Don't make the admin mad...

Today was yet another hiring open house.  I arrive to work to discover that two of my key players have taken vacation days.  Another of my players has to leave early.  Are YOU PEOPLE serious?  It isn't like I sprung this open house on anyone.  I mean, sure, I thought of  taking a vacation day too, but I knew better. I marched into my bosses office and had "a talk" with him about the state of the union.  There was finger pointing, foot stomping, yelling and hair tossing.  I said what needed to be said about aforementioned vacationing slackers and left.  My work here was done.

I returned to my desk and Valerie and I informed my boss of how things were about to go down.  We cancelled the morning meeting, then we were going to do this,  this and this.  Bossman looked at us and said, "I think I have given you too much power, I think it is time to take some back."  Valerie and I looked at each other, paused, and then threw back our heads and laughed.  Like the thought of taking power away was even an option.  My boss is funny.

My day progressed, I blew up balloons, ran around taking care of business with my faithful side-kick, Valerie, and prepared for what was to be a busy open house.  As luck would have it, there were not enough copies of the paperwork needed, so I ran around taking care of that, making sure everyone's needs were taken care of.  From the 5th floor, to the 4th floor, to the 2nd floor, down to the 1st floor and back to the 5th.  This was nuts.  I wanted to kill people.  Why do people think it's funny to poke the bear when I am involved in this process?  One of the managers in particular, let's call him Jackass, decided to quiz me about the number of copies we had and why they weren't already assembled in the rooms we were using for interviews.  Mind you, I had just explained the process and how we were handling things.  Then, I no sooner threaten to choke the life from his body when one of the other key players, let's call her, Oblivious, asks me, "so is our paperwork in the rooms for us?"  I snapped my head around, looked her in the eyes while my nostrils flared, for just a moment and I spoke to her in a slow, calm, albeit condescending voice explaining....again.  Why do people think it's okay to torture the admin?  You are going to need things.  You are going to need me to provide things for you.  You are going to need my help, mostly because you have a listening problem, and you are going to be subject to scheduling I'm in charge of creating.  Foolish people.  Vengeance is mine.

During all this running around, I was missing all the people coming through the open house.  This is my favorite part.  This is where people say the dumbest stuff and I eat it up like candy!!!  But no, I was being the administrative bitch.  By the time I got to the screening table, what was left was a woman with boobs so big they almost needed an engine-stand to hold them up.  Oh and guess what, she needed to lean over the table to sign in.  Oh and bonus, her top was low cut.  Of course, it could have been a turtleneck shirt and still have shown cleavage, there was no harnessing this. I waited all day and that is what was left for me?  I had to look away, it was too horrifying.  She finally walked away, her flip flops making a very professional "slap, slap" noise as she walked.  Who dresses these people?

Other honorable mentions of the day was the girl that was going to have to ask her current boss if it was okay if she worked our hours.  I mean, let's not inconvenience the current boss when looking for a new job.  Then there was the girl that "accidentally left something off her application."  Hmmmm, could it be that you are a criminal? Spent some time in the pokey?  We laughed about the fact that is probably what it was...but then became further amused when it turned out we were right.  I know, it's easy to forget time you spent in jail.
Overall, it was disappointing.  Maybe tomorrow I can participate in the screening and find some new blog fodder.

My favorite part of the day was when I went in to say goodnight to my other boss.  I needed to talk to him about something work related, but while doing so, I pulled out my lipstick and applied some.  He stopped me and said, "Why do you put that on?"  I looked at him confused and said, "well, it adds a little color and moisturizes."  He said, "there's no color, it's the same as your lips."  I argued that no, in fact it was a mauve color and it was subtle.  He grabbed the tube of lipstick from me and said, "This lipstick is the only thing about you that is subtle!"  I said, "That's right, when I am chewing someone's ass, I get to it, but my make-up, I like that subtle..."  It would seem my boss has picked up on my demeanor.  Go figure. 

Buttcracks

I'd like to talk about something I feel passionate about today: buttcracks.  First of all, everyone has one.  Doesn't matter if you are skinny or fat.  The real issue is, why do I have to see them?  I mean, I have one, but it is thoroughly clothed.  I wear pants that fit and even if they do want to slide down a little, I will add a belt and even go so far as to wear a shirt that covers my muffin top, in it's entirety.  Call me crazy, I just don't like to show my crack and I don't think anyone should be forced to look at it.

I know, if your skinny, it is all the rage to wear pants that are low riders and then wear a cute little spagetti strap top and a cute little hoodie that rides right around your belly button.  I mean, you don't have a muffin top, so you qualify to show some skin, right?  WRONG.  While I appreciate you are wearing a delightful butterfly thong (aka butt floss) that I can see the top of, it still is not ok.

Now, I'd like to talk to all the other girls that do not fit into Buttcrack Barbie territory.  Do you own a mirror?  Do you have no sensitivity to air or drafts?  Are you unaware I can see your buttcrack?  Have you given up?  Are you trying to seduce someone?  Seriously, pull your pants up and your shirt down.

Sitting by a window can be a blessing and a curse. Almost daily I see someone get out of a car and bend over to get her stuff, and every day I see her buttcrack.We'll call her Babygotback Buttcrack.  Is she unable to harness it?  Unable to contain it?  Doesn't it get cold?  Why do I have to see it?  Then, it can also be spotted sitting in any number of chairs throughout the building.  That's not sanitary.  I could be sitting in a chair that has buttcrack cheese on it.  It's gross and someone needs to stop it. 

I think someone needs to start a movement.  Let's call it the B.C.A.  - Butt Cleavage Alliance.  When you join, you get your starter kit which includes: a tub of spackle to cover buttcracks up, a squirt gun to shoot them in the buttcrack and a complimentary brochure featuring the people of Walmart to be issued upon completion of spackling or squirting.  It's going to take some time, but I believe, if we band together, we can stop buttcracks from corrupting the vision of my fellow Americans.  And why stop in America, let's go global!  And just when you think you can't make a difference, YOU can!  I know when people want to raise money for starving animals or people in poor countries they bombard us with media on TV showing us the horror of neglect.  I think a public service announcement about buttcracks is in order.  For only .10 a day you can stop the suffering...don't wait, act now!

Blog Blocked

Life According to Angry Pony has been cancelled today.  The pony has been "blog-blocked" by Mr. Angry Pony.  He is unamused by my attempt to recount earlier events in the day which lead to two angry ponies in one household.  It's a travesty, but a promise is a promise.  I don't blog about the mister without his consent.  Damn me and my conscience and my desire to stay married.  Makes the pony sad.

Our programming will return to it's normal schedule tomorrow.  I'm certain something at work will make me crazy.

Thank you for stopping by.

Angry Pony Friday...Think Pink

So, I'm seeing a therapist.  I won't go on about the details, but she wants me to focus on pink as my happy color.  When I am feeling negative or stressed, I'm supposed to look at something pink.  Pink is my favorite color.  Today, even if a 50 gallon drum of Pepto Bismo spilled on my desk, there would not have been enough pink to make me happy.

It was just one of those days where stupid little things happen and you want to punch people.  You know how there have been movies about people dying and then coming back and inhabiting someone else's body?  Well, today, I could have swore a very angry, possibly deranged, man was in my body.  Don't ask me why it was  man, I mean, it isn't like I stood up when I peed or anything, but I just felt a very aggressive energy.

I get angry when people ask me to do stupid, time consuming projects for people that are out of the office that could be done just as easily on Monday when they return.  It would have made my day so much easier, but no, that isn't the way things went down.  It is good I am not PMS'ing because I would have taken to the roof with a stuffed pony in one hand, scissors in the other and possibly some sort of balloon arch to mark the occassion. And I wouldn't have been alone, I would have taken an offender with me.  Someone that had pissed me off was going off that roof.  You didn't think I was going to kill myself did you?  I've said it before and I'll say it again, I'm not dying here.

In addition to the stupid things/people that were getting under my skin, we are trying to clean up the office for a VIP visit.  Let's just say one area that I am kind of responsible for, but do not personally use, is a pig stye.  Valerie is in there cleaning things up when I hear her say, "EW!"  It would appear that someone that works close to me and has a coffee pot plugged in has left several coffee cups that have had coffee and hot chocolate in them.  It is safe to say they are a science experiment at this point.  I told Valerie to throw them away.  My job duties do not include doing dishes and neither should hers.  Valerie being a little more stubborn than I, decided she was going to clean it.  Whatever.  She goes to take the mug off the shelf and it spills...a lot.  Now there is a big brown spot of primorial ooze on the floor.  It is going to look like my boss or someone in the near vicinity crapped their pants.  Woops.  See, this wouldn't have happened if those cups had been cared for by the person in question.

In the midst of all this, my bra is creeping up on the left side.  Don't get me started about this again.  I look down and there it is!  The only silver lining in that story is that it is pink.  Course, it was making me mad, so there goes my therapists theory.  No more pink bras for me.

Now let's talk about the guy at Staples.  Really, anyone at any store qualifies for this rant.  When I am checking out, why do I have to sign up for the "rewards club" to get a discount.  Freakin pisses me off.  I came uncorked.  I'm pretty sure my nostrils flared and I looked at Valerie, who was with me, and I said, "I hate signing up for that crap and I'm not doing it."  The little nerdy guy behind the counter looked uneasy.  Valerie showed mercy upon him and signed up for a "rewards club" account.  I walked out of the store ranting, "Why can't a person just buy something anymore?!!!!  Why can't I just pay and go?!  Why do I have to have a freaking card for everything?"  Valerie calmly said, "I don't know, honey, let's just go." 

The upside to the trip to Staples is that I found the most delightful pink tape dispenser.  I had to have it.  And no, the company did not purchase it, I did, with my own hard-earned funds.

Isn't it beautiful?  I already have people threatening to steal it. I have marked it accordingly as my own, so don't think about it bitches.

Anyway, it's kind of been a long day. I've yelled at a few people and I feel kind of bad about it, but not completely.  Some of them deserved it. Some not so much.  I posted on FB the following message:
"To those i snapped at today that didnt deserve it...i'm kind of sorry. To those that did deserve it, your stupid, you annoyed me and i hope you step in dog crap in bare feet and then have to walk thru glass while naked in the rain. Also i hope u get a paper cut."  And yes, I know I spelled "your" wrong.  I know it should be "you're" Marie Penfield. Duh.  Why do people gotta make me angry?  Anyway, that statement was kind of a public apology, so my conscience is clear.

Next week is another hiring open house.  I am STOKED about that.  I can't even tell you how much. 

Think pink. Think pink. Think pink. Think pink......

There is no skin cancer on my ass

I don't have a lot to rant about today...well, that is kind of a lie, but there are only so many things I am at liberty to vent about in a public forum.

Lets' start with the Dermatologist this morning.  I know some of you must be thinking, my word, does she spend all her time going to the damn doctor?  The answer is no, but, since I've turned 40, apparently they want me to get everything checked out, like a truck that is coming to the end of it's warranty.  I gotta lot a miles on this body. Anyway, the big gripe about going to the dermatologist is that they made me get on the scale to weigh me.  Now why would they do that?  Are we gonna go in a room pop a zit, come back out and re-weigh me?  Why does the skin doctor care how much I weigh?  Here is my driver's license, just jot down what I have recorded here.  Take my word for it.  Then, we go in the room and she asks me if I am still taking the Prozac and vitamin D, cuz, you know, they are working on making the pony less angry.  So, if she knows what pills I am taking and she knows the last time I saw the doctor, why the hell isn't my weight recorded in there?  Makes no sense.

The doctor then gives my body a general look-see to check my freckles and moles. She asks me to turn around, she's looking at my legs and then she says, do you mind if I look under your panties?  Do people get a lot of skin cancer on their ass?  My legs are pasty white, it is clear that area doesn't ever see UV rays.  I told her to knock herself out, look at whatever she wants.  And, wow, she did...look at everything.  I felt violated.

So, that is how the day started.  I got to work and the day seemed to suck as soon as I walked in the building.  "I didn't know what to do this morning when you weren't here..."  "Did you see that email I sent you?"  "Did you fill out that spreadsheet yet?"  ugh.  Then it was time for a meeting with some key players that are helping us with our upcoming system conversion.  We are setting up "war rooms."  I am one of those key players.  Part of this meeting was a tour.  Now, I know I have described the building I work in as a "glass palace" but it is quite large.  It is five stories. Five stories doesn't sound like much when you compare it to, say, the Empire State building, but, for a fat girl, faced with using the stairs instead of the elevators, it's huge.  The ring leader that is taking us from room to room and floor to floor says to me when we are all done, "I guess we could have used the elevators."  Seriously?  One of the gals says, "Well, I guess you won't have to go to the gym tonight!"  True dat, hell, I might have to go to the ER tonight to have some chest scans done.  Don't even get me started about my bum knee. Bastards.

On the upside, I did get my "self-appraisal" done today.  It's partly true, partly fiction.  The part about how I answer the phone with a smile in my voice.  That makes me giggle every time.  The part where I talk about how I get that pissy look when I order pizza is just an act.  I love my job and I will do anything anyone asks me to do, all with a positive attitude.  It's almost Stephen King stuff, you know.  It's good.  I don't know if they will make a Lifetime movie out of it, but it could make a great mission statement for my company.

That's the highlights.  Tomorrow I am going to start the day without stepping on the scale first thing.  That should help my attitude...slightly.

Body Issues...

I've got a couple of situations going on that are really making the pony angry.  I know by now, the way I go on about my body, that I must sound hideous. I mean, like if I was missing and Will gave a sketch artist a description based on my blog insights, I can only imagine how I might appear. You know, that is almost fun enough to be an experiment....anyway, I digress.

So, the two things that are a real kill-joy right now are my waist and my boobs.  I know, shocker on the second one.  What is so wrong with my body that my underwear only slides down on the right hand side?  Like, it's ridiculous. I walk around like I have a serious condition pulling at them.  And then, my bra rides up on my left boob.  So then I am tugging at that.  Clearly I'm lop-sided.  These issues drive me crazy.  I think if I cut up a suspender and clip it to my left cup on my bra and then connect the other end down to my right side of my underwear, I think this could solve my problem.  It might be awkward, but it might just work.

This situation got me to thinking about the other body issues I have. It's like Cher said in Clueless, "She's a Monae. From far away she is pretty, but you get up close and she's a big 'ol mess."  Let's start at the top and work our way down.  First, the left side of my hair curls real easy, but the hair on my right side of my head doesn't like to curl and then it breaks off super easy.  With my eyes, one eye lid is a little bigger than the other one.  The rest of my face is pretty symmetrical and zits feel free to inhabit all areas equally.  My boobs.  Well, obviously the left one is smaller than the right one, because it can't even keep the bra in place.  My gut. The left side is a little bigger than the right side, completely opposite of my boobs.  What the hell? My hands, of course my fingers are all different sizes on both hands. It's like picking up a handful of baby carrots.  My legs. According to the chiropractor, one leg is shorter than the other.  He keeps adjusting me and fixing me, but it keeps going back to the way it was.  My feet. My right foot is bigger than my left.  This is a real pisser when it comes to finding the perfect shoes.  I know what you are thinking, "stop already, stop seducing me with all your hot body talk."  I know, I know.  Calm down.  I am off the market.  My husband took all this in at some point and said, "I gotta have myself a girl like that." 

In other news, a woman at work came up to me today and said, "I've been meaning to tell you all day, you look soft and fluffy."  At first I was like, did she just call me out as looking like the Pillsbury Dough Boy and being flatulent? Then, after further discussion, come to find out she was talking about my hair.  I'd like to make a request to anyone out there.  Just for once, instead of being called soft and fluffy, I'd like someone to say, "your abs are rock hard and you have hot Victoria Secret hair."  I know it's a lie, but just do it.  Someone.  Anyone.

I guess that is enough over-sharing for one night.

Does anyone else think my lips look  crooked too?  I forgot to mention that.

Check Engine...what?

The joy I felt when I paid off my truck earlier this month was indescribable. The only other vehicle I've ever paid off was the '78 Ford F-150 I bought from my Grandpa when I was going to college.  Needless to say, I got the family discount, so it didn't take long.  Ever since I started working at the glass palace, I have been through several brand new vehicles.  A bit of a spoiled single girl thing.  And then, finally, the error of my ways caught up with me.  I learned my lesson and vowed to make this Dodge Dakota my last vehicle for a while.  Luckily, it has very low mileage (38,000 and it is an '05) and should last me a long time.  When I paid it off, I thought, now is when the trouble will start.  And then, I shook that feeling and said to myself, nah, with such low miles, I will be good.  That little truck has never caused me a lick of trouble.  Why, it's barely broke in!

Tonight, I got in Little Blue (as I so affectionately call her) and headed home.  I noticed something on the dash that was unusual.  The little indicator that has a picture of the crash test dummy with a big circle in it's lap/face lit up.  What the hell does this mean?  I assume it's the airbag indicator.  So, does that mean the airbag is in jeopardy of going off?  Is it in jeopardy of not going off?  I start to drive very carefully, like I am the boy in the bubble.  I mean, I clearly cannot afford to get into an accident.  I have no protection.  But maybe the airbag is going to go off unexpectedly.  I drive with my head leaning back into the headrest trying to create the most space I can between me and the steering wheel.  I feel like I'm going to be punched in the face at any moment.  Traffic is horrible and I worry something bad is going to happen.  What if the indicator light is an omen?  What if the universe is trying to tell me something?  Now I'm even more paranoid. Crap, this is serious.

But what if the truck is saying I am fat?  What if the little crash test dummy guy is just showing a big belly instead of an airbag?  What if the truck has had enough of my fat ass in the driver seat?  Little ungrateful bitch!  I've put air in the tires, washed it, changed the oil, given it new windshield wipers...I've never wrecked it.  I mean, there was that one time I spilled a Coke in there, but I thought we had moved past that. 

Maybe the truck is giving me a sign that I'm pregnant?  Maybe I should buy a test?  Nah, since I had that LEEP procedure, there has been no baby-making activity, that can't be it. Unless it was divine intervention. That seems highly unlikely as well.

I guess it's the airbag.  Stupid truck.  I knew it was going to give me trouble as soon as I paid it off.  Now, I just live in fear that I am going to be sucker punched at random or dust will fly out if I do get in a wreck, thus blinding me and causing me to inhale fumes that will probably render me blind, get into my lungs and then next thing you know, I'm in a wheelchair on oxygen and wishing I had been killed in the little fender-bender.  I mean, I don't want to be negative, but I am trying to prepare myself.  I wonder if I should buy a hockey mask to drive in.  Maybe a mouth-piece.  A girl has to look out for herself. 

I guess I should have the dealer check it out. It's probably going to cost me a fortune.  I mean, if it is going to cost very much...I might have to trade it in...

Complaint dept - I'm the Founder and CEO

I know that there is a reason I chose to call my blog Angry Pony.  I know I use it to talk about the daily B.S. that happens in life and my spin on it.  I also understand that can come across as "negativity" to some people.  Other people may identify with it as a girl just sayin' it like it is.  I like to think I'm just sayin' it like it is.  I have a tendency to see things in a negative light, I guess, mostly because often it seems as if the universe is on a constant mission to kick my ass.  With all that said, I think I do have a right to call someone out as being negative.  Today is that day.

First off, yes, it is snowing.  Yes, that does suck for commuters.  Yes, that does mean we have to go to work.  I'm not happy about it either, but I go.  Upon arrival, I hear nothing but whining about if we are going to close early and how unjust it is that our company makes us come to work.  Well, I could join the bandwagon, but I'm not going to. Why?  Well, I work for a public utility and with that comes a certain amount of responsibility to be at work even when the average Joe may get to stay home.  My bosses made it to work and so did a bunch of other people.  Let's run the business.  Let's shut the F up and do our job, because the sooner we do, the sooner we can go home.

My boss decides to show some appreciation for the people that made it in by buying some cider, hot chocolate, oatmeal and soup.  We send out an announcement and ask people what they want and advise them we will bring it to them, at their desk.  I mean, sure, I'd like to punch my boss in the head for wanting to deliver hot items when it is frickin freezing outside and freezing items when it is hot outside in the summer, but it all makes sense, so with a little bit of a "are you serious" face, I go about the task with my faithful pal, Valerie and some of the other managers that help.  And then it starts, "This is only warm, is there a reason it isn't hot?"  Are you kidding me? I looked the person dead in the eye and said, "Well, I guess people can't appreciate any sort of nice gesture, can they?"  It's called a microwave, people.  If you are not happy with the temperature, VISIT ONE AND TURN IT ON!

Then the complaints come from the training room where folks are supposed to be learning and not on the instant messaging system.  Suddenly, the universe is against them because we are not interrupting their class time to take their orders.  After all, aren't they special?  Don't they deserve something? Don't we care about them?  Is someone going to buy them pizza?  Because some of them didn't bring their lunch and they are hungry and it is snowing outside.  Well, let me drop everything and buy you guys lunch because you couldn't be bothered to make a freakin peanut butter and jelly sandwich, let me bankrupt the company  to buy your lunch and kiss your ass so that you don't go hungry because it is snowing outside.  By all means. I'll be honest, at this point, if I could have served them shit sandwiches, I would have. But instead, I trotted my ass down there with the "treat trolly" and gave them their treats.  I don't want anyone to not get their fair share even it it was a 25 cent hot cocoa packet.


Once that excitement dies down, it's time for me to turn my focus to ordering lunch for Friday.  Out of a random sense of generosity, Boss #1 decides we're feeding the whole center lunch on Friday.  We're ordering BBQ. And when I say "we" that means "me."  Here's the deal, some people don't work Friday.  Did I think I was going to hear from those people once they found out lunch was to be served on Friday?  I sure did.  Did I hear from those people?  Of course.  Here is some heart felt advice: GET OVER IT.

As if that isn't enough, one other brave soul comes to my desk and wants to know where the snow plow is.  After years of  chaos in the parking lot, this year our company hired an independent contractor to plow, sand and scrape the parking lot and keep it as safe as possible.  Do you think people are happy about that?  Well, of course they are pissed because the plow is leaving little snow berms in front of their cars.  That bastard. Nevermind the parking lot is easier to navigate, they have been inconvenienced. And now, one person is concerned because he hasn't seen the plow for a while.  I gave him the drop dead stare.  He was unaffected, almost as if he was surrounded by some sort of protective force field.  I told him I didn't know where the plow guy was.  We weren't Twitter pals, Facebook friends, BFF's or texting buddies so I had no friggin idea when he'd be back.  He then asked me if I was going to do anything to find out.  I said, "No, I'm not.  Should I be the 350th caller into the maintenance department today to ask about it?"  Seriously, it's friggin snowmageadon outside and I'm keeping track of this guy?  No.  I said, "I'm sure he'll be back."  He said, "So, you are really not going to check?"  Was I not clear before?  I guess not.  I said, "What are you so uptight about? We are going to be ok."  He insisted that he was not going to be able to come to work tomorrow if we didn't do something about that parking lot.  Seriously, it is like 3pm.  I don't think anyone said the plow guy died.  I think I just said he'd eventually be back.  I didn't hire him.  I don't live with him.  I don't boink him.  I don't know.  I finally told Nervous Nelly to not sweat it.  He informed me he was not going to come to work tomorrow.  I said, "fine, don't, it's your paycheck."  Don't threaten me with one less person to piss me off tomorrow.  I said, "Look, you work for a public utility, if you don't like it, go work for the school district so you can get some snow days."  He finally left.  Why do people do this to me.  Why do people complain to me all the time?  Why do people think I control everything that happens at the glass palace?  Why do people believe I have a high tolerance for bullshit?

These are all questions I am going to have to ask myself while I work on my self-appraisal that is due next week.  Everyone else in the center got a self appraisal template to use.  Because my position is "special" there is no template for me.  My boss informs me tonight that I can just use the other one as a guideline and kind of create my own.  I'm going to have to talk about how I help the company meet it's goals.  I hope one of the company's goals is to have zero murders at a call center during the year.  That is a goal I can speak to.  It has been the greatest accomplishment of all for me.  I don't even think the CEO can top my performance this year.

Anyway, another fun-filled snow day is ahead tomorrow and I can't wait to see what it has to offer me.  I sure hope it's more negativity.  I thrive on it.

Oh, and by the way, the plow guy did return and plowed and sanded the parking lot.

Fun Size Barbie

Today a topic came up that caused me a certain amount of rage.  Size zero.  Why is there a size zero?  What does that mean?  Does that mean you are nothing? Does it mean you are invisible?  I went jeans shopping with my sister about a week ago and held up a pair that were a size zero. Pretty ridiculous.  My pal at work has a daughter that is a size zero.  We'll call her daughter, that also works with me, "Fun Size Barbie." (You know, like the "fun size" candy bars?)

Fun Size Barbie comes walking up today and I'd had enough.  I said to her, "Hey, I know you were a double zero and now you are up to a size zero because you finally developed a tiny ass, but what size is your waist?  I mean, it has to measure something? right?"  She informs me her waist is 24 inches.  So, what that means is that her waist is bigger than zero inches, so thusly, why in the hell is there a size of clothing called a size zero?  And, this isn't just the ranting of a fat girl (ok, so it is), this is a serious question.  What genius decided we are starting clothing sizes at a zero?  I mean, call it a size one if you want, but zero?  What does that even mean?  Like someday you will grow up and become a real girl?  Or, like if you exceed the size zero and, say, plump up to a size two that you are going to have to go on a diet?  What a cow!!!

I will tell you what I do know.  Being Fun Size Barbie means that you can wear whatever you want, do whatever you want with your hair and you look cute all the time and no one questions it.  Like a freakin Polly Pocket key chain or something. Fun Size Barbie comes walking up today, her hair is all in a messy bun on the top of her head, she is wearing this little cute baby pink hoodie sweatshirt, jeans and then these cute pink socks and cute little boots.  I don't know if she got her clothes at the American Girl Doll store or what, but she is working it.  If I dressed like that, people would ask me if I was sick, or if I had forgotten to do laundry, or if there had been a house fire and I lost all my belongings.  But no.  Fun Size Barbie aka Polly Pocket can do whatever she wants and no one questions it.  She could walk up to some hot guy and say, "Excuse me, I have a booger hanging out of my nose, will you wipe it off?"  And he would.  That's just how size zero girls work.  They can't help it. If you put her and a puppy side by side, you would totally get a sugar high. It's too much for me.

Now, I will say, I like Fun Size Barbie, but when I see her walking around, all cute like, I  pretty much want to stuff her skinny ass in a sock, kidnap her, take her to the Twinkie factory and tell them she wants to be a taste tester (even though she will deny it) and suggest they lock her in a room and force feed her Twinkie filling until she reaches 300 pounds, at which time they can release her back into society.  I'm not saying I'm going to do that, I'm just saying it's a fantasy.

Poindexter and the Jetta

It's the little things that piss this pony off.  I'm driving home tonight and I finally get to my exit.  This car pulls up behind me as I am waiting for the light to turn.  This guy is so close to my bumper I can make out what he looks like and it isn't good.  He has hair parted deep on one side, the rest combed over perfectly, probably gelled, I would guess.  He has a Zorro style mustache and big thick glasses.  He is wearing a suit and tie and his posture is completely erect.  I thought, wow, he is the vision of who you would buy a used car or appliance from.  Either that or he is an accountant.  No offense if anyone reading this is either of those occupations. 

Anyway, Poindexter in his little red Jetta decides that he needs to ride my ass.  All the way home. I know ponies that have been ridden less.  And if he was going to ride my ass like that, at least he could do is pull my hair, right?  It didn't matter that it is below freezing and that the road could be icy.  It didn't matter that I was going above the speed limit.  It isn't like I was white-knuckling it at 33mph in a 35.  I was going fast enough to be making time, but not so fast as to attract attention from Officer Friendly if he happened to be lurking somewhere.  I flipped my rearview mirror up and tried to ignore him, but that little nerd-bastard could not be shaken.  I'd like to shake him...like shaken baby syndrome style.  I considered slamming on my breaks, maybe even tapping them.  But then I remembered, I just paid this little truck off.  Let's not borrow trouble and chance it on getting rear-ended and have to call the fuzz. "But Officer, there was a squirrel...what was I supposed to do, hit him?!"

Poindexter followed me all the way to my driveway.  As I turned in, he sped on by.  I can just picture what the hurry is all about.  I'm sure he needs to hurry home, feed the cat, take off his suit, which reveals a Hanes His Way t-shirt (tagless) and Superman underoos, both items loosely covering his pasty white skeleton like body.  He hurries to heat up some Spagetti-O's and his pour some milk.  He sets it up on his TV  tray and gets out his World of Warcraft and spends the night playing video games.  He'll sleep on the couch, get up in the morning, not shower and put on the same suit.  I know it.  I just know it.

I just want it to go on record, if Poindexter rams his Jetta up my Dakota's ass again, someone better have an airbag....and insurance.

The Help Desk & Daytime TV - I don't recommend either of them

Another Monday, back at the glass palace.  My day started in the usual way...opening my email and having about 300 of the same emails from boss#1.  Ever since he sent me that one little email last week, I have been getting it every 3 minutes...for hours at a time and then it stops...and then it starts up again.  After spending 5-10 minutes cleaning out my inbox, I decide, that's it, I've had it, I'm calling the Help Desk.  I have been putting it off because calling the Help Desk usually involves me slapping my forehead or banging my head against the desk, and that is after I have spent forever on hold waiting for them.  After being on hold for about 20 minutes, I gave up, I had crap to do.  Speaking of crap, I noticed the fake rubber dog crap that someone left at my desk Thursday night (after the whole, dog crap in the bed story) was gone.  I had kicked it over by the garbage can.  Great, now the janitor is going to think I left a pile of dog crap for him/her to clean up.  This is not going to win me a fresh trash bag every night.

As my day progresses, I'm not encountering any more bullsh*t than usual. It's holding at an even keel.  I try the Help Desk again.  After waiting for some time, I finally get through to Techy Bob and he gets my vitals.  Techy Bob thinks my problem is kind of funny.  He asks if I think my boss is messing with me.  I told him I doubted my boss had that kind of time on his hands.  I also told him that I was about ready to kill myself with these emails coming every three minutes all day.  Techy Bob then said the most profound thing to me, "You know, what's happening is not that big of a deal.  I mean, it's an annoyance at best."  I sat there for a moment. Silence.  After considering several responses, I put myself in check and said, "uh-huh."  Techy Bob went on to tell me that I would know the problem is fixed when the e-mails stopped.  Wow. Such clarity.  He asked if there was anything else he could do for me.  Gee, I think that about takes care of it...I can't imagine anything else you could possibly do other than FIX MY EFFING EMAIL!  It was still doing it up until I left tonight.  I'm thinking this email thing will repeat like a bad chili dog.  Better bring some Rolaids tomorrow.

Not long after my life altering interaction with the Help Desk, my phone rings.  I see it is my Mom's phone number.  I answer with a certain amount of trepidation...never knowing for sure what I will be told is going on now.  It's my sister.  She is laughing.  Good sign....I think.  She informs me that Mom watched some show called the Anderson Cooper show, or something like that, and it was on women getting paid to date men.  Now, Mom is on the website they talked about and she is creating a profile.  I guess you put your profile up and then see who is willing to pay for a date with you.  The guy pays one time and then if you want to see each other after that, then it is free...I guess.  My sister is laughing hysterically.  She said Mom isn't sure what to put on her profile and both of them felt like I would be a great choice to help Mom out.  My sister puts Mom on the phone.  I said, "Mom, are you kidding me with this?  You stepping into the prostitution ring?"  She informs me that on the TV show a lot of women did it and it was fine.  No sex is involved, just dating.  I asked her, "Was this an infomercial?"  She assures me it is all fine and she is just curious, I mean, she just wants to put a profile out there to see what someone would be willing to pay for a date with her.  I said, "Mom, I'm speechless...but I will tell you, I'm not a fan of this plan."  She says, with what I could only assume is a straight face based on her tone, "well, the grief counselor said I needed to meet new people and make new friends...and some of these men are really rich."   Mom, you're killing me.  I continued to lecture her for a few moments and then had to let her go.  It was a lot to digest.  Clearly, I cannot leave my Mom and sister alone.  I can just see the writing on the wall now....news reporters will be saying, "And none of these women thought it was weird they were being put in crates and loaded into a cargo ship...they thought they were going to dinner....instead, they were headed to the remote island of Jingo Jingo."


I think that that covers the highlights of my day.  I did make it to the gym tonight and as I was walking down the long hallway, I couldn't help but think of the movie called The Shining.  My brother had it on the TV at my Mom's house yesterday and this hallway was making me nervous.  That movie is so creepy.  Including picture below, you decide.

Anyway, that is all for tonight. 

Bitchfest 2012

So, I have to start off today, by giving some detail on yesterday.  I didn't blog about it last night because I felt like it was an over-share, but then I remembered I don't really have any boundaries, so I will at least give a brief synopsis to set the stage for today.

Yesterday morning started with a trip to the doctor. I thought it was just a consult, but it turns out it was for the actual procedure.  The procedure is called a LEEP procedure.  The long and short of it is, they were cutting a marble sized section of tissue off of my cervix to test for cancer.  It wasn't super fun and so, I ended up taking the day off to sit at home and think about the fact my girl parts were going to look like a slice of swiss cheese down there....holes everywhere.  My husband, as a gesture of "I'm sorry you have an extra hole in your hoo hoo" brought me some mint M&M's.  This did not help my new resolve to eat clean.  I ranted on skinny girls the other night about just this type of thing, but what is a girl to do in this situation?

This brings me to this morning.  I'm not going to lie, I wasn't really feeling the love for today from the get  go, but since I need to pay bills, I went to work.  Upon arriving at work, I was faced with sabotage from the start. One of the managers, Cross-Fit Crazy, came up and asked me if I wanted cake.  It's like, 8:30am, no I don't want any freakin' cake.  What is wrong with these people?  Once again, some in-shape dude trying to ply me with calories. Bastard.

After shaming Cross-Fit Crazy appropriately, I finally get my computer to come up.  My e-mail has been a hot mess ever since boss #1 sent me an e-mail on Tuesday morning at 5:17am.  That e-mail has a virus or something because I get that e-mail every 3 minutes for hours at a time.  It is just the kind of thing to make me want to throw my computer out the window.  Boss #1 actually sent me an email that said, "Hey, did you see the email I sent regarding that issue?"  Um yeah.  I took a screen shot of my inbox with about 50 of his duplicate emails and sent it to him, "yeah, got it, all 300 times."  Ever since Tuesday, I get that same stupid email, ALL DAY LONG.  No one seems to know how to fix it.  Today it was making my blood boil.

As it happens every morning, our 9:30 "keeping in touch" meeting took place.  I lead these meetings and keep everyone on task.  Usually boss #2 stands by me.  Today he moved across the circle that all the managers form.  As we went around to each person and did our normal "what's going on?" thing, it got to be boss#2's turn.  He prefaced his statement with, "I know Cassondra is going to kill me, but Boss #1 wants us to order lunch for the center...today."  I can't be certain, but my head may have spun around at least three times, my eyes did the cartoon thing where they pop out and then come back to rest in my sockets.  I said calmly, "TODAY?"  Everyone held their breath as they looked at me, waiting for me to explode.  Not today.  You don't get to see my insides hit the wall today.  I am calm.  I repeat, I am calm.  I then left our meeting to go to my desk to make the said arrangements.  Pizza it is.  I freakin hate pizza for several reasons.  First, I like to eat it and it isn't on my list. Secondly, I have to order it for over 200 people.  That is a lot of pizza, no one is ever happy, people are pigs, it makes a mess....blah blah blah....but I order the pizza. Calmly. I sent an email out to the center advising them of what time the pizza will be there and where, etc.

I went downstairs to get water and ice.  In the elevator on the way back up, I got the pleasure of listening to two employees complain about getting pizza today.  The company just sent an email about getting fit and now we're getting pizza.  Last time I checked, no one came around and force fed the pizza to anyone.  No one is required to eat it.  No one was then forced to over-eat, put on stretchy pants and wallow in cellulite on their couch while watching the Food Network or the Maury Povich show for the rest of their lives either. When I got back to my desk I knew it was time to set myself to "Do not disturb" on my instant messenger when I got the first ping from one of the managers, "when is the next round of pizza arriving?"  To which I replied, "I sent an email, read it."

I sat at my desk and lost my mind for just a moment.  I drank my protein shake and realized, I didn't want an effing protein shake. I didn't want to be here.  I wanted pizza. I wanted to be thin. I wanted my hoo hoo to stop hurting.  And why the frig do I have some weird snag on the left side of my sweater right on top of my boob.  I looked like I was wearing a tassle for crying out loud.  This wasn't my day.  People would not stop sending me emails and asking for things and being needy.  I needed to be needy and no one cared.  "I need, I need, I need!!!"  That's all I heard all day.

And so, I ate two pieces of pizza and had some cake.  Eff everyone...including myself.  Pity party commenced, party of one.  To add insult to injury, I had to go to the store to buy a gift card for one of the managers.  I bought my boss a corn dog, because, if I was cheating on my diet, he was going to cheat on his.  But while I was out, I took it one step further, I went to Jack in the Box and got some onion rings and a Coke.  Screw today. 

I got back to the office and threw my boss's corn dog on his desk and gave him a look defying him not to eat it.  Juice diet my ass.  That boy was eating a corn dog. An hour or so later, I finished some other things I had been working on for most of the day and decided to do a couple of Jib Jab's.  In my defense, my boss did tell me to do them.  I don't have as much fun doing them as I used to under the old administration, however, I still manage to amuse myself at others expense.  It's a perk. Not long after I finished Jib Jabbing, my boss shows up sucking on a Slurpee.  Mission accomplished.  I took someone down with me on the trail to diet disaster.  It is, however, difficult to talk shop with your boss when he has  brain freeze.  Which reminds me, I need to do some research on brain freezes.  I don't know what the long term ramifications are, but we need to be educated.  It might not be too much of an issue though because, somehow, the wife network was activated and my boss got a call from the Mrs.  Apparently, Slurpees are not on the juice diet and now he is in  trouble. 

Finally, my day was over.  It was time to go home.  I walked out to my truck and went to call my husband.  Guess who can't call her husband because her phone has been shut off?  That would be me.  I'm not mentioning any names, but someone was supposed to handle that little detail today.  Well, let's just hope I don't break down or anything.  At that moment, I took my blue tooth off, gave it a fling, tossed my phone in my purse and cranked up a little Brittany Spears on the stereo.  From one hot mess to another, I thought we could relate.  I mean, I'm probably not going to go home and shave my head or drive around with my babies on my lap in the front seat, but the girl does have some peppy tunes, so why not.  Me and Britt-Britt and her latest CD.  It is a guilty pleasure. 

So, I'm home.  I've blogged.  I've eaten the remainder of the mint M&M's while I blogged.  My husband isn't home.  I don't know where he is.  I'd call him....but you know...phone issues.

You know what would make this moment perfect?  Ice cream.  Alas, I have none.  I guess I'll find some sort of chick flick TV show and wait for prince charming to come home...good night.

How did sh*t get in the bed?

So, it would seem that 2012 is not going to come in gently. One thing after another seems to keep happening. Some people might say that "sh*t happens" so just roll with it.  Well, last night, sh*t did happen.  This is a real life accounting of last nights events.

I arrived home very tired.  Especially since my Mom lives just down the road from us and the mailcarrier called her house and advised that her horses were running down the road.  In fact, the mailcarrier described three of our horses perfectly.  My Mom was not home, but my sister was.  My sister called me upset because it was dark and she could not see if all horses were accounted for and apparently could not find a flashlight.  So, on the way home, I stopped in and helped her inspect the fence and take a headcount.  As it turns out, our mailcarrier must have seen someone else's horses.  Whew! Close call, who needs that drama?

I told Will that all I wanted to do was just go to bed, I was tired.  We ate dinner, chilled on the coach briefly and then went to bed.  Thirty minutes later, Spanky started whining. More of a pathetic whimper.  Grumbling, I went downstairs and let him outside.  He patrolled the yard briefly and came back.  I locked him back up in the designated dog area and went back to bed.  The wind was blowing crazy hard outside, so it was difficult to sleep, so at 2AM when Spanky started to whimper again, Will and I were easily roused.  Will took his turn and went down to let Spanky out.  Again, Spanky patrolled the yard to ensure our safety.  If ever there was a time I felt more secure it was now, knowing my 7lb mini daschund was standing guard.  Will went in and used the bathroom while he was waiting for Spanky.  It is noteworthy to say that there is a night light in the bathroom, but it offers very little light. We did not want to fully wake up, so no lights were turned on.  It was at this time, I decided I should probably go to the bathroom too.  Will and I passed on the staircase grumbling about 2AM doggie needs. 

As I sat on the potty I saw the light from upstairs reflect off the far wall.  Why would Will turn the light on? I stood up, and as I did, I felt something in my toes.  At the same moment I realized my dilema I heard Will say, "What the hell is going on?!  There is dogsh*t in the bed...how the hell did that get there?!"  I yelled, "OH....EWWWWWWW I have dogsh*t between my toes!!!  I know how it got up there, you tracked it there!"  Will is upstairs yelling, I'm downstairs yelling, this is how "sh*t happens."  I took the necessary steps to rid my toe jam areas of poo and Will was upstairs trying to get the poo off the bed sheets because apparently he had climbed into bed, moved his foot around and smeared it all over the sheets before realizing it was there.  Additionally, it was tracked from the bathroom all the way up the stairs.  At this point, all lights are on and we are running around baffled about why this had to happen.  The dogs don't have accidents like this, this isn't normal.

Upon further inspection in the bathroom, one of the little "angels"  (I believe it was Lilly) had pooped and peed right in front of the toilet.  Now, I do applaud them for chosing their location and I can't blame them for not being able to drag their ass up on the toilet seat to do it justice, but I have to also believe that there was malice in their choice of location.  I can't confirm, but I might have heard doggie snickering from under the blankets where they were hiding during the tirade.

We finally got things cleaned up and returned to bed.  We were in bed for about 10 minutes, both of us, wide awake.  And that's when the whimpering started.  I'd had enough.  I yelled, what could only be considered a tribal type yell, "Shut up you little bastard and GO TO BED!!!"  The quiet lasted until approximately just before Will's alarm went off at 3:30AM.  No rest for the weary.

So when people say, "sh*t happens" this is just the kind of thing they are talking about.  I want it to happen to someone else.  I want sleep to happen to us tonight instead.  Maybe we should trade the dogs in for something quieter like...a fish.

Today's Rant - Skinny Girls

Why do skinny people feel the need to feed fat people cookies?  Why?  Today, on two separate occasions, I was assaulted by tall, skinny women.  I was at my desk, sucking down my protein shake when High Heel Barbie shows up with her big tray of cookies.  "Do you want one?" she asks sweetly as her tall, slender, perfectly dressed, high-heeled self with beaming white teeth and shiny pretty hair leans over.  I said, "no thank you."  High Heel Barbie says, "oh, come on, you know you want one...."  I said, "no, I'm trying to be good."  She says, "Come on, one cookie won't hurt..."  I said, "NO, No, No! That one cookie has friends that I'd like to meet! NO."  Dejected, she left.  I yelled after her, "Thanks anyway."  I looked back down at my shake, my shake looked back at me and we resigned ourselves that cookies were not for us.

The day plugs along as the office sucks out my will to live.  It's afternoon now, but I have been strong.  I am drinking my water, I'm drinking my shakes, I had a sensible lunch.  And then it happened, Skinny Workout Chick comes over with the same tray of cookies (apparently, High Heel Barbie must have been on break) and says, "here."  I said, "NO! Get those away."  I was panicked because it was afternoon and fat girls get really hungry in the afternoon and it isn't like you'd have to hold me down and shove them in my mouth.  I could easily have been swayed.  Skinny Workout Chick then places the tray of cookies on my desk and starts to walk away.  I yelled, "No, No, No!!! Take that with you RIGHT NOW!  Do NOT leave that here!"  She finally came over and took the tray away.

What is wrong with these women?  I realize my potbelly is probably sending out some sort of "bat signal" to sugar, or some sort of undecipherable to the human ear underwater whale noises entrancing people, but come on.  I think skinny girls like it when fat girls are in turmoil.  I think this is exactly why I enjoy watching skinny girls in turmoil on America's Next Top Model, its only fair.  I just want to be in the skinny girl club, why they gotta try and keep me out? 

On the flip side, I'll be honest, if High Heels Barbie or Skinny Workout Chick walk over with celery sticks and say, "here, looks like you need this," I'm not going to lie...someone's gonna get a skinny girl beat down.  And I don't want to step over the line here and make an accusation that may not be true, but skinny girls could be why America is facing such an obesity crisis.  They are feeding the fat girls. It's some sort of "survival of the fittest" thing.  Well, I'm on to you girls!  You won't get me with your cookies!  Now ice cream...you've got me there....you little bitches.

Sick of the holidays....

I'd like to bid the holiday season of 2011 good-bye.  I'm not a fan of the holidays.  The hustle, the bustle, the food, the shopping, all the while pretending everything is magical and perfect like it is in the movies on the Lifetime chanel. Like everytime a bell rings an angel gets it's wings. Crap. It's all crap.  What happens during this time is that I gain weight, spend too much money, cut out a bunch of damn snowflakes at work and I am exhausted. Don't even talk to me about the spiritual part because all those people waiting outside of Walmart and the local mall all night long on Thanksgiving night ready to stab or taze someone over an XBox, those people are not thinking about our savior, Jesus Christ.  Just saying.  That part of the holidays is not magical.  I may be a little more bitter this year than most due to the passing of my Dad during this holiday season, but still, I think all of the hub-bub is crap. 

And so, it will be with great joy that I remove the minimal decorations off of my tree (that didn't even get put on the tree until Christmas Eve) and put the tree away.  We'll take the Christmas lights down outside, the ones that make us look like we are selling Charlie Brown Christmas trees, and  get back to normal. Besides, we don't have time to bask in the nostalgia of the holidays, Valentine's Day is right around the corner.  We need time to save money to buy candy and diamonds and make people that don't have a significant other feel sad and left out.  That's right, another special holiday. Stupid naked cupid with a bow and arrow, go eat a cupcake and put some pants on already.

The first of the year is also a time for everyone to make their new year's resolutions.  Yes, that's right, the fatties will lose weight, the smokers will stop smoking, the procrastinators will stop procrastinating (staring Monday, for sure...and if not, definitely by the weekend), people will take that vacation that they have always dreamed of, etc.  To recap, everyone will have their hopes and dreams realized.  It will be special.  So much so, that next Thanksgiving they will have so much to be thankful for.  Yep, the fatties will be buying gym memberships, spandex will be manufactured in bulk, treadmills will burn rubber, Nutri-System, Jenny Craig and ex-lax sales will be off the charts.  The smokers will be wearing patches, smelling ash trays and buying chewing gum.  The procrastinators, well, they will be buying planners and special apps on their phone reminding them to get their ass out of bed and go to work and get some stuff done..tomorrow. 

And me?  Well, I don't believe in new year's resolutions.  I believe in "fresh starts" and trying to "get on track." But, I don't resolve to make something happen just because it is January 1st.  It's a lot of pressure at the end of the year when you didn't do what you wanted to do. So, I am going to eat healthier, which I've already started (minus the cookies I pigged out on last night), get to the gym more and save money.  I have goals and I have dreams, I just hate having to look at gym bunnies while  trying to achieve them. 

This year could be especially pivotal if 2012 really is end of times as some believe.  I just wish I knew if I could count on that one way or the other.  I mean, I would hate to finally pay off the student loan and deprive myself of ice cream when clearly I could be living frivolously and fat.  I just saw an infomercial on an adult onesie called Forever Lazy.  It's essentially a onesie/Snuggie combo.  I could live in those for a year.  Mom has been reading Sylvia Brown books and they say we all have a spirit guide.  If my spirit guide could just let me know one way or the other, I could decide whether to order a onesie or not.  I'll just wait here.  I'm listening...waiting...to  be guided....

Anyway, Happy Freakin New Year!
Sincerely,
Angry Pony