Ok. I don't want to say this because it's only been about 6 weeks, but I'm pretty sure I hate my job. My new job that sucks.
I'm constantly freakin' busy. Every ten seconds my boss runs into my office and says, "You need to be in this meeting. I'm on the project now, but I want out of it and eventually you will do it. Oh, and when you aren't doing this, that and those, do that one also."
"But what about the ones from yesterday?" I might ask.
"What about them? Are they done yet?"
"When could I possibly have done them? No."
"Oh, that reminds me. You need to attend the training on time management, project management, management management and bullshit management."
"When can I possibly do all of this other stuff?"
"You'll learn that at the training."
"Fine. When is it?"
"Tomorrow. All day."
"But I have four meetings tomorrow that you scheduled. Three of them at the same time."
"And?"
-blink- -blink-
********
You have no idea how close to accurate that is.
Being in a job I didn't love was acceptable before. Then I had time to goof around, draw, write and post to the blog during the day. Now there's no time. And on the scattered few days when there might be some time to scrape together a blog post I feel all guilty because they've got me totally convinced that my new job is important.
"Michael, we're counting on you."
"What? For what?"
"For that thing this weekend that we talked about in the meeting. Very important."
"What thing?"
"The thing we've discussed every day for the last week? The crucial thing."
"Oh right."
WHAT F*ING IDIOT GAVE ME AN IMPORTANT JOB?
Didn't they know better?
And last Friday my boss comes into my office and says, "Did we mention that there will be a lot of travel in this job?"
"No."
"Oh. Well, there will be."
*&#%*#&#%*@$&%@#$&$w@#$&#%$%*#$@&%@##%*ING HELL
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
Umbrella Failure
This morning I had an umbrella failure. I knew this one was coming. I saw the signs. But I didn't expect it to happen today. I didn't even expect it to rain today. I was hoping to mow more of my back yard this evening. But when I awoke it was pouring. So along with my briefcase - which incidentally contains NOTHING associated with my job - I grabbed my umbrella.
About two months ago one of the bent metal arms of the umbrella finally gave out and broke. This was the first sign that things were on the outs between us. Still, I did not give up on dear blue umbrella. I kept some hope.
This morning, as I got out of my car at the bus stop, I popped open the thing. It has this awesome button that you push and the whole thing just pops open like it lives to protect you from the rain. But the wind was kind of hard and though I held the umbrella at an angle it still failed to protect my legs from getting wet. This in itself was enough to make me seriously think about considering upgrading to an umbrella that actually keeps me dry. But it was not the only failure that happened today. The instant I got off the buss the wind blew so hard that the umbrella immediately popped inside out, a la cartoon style. So there I stood in the driving rain for two or three minutes trying to unpop the umbrella so that it could continue to do a horrible job of keeping me dry.
When I finally got the umbrella unpopped I decided to just close it. The wind was blowing so hard that the poor little metal arms on the thing were bending. I was somewhat worried that they were all going to break and that these terrible metal pieces would come whipping at my face in the driving wind. The last thing I need is to be all scarred up. My beauty is all I have.
Also I forgot my Olive Garden leftovers in the refrigerator.
And I woke up with a headache.
And I really wanted to sleep in.
Those things are not the fault of the umbrella, but since I'm getting rid of it anyway I'm going to blame those things on it too.
About two months ago one of the bent metal arms of the umbrella finally gave out and broke. This was the first sign that things were on the outs between us. Still, I did not give up on dear blue umbrella. I kept some hope.
This morning, as I got out of my car at the bus stop, I popped open the thing. It has this awesome button that you push and the whole thing just pops open like it lives to protect you from the rain. But the wind was kind of hard and though I held the umbrella at an angle it still failed to protect my legs from getting wet. This in itself was enough to make me seriously think about considering upgrading to an umbrella that actually keeps me dry. But it was not the only failure that happened today. The instant I got off the buss the wind blew so hard that the umbrella immediately popped inside out, a la cartoon style. So there I stood in the driving rain for two or three minutes trying to unpop the umbrella so that it could continue to do a horrible job of keeping me dry.
When I finally got the umbrella unpopped I decided to just close it. The wind was blowing so hard that the poor little metal arms on the thing were bending. I was somewhat worried that they were all going to break and that these terrible metal pieces would come whipping at my face in the driving wind. The last thing I need is to be all scarred up. My beauty is all I have.
Also I forgot my Olive Garden leftovers in the refrigerator.
And I woke up with a headache.
And I really wanted to sleep in.
Those things are not the fault of the umbrella, but since I'm getting rid of it anyway I'm going to blame those things on it too.
Hallelujah
You know, it's a good thing that Jesus died and rose way back when he did. Back then people were a bit more careful with their choice of words. In modern times we've gotten kind of loose with the words we use. Back then when the disciples realized that Jesus was resurrected they would have shouted "Hallelujah!" If it were to happen now I'm not so certain those are the words they'd choose.
What exclamation a person uses to express his utter joy and bewilderment at the resurrection of the Lord isn't exactly an issue. I mean, I believe in the freedom of speech, and I think that the expressive uttering of such joy should not be controlled, but should flow forth with unabridged honesty. Still I wonder if Handle's Messiah would be as beautiful or renowned if it ended with the "Holy Shit Chorus."
What exclamation a person uses to express his utter joy and bewilderment at the resurrection of the Lord isn't exactly an issue. I mean, I believe in the freedom of speech, and I think that the expressive uttering of such joy should not be controlled, but should flow forth with unabridged honesty. Still I wonder if Handle's Messiah would be as beautiful or renowned if it ended with the "Holy Shit Chorus."
Friday, April 10, 2009
fail
I'm ashamed. I gave in to spousal pressure.
This morning I got up all excited and prepared to stack the lucky deck in my favor by piling on the lucky clothes in layers (see the post from yesterday for explanation). I shuffled my sleepy feet to the closet and opened my underwear draw. However, I was somewhat dismayed to find that all of my lucky boxers had been worn. This was a double shame because not only did I not have any clean lucky underwear to wear, but in wearing it earlier this week I had found no luck.
So I opened my T-shirt drawer. One T-shirt was left and it wasn't so much lucky as a favorite. Not all favorite T-shirts are lucky. This T-shirt was my pirate T that I got on vacation. I have never really associated this article of clothing with luck, but it hadn't been particularly unlucky either. Still, I couldn't exactly say I stacked the lucky deck in my favor if I was only wearing one layer of not-exactly-lucky clothes.
I looked to the dirty clothes hamper. Don't judge, those clothes weren't nasty dirty. Just worn. And from several feet away they didn't smell.
So then I was ready for work. I had three pair of underwear on; Scooby Doo, Ants and my samurai underwear. And I had two lucky shirts on; Aqua Teen and the Pirate shirt. All of this was under a mild mannered pair of khaki slacks and a sweater.
I was feeling whimsical and excited about the day. Then I went to the bathroom to tell my wife good-bye and to pee. Probably not in that order. It was oppressive hot in there because she had just taken a shower and I was wearing a bazillion layers of clothes.
Anyway, I made the mistake, in my giddy excitement, of asking her if she thought my layering of clothes would increase the luck factor of my day. "Take those off," she said.
"But I want to see if it makes me extra lucky!"
"It's gonna make you unlucky when you're trying to use the bathroom and you can't get through all of the underwear and you wind up peeing on yourself."
I didn't really think that her argument was that persuasive, but standing there in the bathroom, with three pair of underwear on, I suddenly felt a little silly. But mostly I was becoming aware that I really did smell like a dirty clothes hamper.
So, reluctantly I went to my closet and shed some extra layers. I looked down on the floor at my discarded semi-lucky clothes. "Maybe I'll just wear a shirt and tie," I said. Then the crotch of my Yoda boxers, lying in the hamper*, said, "That... is why you fail."
Now I'm wearing one lucky pair of underwear and a not-so-lucky, but well liked pirate T-shirt.
As I left the house this morning I stuck my head in the bathroom and said, "You don't understand performance art," to Rebecca.
She sympathetically said, "No."
* dear reader, I had to update this post to make it clear that the Yoda boxers were not on my person when they opened up and began to speak truisms of the Force to me. I've already received several questions about Yoda giving out tongue lashings and whether he keeps a stiff upper lip. Seriously people, that's just inappropriate.
This morning I got up all excited and prepared to stack the lucky deck in my favor by piling on the lucky clothes in layers (see the post from yesterday for explanation). I shuffled my sleepy feet to the closet and opened my underwear draw. However, I was somewhat dismayed to find that all of my lucky boxers had been worn. This was a double shame because not only did I not have any clean lucky underwear to wear, but in wearing it earlier this week I had found no luck.
So I opened my T-shirt drawer. One T-shirt was left and it wasn't so much lucky as a favorite. Not all favorite T-shirts are lucky. This T-shirt was my pirate T that I got on vacation. I have never really associated this article of clothing with luck, but it hadn't been particularly unlucky either. Still, I couldn't exactly say I stacked the lucky deck in my favor if I was only wearing one layer of not-exactly-lucky clothes.
I looked to the dirty clothes hamper. Don't judge, those clothes weren't nasty dirty. Just worn. And from several feet away they didn't smell.
So then I was ready for work. I had three pair of underwear on; Scooby Doo, Ants and my samurai underwear. And I had two lucky shirts on; Aqua Teen and the Pirate shirt. All of this was under a mild mannered pair of khaki slacks and a sweater.
I was feeling whimsical and excited about the day. Then I went to the bathroom to tell my wife good-bye and to pee. Probably not in that order. It was oppressive hot in there because she had just taken a shower and I was wearing a bazillion layers of clothes.
Anyway, I made the mistake, in my giddy excitement, of asking her if she thought my layering of clothes would increase the luck factor of my day. "Take those off," she said.
"But I want to see if it makes me extra lucky!"
"It's gonna make you unlucky when you're trying to use the bathroom and you can't get through all of the underwear and you wind up peeing on yourself."
I didn't really think that her argument was that persuasive, but standing there in the bathroom, with three pair of underwear on, I suddenly felt a little silly. But mostly I was becoming aware that I really did smell like a dirty clothes hamper.
So, reluctantly I went to my closet and shed some extra layers. I looked down on the floor at my discarded semi-lucky clothes. "Maybe I'll just wear a shirt and tie," I said. Then the crotch of my Yoda boxers, lying in the hamper*, said, "That... is why you fail."
Now I'm wearing one lucky pair of underwear and a not-so-lucky, but well liked pirate T-shirt.
As I left the house this morning I stuck my head in the bathroom and said, "You don't understand performance art," to Rebecca.
She sympathetically said, "No."
* dear reader, I had to update this post to make it clear that the Yoda boxers were not on my person when they opened up and began to speak truisms of the Force to me. I've already received several questions about Yoda giving out tongue lashings and whether he keeps a stiff upper lip. Seriously people, that's just inappropriate.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
My Heart
The kids have been away this week and my eating habits have hit the toilet. Last night I had a double cheese burger with bacon on it; the Baconater! With every bite I could feel the fat juices running down my throat in a bee line to my ass. I almost thought about exercising, but I had a glass of water instead, which is just as good.
So this morning I woke up and didn't feel so good. My chest was feeling kind of tight. So I did the responsible thing and I had skim milk in my Fruity Pebbles. Except that didn't really fix the problem. I walk about a mile from the bus stop to my office every morning and this morning was a bear. The Fruity Pebbles and the donuts made an encore sidewalk performance. A homeless guy was just about to ask me for some money, but the splashy splatter of my breakfast revisited about-faced him. That or it was the smell.
After that display of gross I resolved to eat better tonight. I had pizza. It has every food group. I ate it as I watched 30 Rock. I laughed so hard my heart started to hurt. My mouth was full and my eyes were sweating. Rebecca looked over at me and said, "Are you ok?" I swallowed my not-really-chewed bite of pizza, which did hurt some, and said, "I think I'm having a heart attack."
"Are you sure?" she said.
"No," I said. Then I took a big nother bite of the pizza, which was almost good. I chewed it up this time and swallowed.
"Should you be eating something this fatty if you're feeling so bad?" she asked.
"I think I feel better," I said. Then another funny part came on that made my chest hurt again.
"You sure you're ok?" she asked again because she loves me.
I took another bite of pizza and chewed it up and swallowed it. I paused for a moment and waited. "Yeah," I said, "Every time my heart starts to attack I just eat a bit piece of pizza and it slows down."
That worked until I ran out of pizza. Next Thursday I'll need to make sure I have more pizza.
If I remember tomorrow I'll ask my friend, who's in medicine, if he's ever considered recommending pizza to stop a heart attack.
So this morning I woke up and didn't feel so good. My chest was feeling kind of tight. So I did the responsible thing and I had skim milk in my Fruity Pebbles. Except that didn't really fix the problem. I walk about a mile from the bus stop to my office every morning and this morning was a bear. The Fruity Pebbles and the donuts made an encore sidewalk performance. A homeless guy was just about to ask me for some money, but the splashy splatter of my breakfast revisited about-faced him. That or it was the smell.
After that display of gross I resolved to eat better tonight. I had pizza. It has every food group. I ate it as I watched 30 Rock. I laughed so hard my heart started to hurt. My mouth was full and my eyes were sweating. Rebecca looked over at me and said, "Are you ok?" I swallowed my not-really-chewed bite of pizza, which did hurt some, and said, "I think I'm having a heart attack."
"Are you sure?" she said.
"No," I said. Then I took a big nother bite of the pizza, which was almost good. I chewed it up this time and swallowed.
"Should you be eating something this fatty if you're feeling so bad?" she asked.
"I think I feel better," I said. Then another funny part came on that made my chest hurt again.
"You sure you're ok?" she asked again because she loves me.
I took another bite of pizza and chewed it up and swallowed it. I paused for a moment and waited. "Yeah," I said, "Every time my heart starts to attack I just eat a bit piece of pizza and it slows down."
That worked until I ran out of pizza. Next Thursday I'll need to make sure I have more pizza.
If I remember tomorrow I'll ask my friend, who's in medicine, if he's ever considered recommending pizza to stop a heart attack.
Lucky Clothes
I don't think these lucky clothes are working. The last thirty seven days that I've worn my samurai underwear have not produced the singlest little bit of luck. And my Aqua Teen Hunger Force T-shirt seems to have faded in glory as well. My flamingo tie, my ant underwear, my Scooby Doo underwear, my Dexter's Lab T-shirt and all of my Hawaiian shirts... devoid of magical lucky goodness.
I don't know what to say. I'm disappointed.
Maybe over time a lucky piece of clothing loses luck like it loses thread. Maybe it becomes luck-bare. I bet I can stack the luck by stacking the clothes. Tomorrow I'm going to wear my ant underwear as well as my samurai underwear and at least two of my lucky T-shirts.
Yeah. Tomorrow is going to be super lucky.
Lookout bitches.
ps. By bitches I don't mean women. That'd be sexist. I mean everyone when I say bitches. Not women. I mean, yes, women are included in the bitches. Because I want everyone to look out. All the bitches. Women bitches and man bitches.
pps. bitches = everyone.
ppps. Except you. You're awesome.
I don't know what to say. I'm disappointed.
Maybe over time a lucky piece of clothing loses luck like it loses thread. Maybe it becomes luck-bare. I bet I can stack the luck by stacking the clothes. Tomorrow I'm going to wear my ant underwear as well as my samurai underwear and at least two of my lucky T-shirts.
Yeah. Tomorrow is going to be super lucky.
Lookout bitches.
ps. By bitches I don't mean women. That'd be sexist. I mean everyone when I say bitches. Not women. I mean, yes, women are included in the bitches. Because I want everyone to look out. All the bitches. Women bitches and man bitches.
pps. bitches = everyone.
ppps. Except you. You're awesome.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Advice to Mother Nature
Ok, Mother Nature, I think, with all due respect, you need to shut up.
I mean, I love you. I think you're pretty and all... but really, you aren't doing yourself any favors.
Since I was in seventh grade, roughly 22 years ago, I have heard the claims that global warming is a growing and deadly problem. I read about it in science text books. I heard about it on After School Specials and on totally cool and cutting edge shows like 3-2-1 Contact! And the hip teachers like Mr. Jones said it was "serious indeed."
Then in college -roughly 15 years ago- everyone talked about it. They said that it was an immanent danger, and it could destroy all life as we know it.
Finally, about 4 or 5 years ago the press latched on to the idea. The irony! Here 20 years after I heard about it IN 7TH GRADE! the world is pretending like this is some new danger; like the scientists have been hiding it from everyone and only now have let it spill: "Oh yeah, did we forget to mention that you're all going to die?"
The press didn't even care about it until they could tie it in with the skyrocketing gas prices. But don't blame them! They knew none of their readers would care about it until it hurt their pocket books.
Reader: Why do I care if it's getting hotter? I have AC.
Press: Well, if the world get's hotter then the climates could all change and we could all die.
Reader: When?
Press: That's really hard to say.
Reader: Then it's really hard for me to care.
Press: You know, it's the burning of fossil fuels that causes most of the problem.
Reader: And...?
Press: Your gas prices are going through the roof.
Reader: Is there a connection? And if so, will my bitching about it lower my gas prices?
Press: Sort of.
Reader: OH SHIT WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!
...But I digress...
The point is, Mother Nature, that the public was slowly...
...ever so slowly...
...becoming aware of the problem. People were even listening to Al Gore. AL GORE! People were worrying. People were willing to spend extra on cars that got two or three miles more per gallon. People were telling their kids. People were thinking.
And then you go and f*ing snow on April 7 in Georgia. Now all the retards, penny-pinchers and Libertarians are gonna scream that there's no such thing as global warming. -sigh-
Ok. I'm sorry I got mad. I'll see what I can do to fix this. Maybe we can have a science guy -a good mix between intelligent looking and super cool- next to a stupid looking guy -possibly wearing suspenders - standing next to each other in the snow. The science guy says, "Don't forget about global warming," and the stupid looking guy looks up into the snow. Then the science guy says, "Wait for it..."
I'll work on it.
I mean, I love you. I think you're pretty and all... but really, you aren't doing yourself any favors.
Since I was in seventh grade, roughly 22 years ago, I have heard the claims that global warming is a growing and deadly problem. I read about it in science text books. I heard about it on After School Specials and on totally cool and cutting edge shows like 3-2-1 Contact! And the hip teachers like Mr. Jones said it was "serious indeed."
Then in college -roughly 15 years ago- everyone talked about it. They said that it was an immanent danger, and it could destroy all life as we know it.
Finally, about 4 or 5 years ago the press latched on to the idea. The irony! Here 20 years after I heard about it IN 7TH GRADE! the world is pretending like this is some new danger; like the scientists have been hiding it from everyone and only now have let it spill: "Oh yeah, did we forget to mention that you're all going to die?"
The press didn't even care about it until they could tie it in with the skyrocketing gas prices. But don't blame them! They knew none of their readers would care about it until it hurt their pocket books.
Reader: Why do I care if it's getting hotter? I have AC.
Press: Well, if the world get's hotter then the climates could all change and we could all die.
Reader: When?
Press: That's really hard to say.
Reader: Then it's really hard for me to care.
Press: You know, it's the burning of fossil fuels that causes most of the problem.
Reader: And...?
Press: Your gas prices are going through the roof.
Reader: Is there a connection? And if so, will my bitching about it lower my gas prices?
Press: Sort of.
Reader: OH SHIT WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!
...But I digress...
The point is, Mother Nature, that the public was slowly...
...ever so slowly...
...becoming aware of the problem. People were even listening to Al Gore. AL GORE! People were worrying. People were willing to spend extra on cars that got two or three miles more per gallon. People were telling their kids. People were thinking.
And then you go and f*ing snow on April 7 in Georgia. Now all the retards, penny-pinchers and Libertarians are gonna scream that there's no such thing as global warming. -sigh-
Ok. I'm sorry I got mad. I'll see what I can do to fix this. Maybe we can have a science guy -a good mix between intelligent looking and super cool- next to a stupid looking guy -possibly wearing suspenders - standing next to each other in the snow. The science guy says, "Don't forget about global warming," and the stupid looking guy looks up into the snow. Then the science guy says, "Wait for it..."
I'll work on it.
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