There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


I wonder if his first name is Dick?

OK, my brain hurts and my department is now sporting its very own moron, but I just got an email from a dude whose last name is STIFFY and I can no longer function. HAH! Stiffy. It's probably really Stiffey, but either way, middle school was a living HELL for this dude! It's a good thing that when you grow older, you become more mature and you stop making fun of people for being funny-looking or having a weird name. And you stop wanting to poop in people's yards.

The mainenance people might leave a snake in my desk drawer because I'm sitting here eating cherries and spitting the pits in the general direction of the trash can. What am I thinking? They haven't vacuumed over here in a year -- they'll never notice those pits. I'm shooting about 80%, anyway.

My department just gained an employee who is turning out to be dumber than a box of rocks, yo. Dumb and slow -- woo hooo! She had to call someone because she couldn't figure out how to adjust her keyboard tray and her chair. Plus we're still short one player because firing someone apparently takes for-freakin-EVER around here, even if that person:

1) Doesn't show up to work for days, weeks of time.
2) Calls in sick due to injuries sustained playing volleyball.
3) Never misses a volleyball game.
4) He plays on the company volleyball team, y'all.
5) Read 4 again.
6) On the rare occasions that he shows up, does no work at all.

And it's proving to be a long process to fire his lazy ass! What kind of world are we living in?? A major issue seems to be that his wife works here too, and they don't want her to quit, but she's using the ol' "I just had a baby so I get privileges that no other person gets" routine and never showing up herself. I think I just ate a moldy cherry. I'm working my way over to the siamese twin cherry now. Anyhoo, that magic bubble of I CAN'T WORK BECAUSE I'M DEPRESSED must be powered by some serious mojo.

Have I ever mentioned that I am seriously blind? Without specs or contacts, I can't see 2 inches. Really. When I was little my teachers and parents, the very people who were supposed to pay attention to me and protect me thought that I was retarded (and not in the way I am still retarded to this day but the SERIOUS way that Corky has) because I couldn't read in like third grade and it turns out that I couldn't read because the whole world was just this soft unfocused haze to me. So I am seriously blind. And Katy seriously chewed on my glasses and I need new ones. My glasses are currently being held together with a safety pin and she chewed up the side bows so that when I put my specs on there are little pokey bits of chewed plastic that dig into the sides of my head. So it's time for new ones, not to mention that even with my contacts I still have to wear reading glasses if I need to actually read anything, so I think it's time for some new ones of those, too. The only problem is that I am SO BLIND that I already wear the strongest power of contact lens that anyone makes (minus 11.5 diopters for all you geeks out there!) so I don't know what they're going to tell me this time. But here's the creepiest part about going to get my eyes checked -- my eye doctor is this sort of freaky rabid aggressive Christian dude who plays nothing but hymns on the muzak. Plus, he hands out copies of the Christian yellow pages!! Like, so they can all find each other, as if driving around in huge vehicles with Jesus fish on the back, veering in front of the rest of us was obvious enough! "Honey, we need to have the roof fixed!" "Well, let's find us a God-fearing Bible-spouting roofer!" Gah! And, wait, there's more! This dude is the SECOND freaky rabid aggressive Christian optometrist I've had since I moved here! It's a cult of Christian optometrics! Why can't they just go ahead and heal the damn things?

Anyway, I'm off to continue trying to turn crap into manuscript, so wish me luck!

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