you silly!) copied to 12 million people including my boss and yours.

Take that jackhole.

I've also been experiencing a very high volume of asshats who are trying to work around the normal rules and procedures that have been in place for 1000 years, sending purposely wonky stuff my way and think that I won't catch on.

Well they are wrong.

The punishment is the same. Public humiliation in the form of an email designed to look like an innocent question and request for clarification about the wonky bullshit thing you sent me, copied to your boss and mine, that will make it perfectly clear to all parties involved that you are trying to get away with something sneaky and that I am on to you, you weasel.

URGENT! ? My ass.

*Not a real scenario, but similar and equally stupid.

Em Face Iss On the Wrong Sill AH Bull

One of my co-workers, Bag O'Mice came up to me recently to personally let me know that he had updated one of the many thousands of SOP documents that we have to use to perform our jobs effectively. The first thing you might have a problem with the way this blog post is going is probably the fact that I used the acronym SOP in the first sentence of it.

Sorry, but that is what they are called. This ain't fiction baby and I don't make this shit up. I didn't understand for a long time what it meant either, but then I'm pretty terrible at acronyms, as I have explained in a previous blog post. Apparently it stands for Standard Operating Procedures, which is the second thing that may cause you to have a problem with this blog post.

Standard Operating Procedures. Ugh - It sounds so stuffy, doesn't it? I would be just as happy to refer to these documents as:

HT-DTS - How To Do This Shit

Anyhoo... the SOP's are constantly changing and being updated and it's not enough to merely change the documents - you have to let the rest of the team know when you've changed something. Usually we do this via email, like any normal person in the 21st century would. But I'm not sure that Bag O'Mice understands such high falutin' technical concepts like attaching documents in emails so he often makes photo copies and then hands them out personally. It's a charming touch, very personable, but I can see through him like used Neutrogena.

He's kind of an old timer and a totally nice guy, but he has to be nice... because the man is about as sharp as a bag of wet mice and niceness and good looks is all he's got going on.

It's amazing to me that someone as noticeably stupid as him has remained gainfully employed for over 20 years with this company, whilst I, on the other hand, and many others like me, have been slavishly clinging to my temporary position for dear life.

Bag O'Mice is so handsome, well mannered and soft spoken that when I first started working there it took me several weeks before I noticed that he is actually mildly retarded. It happened as we were walking back to our cubicles together after a meeting one day and he started to ask me pointed questions about the very same subjects that had just been discussed in some depth only moments before in the meeting.

So he cheerfully lays the updated SOP on my desk and points to the spot that he changed:

Bag O'Mice: There's been a change in country code numbers.

Me: Which ones?

Bag O'Mice: Blah, blah and CROW-AH-TEE-AH.

Me: Crow-Ah-What-Ah?

Bag O'Mice (pointing to word on document): See? CROW-AH-TEE-AH.

Me: You mean Croatia?

After he left I tried to think of all the reasons that a college educated, 50ish guy with a wife and 2 grown children might not have ever heard of Croatia. I know that he owns a TV, more than one in fact, and I assume that he listens to the radio because he always calls me a "Good American" in lieu of saying thank you like a normal person when I do favors for him. Then of course there was that little thing called the Bosnian War that was on the news every night for most of the early and mid 90's, right? Did I dream that?

Also the company has a market there. A small market, but we talk about it ALL THE TIME becaus it's kind of new. I'm postitive that somebody would have had to have said the word "Croatia" out loud to Bag O'Mice at some point during his career with the company, especially around the time that the country code for Croatia changed which is what caused Bag O'Mice to have to change the goddamn SOP.

I guess I am feeling more than a little embittered this week as I spend my evenings and weekends updating my resume and looking for work again while dumbass mother fuckers like Bag O'Mice are hogging the good jobs. I wish he would just retire already so that I could have a chance at career complacency and dumbassed-ness too.

Seriously, Bag O'Mice should be collecting disability.

Tell me in the comments about your dumbass co-workers please.

If You Need Immediate Assistance You Can Go Piss Up a Rope

I've been working at a job I truly enjoy, with a great bunch of lovely people that I truly like, since the middle of February. I'm a temp and, unbelievably fabulous and amazing though I am, have been given no promise of permanent employment. Not even a smidge. Oh sure, they all tell me how great I am and have thanked me with kind words and a few small bonuses here and there, but my ID badge is dated Jan 15, 2009. My expiration date.

It's sad really, but on the other hand, being a temp gives me great freedom to say fuck it, when certain situations arise.

Be that as it may, I have done the best work possible for these people. I never say no when someone gives me an assignment or complain no matter how crappy that assignment may be. I smile, and say "Sure!", although I might ask how soon it's needed so that I can better prioritize all the other 10 kazillion things they have me doing. I have to prioritize because I have to somehow fit it all into an 8 hour day. I'm an hourly employee and not approved for any overtime.

I make it happen because I am good and I am trustworthy. I am Supertemp. You can rely on me.

Lately, because summer is drawing to it's close and the people I work with are gainfully employed and have all worked there longer than dirt (this month Hey Mr. DJ celebrates his 38th year with the company with no sign of eminent retirement) and subsequently have more vacation time, sick time, and personal days racked up than I ever dreamed would be possible in a lifetime, let alone in one year, they are often out of the office - and have all apparently decided that I am a terrific out of office back up.

I'm a temp. I don't get vacation days. I am always there. Every ding dong day. Reliable, that's me.

It's fine when it's one person. But when it is 3 or 4 people and on one occasion recently FIVE people - it's just simply not OK.

I should mention that I barely have time to perform my own job and fulfill my own responsibilities and tasks within a what always seems to be a very short 8 hour day.

Frankly, it's getting old.

So here is a message to all of the people who have slammed me, and will probably continue to slam me during my coworkers absences, with arm flapping emails marked "Urgent!", with all caps in the subject line and little flaming envelope icons:

I'm only vaguely aware of some of the projects that my lovely teammates are currently working on.

Don't get me wrong, I am happy to help you when time permits and when my associates have given me the tools and background information that I need to help you. But they didn't. They only fill me in on the truly important stuff and since I have no fucking idea what the bloody hell you are talking about, I can only assume that you are:

a.) a giant liar head
b.) mistaken
c.) in a deep bucket of shit because you waited until the last minute to do this "Urgent!" thing and forgot that my co-worker was going to be out of the office
d.) all of the above

Don't get me wrong, I am indeed a whiz, and I really (sort-of) would like to help you out, but you are misguided if you think that I am so intimately up my collective coworkers asses as to be able to read their minds from afar. And no, I'm not going to try to reach them at home.

As I mentioned before I don't even know what the fuck you are drivelling about, so don't ask me to make snap decisions on their behalves, try to gain access to their files, or have all the relevant numbers for your project memorized.

You are shit out of luck.

They are not here.

It will have to wait until they come back.

Re-fucking-lax.

Oh, and while I'm at it - It is not OK to cram an entire message into the subject line of your email. It's an email, not a text message. Even if you somehow manage to squeeze "pls" and "thx" in there, it's rude. Stop it.

Pants Noise

Today I wore a pair of shoes that are a winning combination of cute and comfortable. I hardly ever wear them and when I took them down from the top shelf of my closet and pulled them out of the box, I was thinking to myself - Oh, I love these shoes, why don't I ever wear them?

Because they make an irritating rubbery squishing noise with every step - that's why.

They make a noise like wet socks inside a pair of rubber boots, but of course I didn't remember this until I was well on my way and it was too late to turn back and get another pair.

In addition to this I wore one of my newer pairs of wide-leg khaki trousers. They make a soft, swishing sound that is also pretty annoying after awhile.

So between the shoes and the pants I sounded like a one man band.

I was self conscious about it all day to the point that I made a contest with myself to see how long I could go without getting up to do anything. Pretty long actually. I made it until around 12:30. When I finally couldn't take it any more and got up to go to the break room to heat up my lunch (there was no way I was going to eat cold soup from a can) enough time had gone by for my feet to stir up a little moisture and a new delightful farting noise was now added to the mix for accompaniment.

Great.

Round about this time (12:50, to be exact) a reminder popped up on my calendar for a meeting I needed to attend - on the other side of the fucking compound. Seriously it's a very big place - the meeting was half a mile away. No joke.

It took me 11 laboriously noisy hours to walk there. Farting, swishing and squishing all the way. Of course I got there late and had to walk all the way to the back of the room to find a seat.

Marvelous.

Anyhoo... the first thing I did when I arrived home this evening was rip these shoes from my feet and ceremoniously slam them into the trash. I said, "Take that you noisy motherfuckers".

Then I unceremoniously pulled them out of the trash, put them back into their box, placed a post it note on top of the box that says simply, "Farts", and placed the box back on the top closet shelf. At least next time I'll know why I never wear them.

The title of the post is a little inside joke because when I was in middle school I had a friend named Dana whose mother was into some weird rattle-snake frenching religion and thought that everything having to do with the human body was dirty and any mention of a body part or body function was a dirty word. She was kinda like Carrie's mom.

Dana's mother once washed her mouth out with soap for saying the word "pimple". Her mother created an alternate language for such things:

Zit/Pimple = Place on your face

Fart = Pants noise

Vagina = Special place

Butt/Ass = Seat

Crazy Bitch = Mother

That's all I can remember, but "Pants Noise" always gave me a giggle and when Amy's daughter LBL was a baby, that was one of my favorite nicknames for her.

Thinly Veiled Smarm

Some time back I posted about the guy I used to think was gay until he visited my cube and confessed a keen romantic interest in my young female co-worker friend, we'll call her Jogger.

At the time I was in shock because of two things -
1.) His interest in a female, and

2.) The fact that he proceeded to dish some ripe-juicy office gossip, not the least of which was that he is divorced from one of my other co-workers - the one that was 9 months pregnant, also a female (now on maternity leave - she's remarried and it's not his) AND that he used to date one of the other temps - yet another female.

It was too much information to digest in one sitting and now I am unsure what advice I gave him about young Jogger. I'm pretty sure that I told him that she was currently available, but also that in my humble opinion, because I know her fairly well, that she was recently broken up and recovering from a serious, long-term relationship. Oh yes, and also that I thought she was way too young for him.

He is 37 and she is 23.

I was gracious about it, of course. Regardless though, I KNOW I said nothing that might encourage him to think that she may be interested.

I certainly never said "Why don't you hang around her cubicle, bug her all day and stare at her inappropriately? Young chicks really dig that."

His confession occurred on a Friday, so obviously the very next Monday I told Jogger all about it. Her response was "Ew!" Accompanied by a squinched up, disgusted facial expression. Suffice it to say, she's not interested.

Over the course of the past several weeks Jogger has gotten back together with her boyfriend. Also, to my delight she has been added to our team of data mining enthusiasts and so changed cubicles in order to be closer to us. Now she sits at the cubicle adjacent from mine and Hey Mr. DJ's. It's nice to have her near by and we've been working very closely together. I like her a lot.

In the olden days I used to see Gaydar every so often in the break room or while standing around waiting my turn at the printer, but now he seems to have decided to make a nuisance of himself and find a million reasons a day to come by, talking and laughing at top volume to any number of other people whose cubes are conveniently located near her, and in particular Hey Mr DJ who is seated right across from poor Jogger.

He's all business for the first few minutes and then eventually he breaks into jokey banter and frequent references to his motorcycle, bars he goes to or other personal matters that I'm guessing he thinks make him sound young, hip, masculine and sexually appealing to 23 year old temps who are barely out of college.

The man is out of control.

I can only wonder at what Hey Mr. DJ thinks of all the attention he's garnering from Gaydar these days.

Gaydar is not an unattractive man. In fact he's kind of cute and seemingly very nice. But he is driving poor Jogger insane.

Occasionally he'll turn around from bugging Hey Mr. DJ and try to include Jogger in their conversation, or he'll stop by and ask her inane questions about the project she is working on.

Oh, and how about this? He typed up a "guide book" for her to use on a project she's working on with him. It seemed like a nice gesture except that the special treatment only ended up embarrassing Jogger and irritating the crap out of all the other temps who are also working on the same project and received no such "guide book". Smooth.

This morning she came in to find a mysterious packet of Oreo cookies on her desk. No note. And no one fessing up to leaving them for her. Smooth. I of course told her that they were probably from Gaydar and excessively dosed with Ruffies. Then I laughed myself silly because I am at heart very mean spirited and find the whole situation quite humorous.

Anyhoo... I'm wondering how much longer this can go on? Why is he fucking around? For gods sake man ask her out! Let her say NO, disappoint you and get this shit over with.