There are no bad owners, only bad dogs

2006-03-08

So this is how Mr. Kotter felt.

Well, Internet, this is awkward. Itís not like I havenít been thinking of you a lot, because I have, itís just that I have been so busy. But I still care. Deeply.

For the past three months I have been working like a stevedore, only with no actual physical labor, unless you count carrying a laptop computer as labor. The Merry Band of Unemployable Idiots proved once again that they are dumber than squirrels and left me to do all of the work. So I typed for three months straight. Weekends and holidays were devoted to painting someone elseís house, so that was funÖ Then I had to type with paint on my fingers. Beige paint. Aspen Beige. Autumn Beige. Foggy Beige. Plus I had to write a paper about learning theories.

Here at EduMart, we have a long tradition of re-organizing whenever the going gets tough. The going has been tough. We canít seem to stop fucking up! Itís like itís addictive! Fucking up to EduMart is like laughing at a funeral! You just canít stop! So there were layoffs. But the going, she is tough still. So weíre having another re-organization sometime in the near future. The booger-eating bed-wetting accountants who are currently in charge canít seem to decide exactly who(m) they want to fire, so they are stringing it along, letting us squirm, letting us twist slowly in the breeze. Due to this uncertainty, I have recently been exploring other options, as they say. Looking at possibilities.

It seems that my long and fruity/fruitful association with my boss, Captain Wacky, has been a help for too long and will now become a hindrance. See, sheís like a cross between Shelley Winters and Sean Young on meth. Crazy as a shit-house rat in some respects. She has an uncanny ability to rub people the wrong way. She doesnít even try (sometimes) and people end up bleeding and confused. The individual who currently runs EduTech is Miss Jane Hathaway. Miss Jane and the Captain dislike one another intensely, which seems to be affecting my chickenability over at EduTech. They know Iím good at my job and that Iím a workaholic, but they just feel kind of not so inclined to hire me if I get re-organized on a personal level because I have worked for the Captain for far longer than anyone else has managed to do so.

She wants to take me along on her wild ride if she gets re-organized (I know the hyphen isnít really necessary, but I am doing what I can to keep the noble hyphen from going the way of the dodo). The problem is, of course, that if she finds another job, it wonít be in the city in which we live. Which is fine for her, because she has a house-husband to care for the kids and pets during the week. She can live somewhere else for three or four days a week and heíll hardly notice sheís gone (he seems to be in some sort of waking coma anyway). I, on the other hand, have no such option, as my pets ARE my family and are incapable of caring for themselves. So, weíll see, I guess. Uncertainty sucks ass.

So thatís where Iíve been, Internet. Worrying about continued employment and working my ass off.

In personal news, Young Herschel and Curly Sue have moved in next door, after having painted the walls of their little cottage every color of the rainbow, including the Tomato Basil Soup kitchen. We interrupted the Saturday morning Bloody Marys to help carry stuff from the U-Haul. Then I told Curly Sue about how that very morning, we had been over at her landlordís house (her neighbor on the other side), and he hadnít quite done up the fly of his overalls properly and something vaguely fleshy and beige (Autumn Beige) was protruding from the opening. ďDonítlookdonítlookdonítlook,Ē I thought (to myself and others). The more I thought about not looking, the more the visual gravity surrounding the bulge attracted my gaze. So I told her about it so someone else could share my pain. I donít think she likes me anymore.

And one more thing, YH. It is not going to work in your favor EVER to try to use logic and reasoning to talk Katy out of barking at you at night. It is Katyís job to bark at sounds at night. Not torture, nor treats, nor reasoning will sway her from this. So if you make noise at night, save the rhetoric for someone who cares. Katy donít care! Katy bark!! (I think Young Herschel was drunk.)

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