Tag Archives: work

The Ugly Baby…

Today, I finally confessed to the director of a particular project that I thought his project was a fucking nightmare.

Me: Eric, I don’t know how to say this… I know this project is your ‘baby’… and we’re not supposed to hate babies… but I really, really hate your baby….

Eric:  Oh.  Yeah… it’s kind of like Rosemary’s Baby….rosemary'sbaby

Me: Yeah….

Eric: … Or more like a Frankenstein baby….

Me: EXACTLY!  The body parts are everywhere….


I hate that baby.  I hate that baby so much that I’m looking for another job.  

Eric:  What can we do to change this?

Me: Find someone else to take care of the baby….

Eric is an incredibly nice fella, he really is.  He’s the nicest lawyer you could ever meet. Which is why I feel so guilty about saying that I fucking hate his baby and I want to get as far away from it as possible.  It’s a fucking ugly baby…

Totally Eclipsed…

As I sit at my desk, forced to listen to my boss and co-worker (not because I want to, but because they’re so fucking loud that their booming voices infiltrate your very own stream of consciousness to the point that you sometimes end up typing what they’re saying), I’m impatiently awaiting the effects of the diazepam so that I can stop cursing  the architects  for not having installed operable windows that people could jump out of.

It wouldn’t be so bad if they weren’t so intolerably annoying in the way they throw their weight around because of a stupid job title, and then sit on pressing issues until the last minute and have a freak-out.  Except it’s not ‘big fun to be had by anyone’…


If this office were the Titanic, I’d feel like the deckhand trying to tell the Captain that there was an iceberg just ahead… but he and his navigator would be too fucking distracted by the sound of their own voice to listen.


So while the shit repeatedly hits the iceberg, so to speak, all I can do is sit back and watch it melt into a watered down, but nevertheless noxious, cesspool that is my 9-5, Monday through Friday, existence.   And when this happens, their indecisiveness, inaction, and lack of common sense will end up being my problem in one way or another… because shit trickles downstream.


office girl

Are you all being retards again? That’s okay…, because I have a prescription that makes all of this seem very, very funny.

But I’m going to catalogue these instances of condescension in my brain for future reference… because if my solutions to problems are dismissed as silly when they affect the little people, then why would anyone be interested in any ideas I might have that would save their sorry arses from being at the receiving end of the sewer sludge?   I’ll be like, I’m so sorry, I don’t have an opinion.  I’m just the ‘secretary’….






But despite the fact that it’s Monday, and I’m already feeling like a lobotomy might not be the worst thing in the world, I can always count on music to lift my spirits in one way or another – there really IS a song for everything!  And for today in particular, here are two that are perfectly fitting:

  1. There’s a New Moon… on Monday – seriously, how perfect is this song for every single Monday that has a new moon?!?!?  I’ve had this song in my head since this morning….

(I love these ’80s songs… the lyrics make little sense and the videos make even less sense)

2) There’s a Total Eclipse of the Sun… although it doesn’t seem to be making much of an impact at 45.5017° N, 73.5673° W.   And while not quite the same as having your retinas destroyed by the sun, Bonnie Tyler came very close to singeing her moral fiber as the seductive mistress of a school of hormonal, gymnastically gifted boys.  Another video that makes me miss the nonsensical, overly romanticized ’80s….



Lunchtime Fantasy, #2 in a Series…

I didn’t win the lottery last week.  As an attempt to increase my luck, I asked others to choose my numbers for me.  Maybe I’m so unlucky that I can’t even physically touch the paper.  All I know is that it’s beautiful outside, but I’m eating my lunch in my office with my door shut just so that I don’t have to be around people for an hour.

Today’s lunchtime fantasy is:  striking it rich with my alternative greeting card company (which is a fantasy in itself) and, when realizing that I would have enough money to live comfortably in a beautifully warm and friendly country, literally pick up my purse, my plant, my Abe Lincoln poster, and just walk away.  I wouldn’t even wait for the elevator, I’d skip down ten flights and burst out the side door of this building and not ever look back.

It’s not that I hate my job or that I necessarily dislike the people I work with , it’s just  the bullshit that comes with it – particularly the duplicity of some people.  If I wanted to be stabbed in the back, manipulated, and taken advantage of, I’d just organize a family reunion.

mexican dancersIf Mexico were safe, I’d move there.  According to this Cuban student I know, Mexico is the place to be.  But maybe not for a single, white female.  He said I’d have no problem meeting a Mexican ‘stallion’ there, though, and then I’d be fine.   I asked him how a horse would protect me just so that he’d roll his eyes and laugh at me like I’m a crazy old gringa.  Mission accomplished.  But how he speaks of the people there, I can see why he’s so homesick to be there.  He told me about how isolating it is here, how distant the people are, how nobody really says hello, everyone is anonymous, nobody touches.   The way he described Mexico, made me also feel a little homesick – homesick for a country I’ve never even been to.  Warm, welcoming people.  Laughter.  Eye contact.  Touching people as you share stories – appropriate touching, of course, like their arm or back… unless it’s the red light district and the stories are about what gets you off, then I imagine the touching is appropriately inappropriate.

calaveraMy student promised to bring me back a Calavera from Mexico as a souvenir, to thank me for helping him out this past year.  It’s amazing how doing such simple, human things like encouraging someone to not give up and reminding them of their worth can mean so much.   And so, if this fantasy comes true, I’ll add this to the things I’d take as I leave: my purse, my plant, my Abe Lincoln poster, and my Calavera….