Gallows humor, that is.
Let's recount my shitty week--Tuesday I'm sick, but I also scheduled two job interviews, so that was more important. I'm putting it in as a vacation day, even though I was sick. Wednesday, I'm still feeling icky. Thursday, illness/icky continues, but I get my flu shot anyway since it was free. Hell, I pay enough for health care, so fuck it, stick the damn needle in my arm and let the spores begin.
OH did they.
After a sleepless night of nausea, vomiting and other internal "shifts", shall I say, I can barely stand up without shaking because 1) I'm dehydrated; 2) I'm still nauseous; and 3) I've eaten nothing since about 5 pm the night before. So, what do I do? I cancel my skating session, and get up at my regular time bleary-eyed and dizzy. I'm so late now it's not even funny. I get on the train, hoping I don't puke. Then I do. I ask myself quite honestly, "WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING?" I call my coworker (not the shit-eating dictator) and say I'm turning around and going home. She says why the hell did I try and get out of bed at all, and I realize she's right. She's also human, and I'm not dealing with humans where I work, I'm dealing with evil pods that grew out of a cornfield. (Cornfields with split-level condos in Connecticut and New Jersey, that is.) So, I attempt to eat a paltry meal of french toast at an overpriced diner. It tastes like cardboard, but considering my lingering nausea? I've got to line my stomach before my next Linda Blair Moment.
I get on the train and get home ok. I pick up cat food. My fuzzers still need to eat, even if I can't for the rest of the day. I crawl into bed. I sit there for what seems like an eternity spinning inwardly. I collapse, yank the covers over me, and sleep finally arrives. Mom calls, I respond that I'm dead and I'll call back later. If I don't die further. It's maybe 5 pm?
I wake up that night at 8, crawl out of bed, gasping for breath, fresh air, water and almost knock Dexter into the hall. He's on four legs, I'm on two. That makes him much nimbler by default. He swishes his tail, and sulks on the couch. I proceed to gulp all ?? ounces of ?? sized glass of water in about 5 seconds flat. Pukey throat ain't funny, kiddies.
A nice bowl of oatmeal fills my turbulent stomach. Peppermint tea follows. Then the gamut of Friday night tv begins. It's nothing but Halloween programming! Oh, goodie. Blood, mayhem, ghosts, puke, guts, gore, hauntings and pain. That reminds me that my period's due soon, so more peppermint tea.
Now I have a welt from the flu shot, cramps in my stomach and my back, my left flu-vaccined arm hurts, and I have a headache. Was this a vaccine or a micronized dose of the actual flu? Is it ebola? Avian flu? Smallpox? Oopaloopalitis? What if this is a military experiment and I'm just another number on some government list? (Gotta stop watching the history channel.)
Still, I love Halloween programming: psychics, haunted houses, Edgar Allen Poe, Dracula, hell, they even showed the full three-minute Harry Potter trailer! I've got entertainment. I'll worry about how my shitty job yells at me when I get back on Monday. Which is actually Halloween. The day of witchy splendor. I'll be sure to wear black and on of my famous amulets--I've got about six of them and each one elicits strange stares when worn. I'll be sure to wear my Seal of Barbeulis, it always keeps the evil spirits at bay. CEOs my ass, I hate these petty frauds calling themselves a company.
Please, kiddies, say a prayer that I get out by Thanksgiving, or its no turkey again for me this year.
UGH
Off for more peppermint tea. I'm not sleeping, as you can see.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Friday, October 21, 2005
TGIF
And thank god for more interviews coming my way.
Monday and Tuesday! Monster's woken up and Execu-search.com is a great agency. I'm biding my time, biding my time. Word has it that we're "restructuring" yet again. Like that's going to save this place. I haven't had so many farewell party cakes in all my birthdays combined! Too many chiefs, not enough Indians as they say...
In other news, all the ice is down everywhere except Prospect Park. I can shake my jiggly tailfeather and use those things I used to live in. I think they're called skates? Maybe that would set my caboose free. My lower back is probably killing me from all the sitting I do. I'm actually happy to get home at night and stand up while doing the dishes and dancing with Dexter!
But I do love October. It's cooler outside, the heat starts to come up, and it's Halloween everywhere. It's just lovely. Tomorrow, I can officially get out my fall/winter clothes and do some massive laundry. I think the big blanket will come out of the closet, too. They've taken to climbing into my skate bag for warmth.
I've taken to sitting in hot baths for warmth, which is probably drying out my skin.
Pinochet still has all the charm of a cockroach. Just sitting here having to type this with these powermongers around me is a bit much.
Lowen's, my local drugstore, has all the witchy/froggy/kitty/pumpkin stuff in addition to orders coming in for fake Christmas trees. Last year, I felt sucky. This year, I'm ready.
I've even started uploading songs into my iTunes since the May Songs Snafu. Holiday music will be going in there soon. Now if I could only find my Charlie Brown Great Pumpkin video.
Gotta get that on DVD...
Monday and Tuesday! Monster's woken up and Execu-search.com is a great agency. I'm biding my time, biding my time. Word has it that we're "restructuring" yet again. Like that's going to save this place. I haven't had so many farewell party cakes in all my birthdays combined! Too many chiefs, not enough Indians as they say...
In other news, all the ice is down everywhere except Prospect Park. I can shake my jiggly tailfeather and use those things I used to live in. I think they're called skates? Maybe that would set my caboose free. My lower back is probably killing me from all the sitting I do. I'm actually happy to get home at night and stand up while doing the dishes and dancing with Dexter!
But I do love October. It's cooler outside, the heat starts to come up, and it's Halloween everywhere. It's just lovely. Tomorrow, I can officially get out my fall/winter clothes and do some massive laundry. I think the big blanket will come out of the closet, too. They've taken to climbing into my skate bag for warmth.
I've taken to sitting in hot baths for warmth, which is probably drying out my skin.
Pinochet still has all the charm of a cockroach. Just sitting here having to type this with these powermongers around me is a bit much.
Lowen's, my local drugstore, has all the witchy/froggy/kitty/pumpkin stuff in addition to orders coming in for fake Christmas trees. Last year, I felt sucky. This year, I'm ready.
I've even started uploading songs into my iTunes since the May Songs Snafu. Holiday music will be going in there soon. Now if I could only find my Charlie Brown Great Pumpkin video.
Gotta get that on DVD...
Friday, October 14, 2005
Which way is it?
Here are some definitions according to the Merriam-Webster dictionary...
Communication: plural but singular or plural in construction a : a technique for expressing ideas effectively (as in speech) b : the technology of the transmission of information (as by print or telecommunication.)
Miscommunication: failure to communicate clearly.
Hmmm....ever notice that the first definition might be more complicated, but ultimately leads to a clear concept and the second definition might be short and sweet, but it leads to eventual chaos?
Well, I'm not going to blog about any old thing, and Dexter just doesn't feel like writing (I trimmed his claws and he's angry at me), so I'm going to spew poetic (I don't wax anymore, summer's over.)
Today I kinda, sorta think, is supposed to be Thelma's memorial. If I'm wrong, email me. No emails, no calls, no invites. I do not read minds, or scry into crystal balls. I also don't walk into THAT building uninvited. I've got scorch marks from the evil eye various factions lasered my way the last time I was there, which is approximately three years ago. As a result, I'm not going. The weather sucks, I'm tired, and this current job (yes, I'm still stuck) reminds me vividly of the explicit reasons I left THAT job.
What do you get when a bunch of passive-agressive children who jockey for power and don't like talking to each other stop informing you of things you need to know?
MISCOMMUNICATION.
What do you get when you get off your high horse, start emailing and passing out memos, and actually give a shit about your fellow coworkers, not to mention cease being wrapped up in your exorbitant salary and meaningless title?
COMMUNICATION.
Oh, I'm sorry. Am I thinking I'm worth something again? Gee, I'll have to stop. I keep forgetting no one listens to me. I'm just an admin. We don't count.
This, plus the fact that my marvelous evaluation is right around the corner, makes me think of a lot of things.
Bag o'Rocks comments from last year will not go down blithely. I was flat-out accused of malingering when I took any sick days (which, between 2002-2003 was all of them) and I was told that I'm out of the office more than I am. The exact statements? Let me quote Sir Rocks.
"Well, if you're gonna take sick days, you've got to be sick."
To counter this, I told him sick doesn't necessarily mean tissues, coughing and sneezing. It could mean fibromyalgia (which he never heard of), a thyroid disorder (Hashimotos, look it up, Rock man), and a recurring cyst in my ovary they (my doctors) needed to watch for cancerous cells. None of these things "make" me "sick" in the eyes of this bullshit management, so I took my medical files in today and copied them. ALL OF THEM. The only thing I couldn't copy were the x-rays of my spine, hip, knees and neck, all of which are affected by fibromyalgia. I want ALL of this information with me to throw in HR's face when I leave, which will happen. I don't care how long it takes.
"You're NOT here more than you are." Hmmm...what the fuck does that mean?
I was so stunned when I heard this, I couldn't even answer. Does this relate to my sick time? The time I'm faking it and really not sick? Does this relate to the occasional day off THAT BY NEW YORK STATE LABOR LAWS I'M ENTITLED TO? This isn't fucking FRANCE, last year I got 12 days, which is still nothing. My passport has actually EXPIRED. Why, you ask? I don't make enough money to go anywhere abroad with my 12 little days. That's why I took a copy of last year's tax returns and blacked out all impertinent info and highlighted only the salary and numbers. Again, HR better be wearing goggles and a mask lest they get paper cuts when I fling this in their face.
As for my current time, I've found out I still have 9 days left for the year. I got 15 vacation days this year and sprinkled them around the 2005 calendar, much to Bag o'Rocks's dismay while he was still here. Now that the bastard's gone, I'm going for broke and using them all.
Total tally so far? 14 interviews since March. 3 jobs were eliminated before I got there, 5 were given internally, 2 I passed on (looooow salary), and the other 4 were agencies that gave me NO feedback whatsoever. If they wanted me, I guess I would've got the call. Agencies, for the most part, can go to hell for all I care. They've done nothing except waste my time.
As for next week, there's a job fair and the NYC Development committee for the Freedom tower called. They want real, common-sense, lived-here-our-whole-lives, straight-up New Yorkers. That's me, baby. Salary's great, I can certainly give 'em what they want, and I know this city and most of the boroughs (particularly Brooklyn and Manhattan) like the back of my hand.
And what did I say to them to get the day off? "I've got stuff going on with my apartment," which is true. I'm the process of hurling everything and anything with this company's logo on it RIGHT INTO THE TRASH. That makes me feel wonderful.
So that is my communication for today.
Communication: plural but singular or plural in construction a : a technique for expressing ideas effectively (as in speech) b : the technology of the transmission of information (as by print or telecommunication.)
Miscommunication: failure to communicate clearly.
Hmmm....ever notice that the first definition might be more complicated, but ultimately leads to a clear concept and the second definition might be short and sweet, but it leads to eventual chaos?
Well, I'm not going to blog about any old thing, and Dexter just doesn't feel like writing (I trimmed his claws and he's angry at me), so I'm going to spew poetic (I don't wax anymore, summer's over.)
Today I kinda, sorta think, is supposed to be Thelma's memorial. If I'm wrong, email me. No emails, no calls, no invites. I do not read minds, or scry into crystal balls. I also don't walk into THAT building uninvited. I've got scorch marks from the evil eye various factions lasered my way the last time I was there, which is approximately three years ago. As a result, I'm not going. The weather sucks, I'm tired, and this current job (yes, I'm still stuck) reminds me vividly of the explicit reasons I left THAT job.
What do you get when a bunch of passive-agressive children who jockey for power and don't like talking to each other stop informing you of things you need to know?
MISCOMMUNICATION.
What do you get when you get off your high horse, start emailing and passing out memos, and actually give a shit about your fellow coworkers, not to mention cease being wrapped up in your exorbitant salary and meaningless title?
COMMUNICATION.
Oh, I'm sorry. Am I thinking I'm worth something again? Gee, I'll have to stop. I keep forgetting no one listens to me. I'm just an admin. We don't count.
This, plus the fact that my marvelous evaluation is right around the corner, makes me think of a lot of things.
Bag o'Rocks comments from last year will not go down blithely. I was flat-out accused of malingering when I took any sick days (which, between 2002-2003 was all of them) and I was told that I'm out of the office more than I am. The exact statements? Let me quote Sir Rocks.
"Well, if you're gonna take sick days, you've got to be sick."
To counter this, I told him sick doesn't necessarily mean tissues, coughing and sneezing. It could mean fibromyalgia (which he never heard of), a thyroid disorder (Hashimotos, look it up, Rock man), and a recurring cyst in my ovary they (my doctors) needed to watch for cancerous cells. None of these things "make" me "sick" in the eyes of this bullshit management, so I took my medical files in today and copied them. ALL OF THEM. The only thing I couldn't copy were the x-rays of my spine, hip, knees and neck, all of which are affected by fibromyalgia. I want ALL of this information with me to throw in HR's face when I leave, which will happen. I don't care how long it takes.
"You're NOT here more than you are." Hmmm...what the fuck does that mean?
I was so stunned when I heard this, I couldn't even answer. Does this relate to my sick time? The time I'm faking it and really not sick? Does this relate to the occasional day off THAT BY NEW YORK STATE LABOR LAWS I'M ENTITLED TO? This isn't fucking FRANCE, last year I got 12 days, which is still nothing. My passport has actually EXPIRED. Why, you ask? I don't make enough money to go anywhere abroad with my 12 little days. That's why I took a copy of last year's tax returns and blacked out all impertinent info and highlighted only the salary and numbers. Again, HR better be wearing goggles and a mask lest they get paper cuts when I fling this in their face.
As for my current time, I've found out I still have 9 days left for the year. I got 15 vacation days this year and sprinkled them around the 2005 calendar, much to Bag o'Rocks's dismay while he was still here. Now that the bastard's gone, I'm going for broke and using them all.
Total tally so far? 14 interviews since March. 3 jobs were eliminated before I got there, 5 were given internally, 2 I passed on (looooow salary), and the other 4 were agencies that gave me NO feedback whatsoever. If they wanted me, I guess I would've got the call. Agencies, for the most part, can go to hell for all I care. They've done nothing except waste my time.
As for next week, there's a job fair and the NYC Development committee for the Freedom tower called. They want real, common-sense, lived-here-our-whole-lives, straight-up New Yorkers. That's me, baby. Salary's great, I can certainly give 'em what they want, and I know this city and most of the boroughs (particularly Brooklyn and Manhattan) like the back of my hand.
And what did I say to them to get the day off? "I've got stuff going on with my apartment," which is true. I'm the process of hurling everything and anything with this company's logo on it RIGHT INTO THE TRASH. That makes me feel wonderful.
So that is my communication for today.
Sunday, October 9, 2005
Fudley said...
Fudley was my dad's nickname on paper when he left notes for me, which were many. This is a song Ella Fitzgerald sang, Duke Ellington wrote, and Dad borrowed. I always remember the last line. And yes, he loved me madly.
Love you madly
right or wrong
sounds like a lyric of a song
But since it's so
I thought you oughta know
I love you, love you madly
Better fish are in the sea
Is not the theory for me
And that's for sure
Just like I said before
I love you, love you madly
If you could see the happy you and me
I dream about so proudly
You'd know the breath of spring
That makes me sing
My love song so loudly
Good things come to those who wait
So just relax and wait for fate
To let me see the day you'll say to me
I love you, love you madly
But since it's so
I thought you oughta know
I love you, madly
And that's for sure
Just like I said before
I love you, love you madly
If you could see the happy you and me
I dream about so proudly
You'd know the breath of spring
That makes me sing
My love song so loudly
To let me see the day you'll say to me
I love you madly
Happy Birthday, you old goat. I thought I'd see you get to 70. Guess I was wrong.
Love you madly
right or wrong
sounds like a lyric of a song
But since it's so
I thought you oughta know
I love you, love you madly
Better fish are in the sea
Is not the theory for me
And that's for sure
Just like I said before
I love you, love you madly
If you could see the happy you and me
I dream about so proudly
You'd know the breath of spring
That makes me sing
My love song so loudly
Good things come to those who wait
So just relax and wait for fate
To let me see the day you'll say to me
I love you, love you madly
But since it's so
I thought you oughta know
I love you, madly
And that's for sure
Just like I said before
I love you, love you madly
If you could see the happy you and me
I dream about so proudly
You'd know the breath of spring
That makes me sing
My love song so loudly
To let me see the day you'll say to me
I love you madly
Happy Birthday, you old goat. I thought I'd see you get to 70. Guess I was wrong.
Monday, October 3, 2005
Drafty Sam
Well, there’s still a draft near my bed. This marks the fifth dwelling I’ve lived in that has a draft near my bed. A trusty stuffed animal blocking the stream of draft usually does the trick. That’s where Sam comes in.
Sam (don’t ask me why that’s his name) came into my life almost twenty years ago, Christmas 1986. He had a ridiculous red sweater with white snowflakes on it and a red hat sewn to both ears. At some point, I un-sewed the hat (how undignified) and got rid of the sweater (polar bears don’t need sweaters.) Sam took up permanent residence in the corner that blew cold air near my old bed. The wall and floor had started to separate, thus creating a draft. Sam made a good draft-killer.
I hate to say that I need Sam’s services yet again.
He was placed in the hamper to go out with the laundry for about 4 days, and the drafties snuck in. Probably explains why my neck’s a bit stiff. He was washed with the blankets and towels and had a nice spritz of Downy (Snuggle is a potential rival.) Last night, he made his October debut, crammed into the side of my bed. No draft! Plus the fact that Dexter likes sleeping on him, which is why I had to launder Sam in the first place. Cat hair on a stuffed bear = too much hair!
In other news, more people are jumping ship. It’s joyous to see good people who’ve had enough stand up and say, “You’ve GOT to be kidding me!” Three more interviews on Wednesday. I have nine vacation days. Use ‘em or lose ‘em, so Wednesday’s as good a day as ever.
And I can hear Bag O’Rocks voice in my head, “Well, you’re NOT here more than you are.” That choice comment made its way onto my last “evaluation.” NOT here more than I am. That’s toooo funny. Whatever the hell that meant, I’ve no idea.
(as I count the years since my last real vacation. HA!)
Sam (don’t ask me why that’s his name) came into my life almost twenty years ago, Christmas 1986. He had a ridiculous red sweater with white snowflakes on it and a red hat sewn to both ears. At some point, I un-sewed the hat (how undignified) and got rid of the sweater (polar bears don’t need sweaters.) Sam took up permanent residence in the corner that blew cold air near my old bed. The wall and floor had started to separate, thus creating a draft. Sam made a good draft-killer.
I hate to say that I need Sam’s services yet again.
He was placed in the hamper to go out with the laundry for about 4 days, and the drafties snuck in. Probably explains why my neck’s a bit stiff. He was washed with the blankets and towels and had a nice spritz of Downy (Snuggle is a potential rival.) Last night, he made his October debut, crammed into the side of my bed. No draft! Plus the fact that Dexter likes sleeping on him, which is why I had to launder Sam in the first place. Cat hair on a stuffed bear = too much hair!
In other news, more people are jumping ship. It’s joyous to see good people who’ve had enough stand up and say, “You’ve GOT to be kidding me!” Three more interviews on Wednesday. I have nine vacation days. Use ‘em or lose ‘em, so Wednesday’s as good a day as ever.
And I can hear Bag O’Rocks voice in my head, “Well, you’re NOT here more than you are.” That choice comment made its way onto my last “evaluation.” NOT here more than I am. That’s toooo funny. Whatever the hell that meant, I’ve no idea.
(as I count the years since my last real vacation. HA!)
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