What? A 20 Foot Kangaroo?

I spent most of my day today chewing someone's ass.  And, if I do say so myself, everyone deserved it. I mean, if people are going to irritate me, they get what they deserve.  It started out kind of basic, for example, while  I was sitting at the greeter table on the 4th floor during the open house, Cross Fit Crazy comes walking up and wants to know if anyone is downstairs in the auditorium on the 2nd floor waiting to be interviewed.  I looked at him and said, "Well, if you walk down the hall, get in the elevator and go down to two, you will have your answer."  What? Am I psychic?  I've got Flower Girl sitting next to me sucking helium out of balloons, some dude that cuts hair and wears way too much cologne telling me he doesn't have any experience, but thinks he'd be good for the job and everyone wants to know if there are people downstairs.  I just don't have patience for this.

I finish with the open house and return to my desk.  The energy on the floor is total chaos.  We've got 20 two-way radios going off, people are running around  tense.  I had a voice mail an a butt-load of e-mails waiting for me.  Tomorrow is our first day on the new systems and all the support staff  is supposed to be wearing special t-shirts.  Apparently UPS screwed up and the t-shirts are on a side trip, so now people are FREAKED OUT.  Seriously people.  Calm down.  Wear something else, it will be O.K.  So then, these other t-shirts show up that are for all the reps on the floor.  People are losing their mind, "Where is my t-shirt?  When will I get my t-shirt? This isn't in my size.  I don't like these, I'm not wearing that."  Let me tell you something, pal, you will get your freaking t-shirt when you get it.  And if you don't want to wear it, don't you big buncha whiners.  And then there are all these other people that want t-shirts that didn't get them.  "Why don't we get them?  Why are we always left out?"  Grow up.  Take the pacifier out of your mouth, start wiping your own ass and wear big people pants.

Now, as for the different managers having temper tantrums at my desk because they don't like decisions other people made.  You need to shut your mouth, go to your desk and read some emails and figure out what is going on around here.  Seriously, we spend all this time complaining and whining. GET OVER IT! 

I guess I must have been out of hand, because at one point my boss said, "stop yelling at me." I looked at him and said, "I'm not yelling, I'm making sure you hear me."  He told me to calm down.  I told him I was calm.  It's like he doesn't know me at all. 

The day went on and on like this.  People were making me crazy.  The two-way radio chatter was driving me nuts.  My other boss kept telling me how he wanted a radio and I would never give him one. Everyone else gave me strict instructions to never give him a radio.  Today, I said, "enough."  After a phone call from him advising he needed help...since he didn't have his own radio...I grabbed my radio, took it into the "war room" (room where all the planning and crisis control happens) set it next to him and said, "there, now you have a radio."  He came to me later and said, "this isn't effective if you don't have a radio too."  I said, "Actually, I think it works out perfectly."  He remained unconvinced and returned it to me.

The afternoon buzz continued until something happened that I was unprepared for.  One of our business partners brought in a 20 foot blow up kangaroo and set it up in the middle of our center.  Nothing says, "Happy System Conversion" like a blow up kangaroo with a joey in the pouch.  The place was madness.  My boss that had returned the radio to me earlier had now located a bull horn and was using it in lieu of a radio.  Next thing you know, everyone is looking at me, "Why the hell did you give him THAT?"  Some days a girl just can't win. 

I took pictures of the last person taking a call on the old system and returned to my desk to make magic happen by creating an announcement about our magical events.  I titled it "Apocalypse or Conversion?"  One of the visiting managers came over and said, "that seems kind of negative..."  I said, "...and?" Whatever.

Tomorrow proves to be extra  exciting as I need to be at the store at 6AM to pick up 15 dozen donuts, 10 dozen bagels, water, juice, pop tarts, fruit, etc. That means I need to be up at 4:30AM.  This isn't going to end well for anyone.  Just a friendly note of warning.

I also have video footage of employee commentary, but none of them have given me permission to publish these recordings.  Pity.

Taco Bob

I started my day with the following statement to the management team, "You ever see that Robin Williams movie, What Dreams May Come?  The part where he is walking over all those dead people that are in purgatory and they are all reaching out, calling to him and needing him?  Well that is how I feel today.  I apologize in advance for all the times I bite your head off and send nasty emails.  Okay?  Okay.  I'll try and behave, I'm just saying, it isn't looking good." 

It turned out to be a stressful day for little return.  The hiring open house was a semi-flop...and that is being generous.  I won't bore you with all the mundane details of the day (like when I broke my nail...and it was a long one), but I will share about the one person that made the open house memorable for me.

I was sitting at the greeter/screener table with my partners in crime, Valerie and "Flower Girl."  We were sitting there talking about the fashion statements the guys were making with their ensembles.  Turns out some people think charcoal slacks and a black shirt are not appropriate to wear together.  Anyway, the conversation turned, as it always does with girls, to our fashion.  We started talking about FCD's and which ones we liked.  To those that are not up on past blogs, an FCD is a Fat Controlling Device, aka, girdle, Spanx, etc.  Well, this  ran the guys off.  Apparently they were unprepared to discuss female underclothes.  Wimps.  It was at that moment that my blog fodder walked up to the table.

This guy comes walking up looking kind of confused.  Apparently he had been sent here to apply for a job.  He wasn't really sure what job, just that we were hiring.  I told him about the job and asked him if he was interested.  He shrugged and said, "I guess, sure."  A real go-getter.  I'm going to call him, "Taco Bob."

I have a series of questions I have to ask every applicant.  I was asking Taco Bob about his sales experience.  He informed me Taco Bell was his experience.  Okay.  I ask him the second question and he exclaims, "WAIT!  I forgot, I had another job."  He looked in pain.  His eyes squished shut, his fist went to his head, his mouth was tense.  He tilted his head back and was thinking for all he was worth...nothing.  His arms started to kind of swing around and he was seriously thinking harder than I have seen anyone think...ever.  Now, he only looks like he is like 22 - 26 years old, maybe, so what could have transpired in his short working career that could have caused him to block out a job?  Finally he bursts out that he sold something to people.  I don't really know what it was, but it was something, I guess.

So, back to the second question.  Taco Bob reaches over and grabs one of my questionnaires and starts reading the questions and answering them before I can even ask them, shooting answers at me.  I was making notes and kind of stopped. He says, "I'm sorry, is it too forward of me to answer the questions before you ask them?"  I said, "Well, I'd like to be able to ask the full questions and not skip over any parts."  Sensing he had crossed a line, he put the paper down.  So, I am asking him about the sales process and if he is ok with suggesting products and services to customers.  He shrugged and said, "Well, at Taco Bell, I always tried to make sure if they wanted a Taco I would upsell them to a second one and some fiesta potatoes.  And then I would try and see if they wanted a large fiesta potatoes  or...."  and he went on and on.  By the time he was done he had sold me on two taco's, a crunchwrap and a large order of fiesta potatoes.  Seriously.  I got a real insight to what goes on in the drive-through.  Taco Bob went on to tell me that talking to customers on the phone couldn't possibly  be any different than talking to customers in person, so you know, upselling shouldn't be a problem.

I finished asking him all his questions and sent him on his way to the typing test...against my better judgement. I was exhausted and, quite frankly, I wanted a taco.  My pal, Marie, was working down in the "holding room" where we have applicants wait for the typing test.  She came up to check in with us and I asked her how Taco Bob was doing.  She informed me that Taco Bob told her that working at Taco Bell was ok, but he kind of got irritated by the customers.  This story seems to vary from the one he  gave me.  Hmmmm.  You know, it isn't often that our customers call, wait 20 minutes to talk to someone and then say, "Hey, just wanted you to know that I love my service, have a nice day!"  I don't know what Taco Bob was thinking, but if you think people get pissed when you forget their hot sauce, just wait till you have to explain taxes.  In retrospect, I should have asked Taco Bob what shift he worked.  Like, did he work the "fourth meal" crowd with the late night munchies? Or was he working the lunch crowd.  I mean, I think I let my company down by not clarifying.  

The sad part of the day is that Taco Bob is probably our lead candidate.  We had one cute guy, a few normal-seeming people, a girl that worked at a place called Yogurt Monkey (seriously?) and then some people that I am not sure why they came.  I gave a pep talk to one guy that had been through the process two other times before.  Valerie said I sounded like I really cared and she said she didn't know what brought this on.  I felt bad for him.  He seems like a nice guy.  You go and help one person and then you're a freakin humanitarian or something.  I don't need that kind of reputation.

Hopefully, tomorrow will go better. And I hope I get someone from Wendy's cuz I am going to ask them about the size of their Junior Frosty.  That still pisses me off and I'd like some answers.  Upsize that, butthead.

Damn it!!!  "I got the late night munchies...." Taco Bell song stuck in my head!!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bfD6DXnvULU

Dear Monday, get off my ass

"Sounds like somebody's got a case of the Mondays."  A historic line from a masterpiece of a movie, Office Space.  It rang incredibly true today for this girl.

First hit came when I woke up only to realize it was 6:24AM.  My alarm is supposed to wake me up at 5:30AM.  Our power had gone out over the weekend and I guess my alarm didn't get reset.  This is not an insurmountable challenge, but does not start my day in a good place.  I threw myself together in record time and started down the driveway in my truck.  I look over towards the barn, and there is one of the young horses named Mini.  She is standing there leaning over the fence and chewing on the tarp that is covering the shavings.  Please explain to me why this stupid horse is eating a tarp when she has a nice flake of $14.74 a bale alfalfa in her stall?  Clearly we are overspending on these horses.  I should drive some junk cars out there and really let her get her belly full. 

I continued my journey to work and had gotten about a mile away and  I was thinking I should call someone to let them know I was running late.  Sh*t.  I forgot my damn phone. I turn around and go back.  I retrieve my phone. My dogs act like I have been gone all day and are ecstatic to see me. Off I go again.  I meander down the valley and look, there is the freaking train.  The arms came down before I could get to the tracks.  I wasn't going to pull any Smokey and the Bandit hi-jinks, so I waited, doing a slow burn.

 I decide as late as I am, I might as well stop and  get a hot chocolate.  My normal girl apparently isn't there and the abnormal girl has a line of 5 cars.  I contemplate bolting, but then decide...screw it, I'm getting a freaking hot chocolate.  After finally getting one, I'm back on course.  I get on the freeway, I'm making good time, so far no one is pissing me off.  And then it happened, grid-lock.  Son..of..a..bitch. Accident involving two semi's.  We are now at a dead stop.  Today just isn't my day.

I finally arrived at work without further incident.  I don't even know why I went in.  The universe was telling me to to stay home.  Damn the universe.  Unfortunately, the universe doesn't approve my vacation days and calling out sick was not an option.  Employment is important.  We are on vacation lock-down right now due to our system conversion.  It's all hands on deck, no excuses.  I don't think an excuse like, "all signs indicated I should stay home" would fly.  I've used the excuse of "anal glaucoma" (translation - can't see my ass going into work) before and so I don't want to over abuse that one. The energy in the air was tense and everyone looked stressed.  I wanted to run screaming.  I have a tendency to absorb others stress, I don't know why, I just do.  I guess I'm a problem solver and a care-taker.  Unfortunately the only resolution to the problem I was having was to take my ass into a padded cell and scream until I was mute.  Turns out ordering such a room would have been my job and I didn't do that.  I sent my bosses an email letting them know we needed a padded room ASAP.  Apparently, it isn't in the budget.  Sad.

I survived the day and actually got to leave early to go to Bowen therapy.  Bowen therapy is what is making it so I can walk again.  Don't ask me to explain it, go look it up.  It's kind of a pressure point kind of therapy.  Anyway, this is what is helping me get better.  Who knew the muscle relaxers, chiropractors, physical therapists and doctors would be useless, but this woman that does Bowen treatment is my hero.  Tonight's therapy was involving some more pressure moves on my back and knees...and also my pelvis.  The pressure points to "unlock" my pelvis are on both sides of my hoo-hoo. I'm telling you, it doesn't matter who it is, these people cannot keep their hands off me.  No one is immune to my sexuality, apparently.  Well, except my husband.  He is doing the head-bob, half sleep thing while "watching" the Daytona 500.  None of my ailments seduce him, but I digress.

I finished my Bowen treatment and then headed to the store.  I needed a few things, plus, I had to pick up flowers for the hiring open house tomorrow.  I get my stuff, go to check-out and I manage to pick the line that has a problem with the receipt printer dealie-bob.  The guy in front of me is passionate about having a receipt, so I wait...and wait.  Then I get up there, get my stuff and a receipt prints, no problem.  I purchase the flowers with the corporate card and guess what, it won't print.  The checker says he's sorry. I'm like, I have to have one for my expense report.  He sends me to customer service.  The gal informs me that she can get me a receipt copy, but the machine will need to print every receipt from the entire day and it's only on 9AM right now.  Are you kidding me? I said, "well, can you give me a hand-written receipt?"  She says, "Oh yeah, totally!"  She informs me it will just take her a minute.  She comes back out and hands me a teeny tiny post-it that says, "Flowers $4.33."  Again, are you kidding me?  Well, this post-it surely will stand up on my expense report.  I stood there and stared at her, deciding in my head just how far I wanted to go with this.  It only took me a moment to think, "F*ck it."  I thanked her and walked out.  She was all perky and said, "You're welcome!!!" and bounced away.  I need a muscle relaxer.

Finally, I am driving home. I am off the freeway and on the home stretch.  Just past Angry Pony's house, a black cat runs out in front of me.  I slammed on my breaks and missed him.  ENOUGH already!!!  I proceed with caution, cross over the railroad tracks and then look in my rear-view mirror...the train track arms are coming down...here comes the train.  FINALLY!!!  A win for Cassondra. 

I gotta go feed the ponies some hay and maybe some tarp straps and then go to bed, because I need some sleep if Tuesday is going to try and top Monday.  I sure hope someone shows up to the open house with a Unicorn Poop shirt.  I need some entertainment.

Today was not my day...

I know this will shock some of you, but today was not a good day.  I woke up, still hurting and hobbling around. I mean, it isn't like I expected some sort of miracle over night, like, I'd wake up and be a real person. Pinocchio legs were still there and quite frankly, I had a muscle relaxer hang-over.  I got myself prepped and ready for work.  The only real thing that I had going for me is that due to my invalid status, I had obtained a temporary handicapped parking pass.  I mean, I hope it's temporary, but this has been going on for a while, no one knows for sure if I'll ever walk again.  Anyway, my parking pass would cut down my leg dragging distance and time considerably. 

I arrived at work, and I shouldn't have been surprised that all but one handicapped spot was available.  Buncha crippled people.  Crippled by the call center.  I took the spot that was left.  The one truck next to my spot was kind of close to the line, but none the less, I parked without incident.  I proceeded into the building where last minute queen prepping activity was taking place. I limped around taking care of a few items and then it was necessary for me and Valerie to go to town to purchase the queen's snacks. 

I got out to my truck and noticed that some idiot had parked their car right next to my truck in the space that had white hash lines across it.  You know, the spot you are supposed to leave vacant so the crippled person has room to negotiate a wheel chair or whatever?  Well, this genius decides to park there and this person doesn't even have a handicapped pass.  I was mad, but I was able to climb my crippled ass into the truck and go to the store.  After dragging around town, I was tired and returned to the glass palace.  I arrived back at work and my spot was still available.  I went to pull in and at that moment I don't know exactly what happened, but I underestimated my clearance and proceeded to not only hit the truck next to me, but then slide my front bumper down the side of it.  I thought I heard a scraping sound, but thought, "that couldn't have been me..."  Valerie looked at me, a little wide-eyed, a little nervous and I said, "did I bump her truck?"  It's like I was having an out of body experience.  Valerie said, "Uh, yeah, you hit it all right, you pretty much scraped the shit out of the side of it."  It was so weird, it was like it all happened in slow-motion.  I don't know what got into me, it was as if I wasn't even in my body.  I just sat there, feeling stupid that I could have possibly done that.  What the hell, you get a handicapped tag and instantly you drive like you are a 90 year old crippled blind woman?  Heavy sigh.

The great news is, no worries about having to leave a note, the owner of the truck and her pal were sitting in it having a smoke.  I knew them both well.  I felt so embarrassed, and then I hear a man I will refer to as the "village idiot" saying, "I saw it happen, I'm a witness!  I'm a witness!"  Well Einstein, I'm not exactly running from the law here.  I'm parked here, I'm talking to the "victim."  The village idiot runs into the building and tells the security guard, Cecily, that he had just witnessed an accident.  Now, Cecily and I talk everyday, she knows me.  She comes walking out and informs me I have been ratted out.  As I'm limping towards her, I said, "Does it look like I'm trying to out run the authorities?  I hit her at all of .000001 mph, I think we're okay here."  Cecily laughs and says that she had to come check it out.  I advised her I left a nice set of racing stripes down the side of my pal's truck.  My pal is not upset.  She says she may have neck pain (ha ha) but that she doesn't want my insurance info and that she isn't worried.  Defeated, I limp into the building.

Upon arriving in the building, what do I see?  My arch nemesis...my weakness...my kryptonite...freaking Girl Scouts.  Those little cookie whores have set up a cookie table right by the entrance.  My day just wasn't getting any better.  I wanted to go buy all their damn peanut butter cookies and thin mint cookies and end it all.  It's not bad enough they accost you at the grocery stores, they have infiltrated into my workplace.  Who allowed this to happen?  That's it, I'm not going back until they are gone.  Queen or no queen, I'm not going back.  Girl Scout FMLA, let me be the first case.  Not a doctor in the country who wouldn't stand behind me for that.

Anyway, gonna try not to take out anymore vehicles tomorrow.

What we can learn from hockey

Last night we had a work "team-build."  We went for pizza and then a hockey game.  Now, I've never been to a hockey game before, but I had heard they can be pretty rough, which people seem to like.  I think if I look at this as a true team-build, I need to learn something from it.  I also think, after experiencing the game, we have a lot to learn from hockey.

First of all, if someone pisses you off, you need to knock their hat off and start beating the crap out of them.  How is anyone going to learn if you don't let them know they have crossed the line.  I think we spend way too much time with the niceties in life, let's just be open and honest. If my boss comes up, grabs my shirt and roughly shakes me and says, "you stupid whore, you screwed up my expense report!" chances are, I am not going to make that mistake again.  Now, he doesn't have built up resentment, I learn a lesson and life goes on.  Adversely speaking, if my boss gives me too much work, I walk in his office, grab his chair, slide it into the wall and scream, "You piece of shit, just how much time do you think I have today?!"  He knows he has crossed the line and learns from it.  I feel better, got it off my chest and the work day goes on, stress free.

Secondly, at our staff meetings, if someone says something stupid or brings up a plan that we don't like, we grab them and smash their face into the wall and body slam them. We don't have to say anything, just make sure the person knows, that was stupid.  I just think there would be a lot less stress in the workplace if we just got it out of our systems. 

So, we've covered "unnecessary roughness," which I believe to be necessary, now let's talk about fighting.  I think this should be totally acceptable.  I mean, as long as the boss is standing there making sure we only beat on each other for a few minutes until things start getting out of hand, I think it's do-able.  I mean, really, the only thing I can see that is not allowed in hockey is tripping people.  You get the penalty box for that.  The ref's will stand there and watch the players rip helmets and gloves off and beat the crap out of each other, or body slam against the glass, but tripping, that just isn't good sportsmanship. 

Oh, and yelling and cowbell.  More yelling and yes, we need more cowbell.  Let's be more vocal, this isn't a library.

I think I am going to propose these changes at work.  The first person that comes up to my desk with a stupid question, a ridiculous request or asking something they should already know, that person is going to get body slammed against the file cabinets.  I think this will really help morale...at least mine.

So many people go through life with emotions bottled up.  I think what we can learn from hockey is that it is best to let these things out.

I think Will and I can apply this to our marriage too.  "What, you didn't clean the shower?" And then I bitch-slap him for a good 30 seconds.  And then, it's over.  I can't say this is the answer for everyone, but I think I'd like to try it and see if it sets the angry pony free.

The butt chronicles continue...

I hate to keep going on about my butt/leg problem, but it's kind of on my mind constantly since I am essentially dragging a dead body around with me all the time.  If you are sick of hearing about it, please stop reading here.

To those that are still with me, I went to the physical therapist yesterday for yet another appointment.  My PT decided I needed to try traction.  I don't really know what traction is, but apparently it involves some sort of apparatus/harness thing.  She pulls the one she wants off the wall and starts to mess with it.  One of the clips falls off of the strap.  I look at her and said, "That can't be good."  None the less, she kind of fixes it and tries it on me.  Now, I'm not sure if I was just too fat or what, but as soon as she puts it on and buckles it up, the clip jumps for it's life again.  She says she figures this one isn't going to work, so I take it off.  She looks at the others she has hanging on the wall and seems to not like any of them.  She says, and I quote, "Well, this one is the least broken out of all of them."  I said, "Um, that is a pretty sad statement that we are using the least broken piece of equipment you have...are we all out of operational stuff?"  She decides we'll do something different, which I appreciate, because I don't know what was about to happen to me in that harness, but I am pretty sure the harness wasn't up for it. 

The PT goes on to torture me for an hour, butt shocking included, and I asked her, "exactly when do we decide that I've had enough pain and that I'm not getting any better and we actually do an MRI or maybe look at other alternatives?"  She informs me that her hope is that I will gradually get better.  I stared at her.  Let's try this again.  I said, "you don't seem to understand, I limp all the time, my leg and hip hurt so bad ALL THE TIME and nothing I do helps it."  She looked at me compassionately and says, "Well, we will hope that gets better."  Hope is not a strategy.  She said I would need to go see my doctor.  I advised her my doctor sent me to her.  She said, "well, you'd need to go see him again."  I decided to give up.  I just laid there while electricity pulsed through my ass and thought about the fact that I could be an invalid for the rest of my life at this rate.  Fifteen minutes later Junior showed up to care for my sticky pads. He must have lost the coin toss and was once again the one to pry the sticky pads off my ass.  I don't know where the kinda attractive muscly guy was that brought me in, but I sensed he was not going to be the sucker that had to care for this part of the appointment.

I left there, in pain and feeling defeated.  I was going to have to do something.  I don't know what, but something.  I could barely get in my truck and now was feeling worse than before I went in for therapy.  A friend suggested those heat pad things that you put on your back or where ever you need them.  I had tried that yesterday, but ended up having a rodeo in the bathroom trying to get it on.  You see, according to the instructions, you aren't supposed to put it directly against your skin, so I was trying to put it between my jeans and underwear.  It wasn't going well.  The pad thing kept sticking to my hand instead of my pants, and then I would finally get it on my pants and then I'd pull my pants up and it was in the wrong place.  Where is Valerie when I need her?  I mean, I am trying to limit the number of people that see my bare ass, but sometimes a girl is in a bind.  I thought about getting her, but then decided to tough it out.  In the end (no pun intended), it didn't really help anyway.

I got back to work, grabbed Valerie and we went shopping, after all, the queen is coming.  I won't go over all the mundane details but I will tell you about one guy that really inspired me.  We went to Target to buy a mini-fridge.  We find the one we want and ask them to bring it up front because it is pretty heavy.  Some nice stock boy takes it up front.  We get a few other items and then head to check out.  This other guy is leaning on a cart with our fridge.  I can tell right away that this guy is not employee of the month.  We checkout and head outside.  Cart-leaner guy says, "can you bring your truck around front?"  We said yeah, we could.  My truck was already in the second parking spot right up front, but clearly, if it involved going off the sidewalk, this dude could  not be bothered.  He sits there in the front of the store, watches us get in my truck, sees we are right there and still does not move a muscle.  This guy was killing me.  After fighting a bunch of cars to get to the sidewalk and pull up by the curb, he finally takes his cart off the curb and rolls it towards my truck.  Are you kidding me?  It was a life altering experience for me.  I realized, I try way too hard.  If this guy can keep his job, then I need to tone it down at work.  I need to lower the bar.  I think taking on this new attitude during the queen's visit is just the ticket.  Why stress?  Cart-leaner guy, you have inspired me.  Thank you.

Anyway, we finished our errands and returned to work.  People kept telling me I should go home because I looked like I was in pain. All I could think was, "I wish someone would have said that to me 14 years ago." I did finish out the day, I had stuff to do.  Cart-leaner guy definitely would not have approved.

Three cheers to a weekend full of muscle relaxers.

I need a plan...

We have a number of things coming up at work that are going to make my life, as well as many others life, a living nightmare.  We are getting ready to have a major system conversion.  This means we will have visitors and "war rooms" and "command centers" and CHAOS exploding everywhere.  I don't mean to be dramatic, but this is defcon 4, people. 

I have to glaze over many facts that I would love to share, but cannot due to the whole, I like my paycheck thing.  This is sad because sometimes the ridiculous events of the day make for a good time when you are recounting them, say while under the influence of some sort of prescribed medication or say, alcohol.  What I can tell you is that the meltdown has begun.  I have one boss that speed walks past my desk multiple times a day, always on a mission to somewhere. I have another boss that looks like he wants to find a bomb shelter and stay there for approximately 6 - 8 weeks as the fun never stops.  I had one guy come up to my desk and stand there and shake his fists and throw a little bit of a hissy fit and then walked away, for no apparent reason, he never spoke. Then, my pal, let's call him, Lizard Lick, came up to my desk and looked like someone just told him to go shoot 'Ol Yeller. He ran his hands all over his face, then through his hair and generally looked like he wanted to throw up.  I've had other people almost crying at my desk (admittedly, one of those people was me).  And, we haven't even begun to see the light of day.  If we were vampires, we'd still have a lot of blood to suck before the sun came up.  Like if this were the movie Blade, we'd still have like 90 minutes of movie left.

I need to do something, I need a plan. Personally, I may go crazy, but I am supposed to be the support person that keeps people from killing each other.  Right now, I don't know if I want to stop them. A little carnage might actually be a good idea.  In addition to the breathing apparatus that I am waiting to get approval for at my desk, I need air bags installed, and possibly some sort of chair restraint.  Like, so when I get an email from one of the senior leaderships admins, I stay fully seated in my chair when I push it back and start to explode.  Just preparing for all the visitors and VIP's that will be visiting is a task in itself.  Never mind trying to keep the daily tasks of the troops cared for.  I had one of our managers ask me when his one on one meeting was with one of the bosses and I said...and I quote, "I don't know and frankly don't care."  I probably better reign that in. See, the problem is, I made a schedule, per request, but since the alleged controlled chaos has begun, no one can make the meetings when they are scheduled.  Suddenly, I'm supposed to be concerned? No, not when I have video conference room snaffu's, the center is out of anti-bacterial wipes and I have to go get yogurt for the queen.  Do you see the magnitude of this situation? I mean we are one sneeze away from becoming the movie Outbreak and I've got to figure out how we are going to keep protein shakes and yogurt cold, no, do not talk to me about your one on one right now.

I think, in addition to the mini-fridge, yogurt, protein shakes and anti-bacterial wipes, I am going to add, barf bags, those squishy stress balls you put in your hand, lots of tissues for the crying, chocolate (for me) and one of those rope ladder things so at any given moment I can kick out the window at my desk, drop that ladder out there, grab my stuffed ponies and get the #@$% out of Dodge.

If anyone asks, that's my plan.

Valentine's Day recap...

Here it is, my Valentine's Day recap.

First off, I found myself to be in a hostile mood.  Not really sure if that was because I knew I had a butt shocking appointment, or if it was because my phone kept ringing off the hook all day from the front desk, "So and so has flowers."  Like I care.  Who designated me as the person who cares?  Apparently, the front desk.  Luckily, Valerie is pretty tuned in to my mood swings and she would say, "more flowers? I'll go get them." 

I think I might also have been crabby due to the amount of chocolate people kept feeding me.  I mean, it isn't like anyone held me down, I'm just saying, the opportunity presented itself and I am all about opportunity. One of the bosses also brought in Frost donuts.  I had to try one, I'd never had one before.  YUM.  So, yeah, now I'm hopped up on sugar and I am without flowers.  I mean, I did tell my husband not to bother with buying me anything because why waste the money, but it did make me a little sad not to get any.  One person did give me a Scooby-Doo valentine with a sucker.  That was nice.

Now, let's add some caffeine into the equation, that's right, Coca-freakin-Cola.  I'm jazzed.  Then I got a visit from one of my blog readers (Weird Toe Guy, or whatever I called him, from one of my early blogs) wanting to know what was going on with all the talk about butt shocking.  I explained the situation to him.  He then  asked me what a kegel exercise is.  This was awkward.  I thought everyone knew what that was.  I explained it to him in a pretty delicate way.  I was actually pretty proud of myself.  I had access to a flip chart, I could have drawn a picture, but I refrained. I can just see explaining that later..."um, we were playing pictionary and the word was 'Lotus Flower.'"  I later had one of my friends Wikipedia it and send him a link.  I didn't want to overstep my boundaries.

Let's just fast forward to the end of the day.  It's time for my physical therapy appointment.  I got more exercises today, a brief leg massage and more butt shocking.  Apparently, Hairy Guy was busy with someone else because I got some guy that looked like he was volunteering after school.  I don't know if I liked Junior seeing my ass any more than the Hairy Guy.  What makes this kid qualified to see my bare ass?  He clearly handled the responsibility of carrying my chart and turning off the shock machine, but medically speaking, I don't know how he is qualified.  And let's talk about that moment that he couldn't get the sticky pad off my ass and he's like, "Oh, wow, these must be new, they are really sticky."  Ok, first off, do they re-use these things?  What do you mean "new?"  He was pulling on this thing so hard, my ass skin was lifted above it's normal resting place.  Finally he got the thing off.  Do I really have to go through this twice a week for the next four weeks? Heavy sigh.

Finished my appointment and met Will for Valentine's dinner.  We went for Chinese food.  I was about to take hostages because the guy on the other side of our booth kept bumping his side of the booth, which pushed on my back.  What circumstance led to his erratic eating?  My word, was the food orgasmic? Was he convulsing?  Seriously.  I pushed back a few times.  Punk-ass.  Then, when we were about ready to go, we heard a tap-tap on the window.  It was Mama Carol.  She was my neighbor the whole time I was growing up. She is my Mom's age and she is a hoot.  She comes into the restaurant and says, "Well look who's here?!"  Mama Carol has one of those voices that carries.  Everyone turns to look at her and then us.  We were suddenly way popular.  Mama Carol bantered back and forth with Will and I for a little while and then we started talking about our fortunes from our cookies.  Will shared with her about how you really read a chinese fortune.  Whatever it says, you add the words, "in bed" to the end of it.  My fortune was, "Always be willing to try new things."  Will's was something to the affect of, "Persistence leads to you reaching all of your goals."  After explaining that to Carol, she told us to be careful with all of that since my sciatic was acting up.  I told her we were ok, even with my sciatic, we were still able to pull off geriatric sex.  Geriatric sex is when one  of you gets, say, a charlie horse in their leg and the other person gets a leg or back cramp and then you are all twisted up and then one foot is on the floor, but you're still tangled up.  It's awkward, but when you get old like us, it happens.  You know, Cosmo doesn't prepare you for geriatric sex.  Not one article on it. Oh well, maybe AARP will have an article on it when we start getting those magazines.  Anyway, that pretty much wrapped up our conversation with Mama Carol.

Well, this is probably an over-share on multiple level's, but I can't help it.  It's the egg roll talking. Happy Valentine's Day.

 Oh, and it is noteworthy to say that I received a phone call from Valerie, while at dinner, advising I had received flowers at work from Will.  So glad my flowers arrived after I left.

The butt shocking continues...

Well tomorrow is Valentine's Day.  I don't really get that excited about it, but I have assured that I will get some sort of action tomorrow, I have an appointment with the physical therapist.  That's right, I get to do more kegel exercises and get my butt shocked.  If that doesn't scream romance, I don't know what does. One of my co-workers suggested that I might get addicted to having my butt shocked.  I won't be known as a "cutter" I'll be a "shocker."  I'll be out in the pasture, rubbing my butt up against the electric fence all hours of the night.  I might have to get butt shocking FMLA so I can miss work.  Instead of shopping at Lover's Package, I'll order a cattle prod from a livestock catalog. I don't know, that might be a bit extreme.

Hopefully, I won't have to go to therapy that long.  Hopefully, my sciatic will come to it's senses.  Mom offered up one of Dad's canes to me the other day.  I just looked at her and said, "No, I do NOT want to borrow Dad's cane!"  She says, "What? It's a nice cane, Dad got a lot of compliments on it."  Clearly she is out of touch with the people I am surrounded with daily.  One co-worker said I looked like a disco ball today because I wore a sparkly shirt under another shirt.  Can you imagine the mileage these people will get out of a cane?  Oh, and also, another danger is, I might club someone with it.  That really is the bigger concern.

What I am more concerned about tomorrow is that I am supposed to bring a pair of shorts to therapy, you know, so that my 13 year old therapist can see my legs better while I do kegels and the hairy guy can get the electrode things off my ass easier. Anyway, the problem is, I don't have shorts.  Fat girls don't like to show off their legs, come on.  The only thing I have that is close, is some flannel pj shorts that have teddy bears all over them.  I guess those will have to do. It has a matching top, I wonder if I should wear that too...?  That will definitely spike up the romantic, intimate nature of the session.  You know, the therapist did ask me if I wanted the lights off when she left me alone with my butt hooked up to the machine last time.  Maybe I should bring candles. 

Apparently, I've brought sexy back...

So, today I went to the physical  therapist to see if I could get anywhere with my sciatic problem.  I really don't like going to physical therapy.  I've been before for my shoulder, and not been too thrilled. Let's give it a shot, shall we?  Think positive.

I wait for my turn and this grizzly, hairy guy calls my name.  I go with him hoping he is not my therapist.  He isn't. He says one of the other gals will be in momentarily.  My gal comes in and first, she looks like she is 13, and secondly, she is pretty soft-spoken.  I don't feel good about this.  She seems unimpressed with my inability to function in everyday life.  She asks what I hope to get out of therapy.  I said, "Well, I'd like to be able to walk again and do day to day stuff like take care of my horses."  She nods as if she understands and says, "So, do you actually have horses?"  Like I make this crap up.  "Yes, I do."  She presses, "At your house?"  I'm confused at what part she is unsure of.  Seems clear to me.  Anyway, I confirm that yes, indeed, I have horses and they are at my home.  She asks me to take my shoes off.  She looks at my socks. "What is on your socks?"  I say, "horses."  They are my pink pony socks, duh.  She says, "oh, I thought they were skeletons."  And, I'm trusting this girl with my health.

Miss Doogie Howser looks me over for a while and decides that I need to do a few exercises.  She tells me to suck in my belly button like I am pulling it towards my back and to tighten my "pelvic floor" muscles.  What the heck is my pelvic floor? Sensing my confusion, she says, "you know, do a Kegel exercise. Like you were trying to stop peeing."  She's watching me as if she can see my bellybutton being held tight and my "floor" contracting.  This is ridiculous. The only thing you can tell looking at my stomach is that I've had too many cookies. I would never have guessed Kegel exercises would solve my problem.  My pelvic floor region wasn't in the mood for this, it didn't think this was going to help either.  I might not be able to walk when this is over, but Will should be happy.

Then Miss Doogie informs me that we need to do electro-therapy on my butt.  She tells me it shocks the muscles.  Now, I don't mean she is going to shock them with horrifying pictures or telling me something surprising that will startle me, she is actually going to shock my ass.  She brings this machine over, has me lay on my side and then says," I need to put these conductors on your sciatic."  Translation, she is going to put sticky pads on my ass.  She says, "do you mind if I put my hands down here?"  I told her to do what she needed to do, how else are those things going to get on my ass?  I loosen my pants and she sticks one down there..."oh, woops, that isn't the right spot," then "ripppp!" takes it off and repositions it.  No worries, my ass skin isn't sensitive or anything. Thank goodness I just loofah'd it this morning. She gets me all hooked up and says, "ok, tell me when you feel the buzzing." I feel it and I tell her.  She says, "ok, I'm going to turn this up, let me know when you think you can't take anymore." My eyes got big and I swallowed, "ok."  She gradually increases the power. "BINGO! We're there!"  I exclaimed.  She says, "Ok, I'm going to leave you here for about 15-20 minutes hooked up to this."  She then puts an ice pack over my hip and then rolls a little stool up to the front of me with a bell on it.  She says, "If the machine malfunctions, just ring this bell."  WHAT????!!!  What do you mean if it malfunctions?  What if it literally shocks my ass off? What if it burns a hole in it?  She informs me that it probably won't, but if it does, just ring it and then someone will be in to turn it off after my time is up.  I lay there, focusing on the electricity flowing into my ass.  Maybe I had her leave it too high, I tried to relax and not think about it. 

Anyway, I survived the treatment, the machine bell goes off and the hairy  guy shows up to take my sticky pads off my ass.  Just my luck.  You can't send a David Beckam look a-like in there, no, you send this hairy guy, who decides to tell me, as he is digging around in my pants, that he needs a manicure.  Awkward.

So, let's recap.  On Wednesday, the chiropractor adjusted me in places I never thought needed adjusting, like really close to my girl parts (It was like we were a pretzel M&M, I was the chocolate and he was the pretzel. It was intense, my one leg was wrapped around him, he had me in a half-nelson and body slammed me), now today, I get assigned Kegel exercises, my ass shocked and some hairy guy digging around in my pants.

I can only conclude one thing from all this - I'm exuding some sort of sexuality and doctors can't resist. I thought they might be repulsed by fat chicks, but it turns out, I've brought sexy back.

That was the first high-point to my day. The second one was when Ambular brought her daughter Cayden in to give me a Valentine's Day present.  Cayden brought me a cute pink My Little Pony.  It was at this point that the big boss comes up to see what I am doing and to ask how it went at the therapist. He is on his way out for the night.   He couldn't find me solving some sort of global problem or working on a mathematical equation that would double our year-end profit.  No, I'm playing with a My Little Pony.  He looked at me, kind of in disbelief and I said, "Look, it came with a comb and you can brush it's mane and tail." And then I sang the My Little Pony song to him.  This didn't help my case.  I told him, "Well, you could get one and then join the Bronies."  He asked what a Brony was.  I informed him it was a group of men that enjoyed My Little Ponies.  He didn't believe me.  He looked it up on his phone, sure enough, there it was.  He looked at me like I was off my wagon. I said, "What? It isn't like I'm a member, I just heard about it..."  I then told him about my trip to the therapist.  Again, he just looked at me like he couldn't believe he trusted me with his passwords.  He thanked me for over-sharing about my butt and the Bronies.  I bid him a happy weekend.  And just like that, my work week was complete.

It's happened, I've become "them"

I was sitting at my desk today, trying to come out of my muscle relaxer fog, kind of feeling sorry for myself and I started to think back on how I felt when I started at the glass palace 14 years ago.  I remembered being approx 60 pounds lighter and I remembered watching the geriatric invalids walking into the building everyday.  I remember thinking, oh my word, I hope this place doesn't do this to everyone.  There was one lady that hobbled in with oxygen.  She wore a mask at her desk between calls.  There was another lady that wore one of those masks you get at the doctor when you are sick and they don't want you spreading the crud you have around.  If you even wore lotion or perfume, she went ballistic on your ass.  There was another lady that  had this walker/chair combo thing and she  could only walk so many steps at a time and she had to stop and rest.  All of these ladies were large ladies.  It would seem CCA, Call Center Ass, was running rampant in this building.  I should have ran when I had the chance.

We had several folks that required ambulance assistance on a regular basis due to various health ailments.  In my younger days at the palace, I would always say to myself, shoot me if that ever happens to me.  And here I am, the fat girl, hobbling around because of a pinched sciatic nerve.  I guess there has been discussion from my pal Valerie about going to the grocery store and stealing one of those scooter shopping cart things.

I tried to put these things out of my mind as I opened an email advising me that we are going to do ANOTHER hiring open house.  I let out an audible whimper. We just finished an open house, I don't want to do another one.  I started thinking it might be nice if my desk was better equipped to handle these types of emergencies.  What I need is some sort of oxygen mask to drop from the ceiling like it does in an airplane when everything goes to shit and you are going to crash.  I looked up.  I think it wouldn't be too hard to install.  I asked Valerie to come over and I told her to hug me and I told her everything would be okay.  She seemed scared.  She asked what was the matter.  I assured her it would be ok, but that she needed to read the email.  She read it.  Her face fell, she too, whimpered.  We were in this together.

While I will have to see if my request gets approved for the breathing apparatus at my desk, there was something I was able to do to ensure some sort of comfort in these tough times.  It was vendor day at work and I was able to score a cool stuffed pony that came with a blanket and a sticker book.  One of our visiting managers was scoping out my new pony.  I told him that I was going to pet it and rock with it when times were tough.  I think he thought I was joking.  I'm not.  And, I am super excited about those stickers.  I don't exactly know what I will do with them, but I'll think of something.

My shakra needs to be re-aligned

Miserable day with my leg today.  I considered amputation, however, Valerie informs me that isn't going to end well, and quite frankly, I think she was telling me she isn't going to help me take care of personal needs while I am in my wheel chair.  It's really hard to find a good friend these days.

My boss was a pretty good help today, though.  He provided me with this back massager thing and told me I could use it to help loosen up my back.  His only condition was that I didn't make any overly pleasurable faces.  I'm pretty sure I've never reached nirvana with a back massager, but I guess there is a first time for everything.  The closest I've come to an "O" face at work was when I found out the managers had to do their own expense reports.

My other boss showed me some exercises on how I might help my sciatic problem. I tried it and almost got stuck in the position.  I think I'd better leave that to the professionals.  Friday I have a physical therapy appointment, so hopefully they can help me out.  My boss also asked this other guy if he could carry me around since I was in such pain.  I looked at him and said, "oh, I think that is above the call of duty."  The poor fellow. I know he wants to move up in the company, I should have called his bluff and seen just how bad.  I should have said, "I'll spot you a $20 if you can get my fat ass off the ground."

The good news is, when I gimped out to my truck tonight, I found the answer to all my problems on my windshield.  Julia the psychic left me her card.  She already knew I was troubled, worried and confused.  She also wants to check my shakra's.  The card has a picture of the shakra's and the "root shakra" is right at the crotch area and it's a red circle.  So, right away, I know this Julia chick is for real cuz she knows I'm a woman and that is where I have my period.  She says she has 40 years of experience and she can connect me with lost loved ones and she can re-align my shakra's.  I didn't even know I needed my shakra's re-aligned, so this gal, she already proved herself in my book.  I just need to give her a call.  She says she can help me with all my life problems.  She is just who I have been waiting for.  I'm totally going to call her.  And, great news, she takes Visa or Mastercard.  Julia says sometimes you just need someone to talk to.  I know it's just a card under my windshield wiper, but I think this is the start of a beautiful relationship.

I'm totally going to call her right after I pass out from the muscle relaxers I just took.  Who knows, I might be able to reconnect with loved ones on my own in this stupor.  Well, I can't type anymore, so here's to getting in touch with my third eye shakra and seeing my way out of this mess.

Legs...they are important...

Tonight I'd like to talk about a real problem I'm having.  My sciatic nerve is allegedly pinched or is under pressure or something catastrophic.  It's been bugging me on and off for a while, but over the last couple of weeks it has taken a turn for the worse.  The chiropractor has adjusted me, the doctor has medicated me and I am going to go do physical therapy, I guess.  All I know is, it is getting progressively worse.  It's starting to concern me.

Today, I was limping around like I am a geriatric nightmare.  I started to think, what if this really takes a turn for the worse?  Every day it feels like this leg is seizing up more and more.  What if pretty soon I can't even limp on it?  What if I am dragging it around like a dead body?  Then I get a hunch back from stressing my back and right hand side.  Pretty soon, the pressure of the pain makes one eye twitch and one eye bulge.  I can't get dressed anymore by myself.  I sure as hell can't bend my leg to put pants or socks on, so I wear a mumu, no underwear and crocs on my feet.  I won't be able to comb my hair anymore because my shoulders will be worn out from dragging myself around.  I'll have to order one of those Hover-Rounds or Little Rascals that they have infomercials for.  The 80+ age group sure likes them.  Then I will just get super fat, because I have given up all hope.  I'll be stinky and pretty soon no one will come visit.  The Para-Transit people will stop coming to get me, so I'll have to go out on indefinite FMLA on account of being a stinky invalid.  Then, I'll get some more wiener dogs and probably some cats for companionship.  I don't know if Will will stick around or not.  As sexy as I look with a google-eye, scary hair, back boobs, side boobs and front boobs, and bed sores from the Little Rascal, I imagine at some point Will is going to have to draw the line.

Once Will leaves me, that's when CNA Barbie will show up.  That's right, a Certified Nursing Assistant will come take care of me.  The only reason she is a CNA is because cheerleading and having sex with the captain of the football team didn't pan out like she wanted, so now she has to get a real job and she figured she might as well help people, I mean, that totally sounds noble.  Plus, she didn't want to have to do a bunch of schooling.  She's wearing her cute nursing shoes, her kitty cat scrubs and her hair is in a messy bun.  She is totally committed to serving me...as long as that means she gets to do her nails, talk on the phone and throw marshmallows at my mouth when I open it to speak.  I sure better not crap my pants, because, after all, she doesn't do diapers. So, now, I'm sitting there in feces watching CNA Barbie look for the perfect guy on Plenty of Fish and shop for high heel shoes.  It's at this point I wish I had taken all of my muscle relaxers and jumped off the skybridge at work on February 6, 2012.

I'm not saying any of this is going to happen, I'm just saying, if it does, that is going to suck.  Oh, and I am totally going to throw up on CNA Barbie, if I ever see her.

As I was at work having these thoughts, I noticed you can see the cemetery from the inner skybridge in the building.  I had never really noticed before that you can see two grave stones on the hill.  It was as if they were beckoning me. I've always said I'm not going to die in that building, but the signs are starting to indicate otherwise.  I guess I should try and focus on the positive side of things.  I'm positively happy it is almost time for two more muscle relaxers and bed time.

Back at it tomorrow...one step at a time...leaving one footprint and one drag mark as I go....

This is for you, Chocolate Block Barbie

Today was a typical Friday. Chaos. It's too much to give a blow by blow, but I'll hit a couple of the high-lights.

First off, I decided not to take muscle relaxers at work today. While that was a wild ride yesterday, I learned my lesson.  I would have thought the doctor might have covered the dosing instructions a little better.  I can see the allure of the muscle relaxers for sure though.  Not giving a crap about anything is definitely the way to go. 

Speaking of not giving a crap, my hair looked as  though I didn't.  It looked like I had a bad mullett. I did get one compliment on it, but I think that person might have needed an eye exam.  You know your hair is bad when you say to your friend, "I thought this looked good this morning, I was wrong, don't let me do that again..."  Then your friend looks at your hair and just nods.  That is all the confirmation I needed.

Aside from all this superficial stuff, I did actually have work to do today.  I had to call approx 40 people to set them up for interviews.  That's right, I activated the perky voice and proceeded to make magic happen. It freaks my co-workers out when I am this perky, but the outsiders seem to enjoy it.  I make it sound like where I work is freakin Disneyland.  I make myself sick.  I'm going to have to be mean to people for a day or so just to balance the scales.  It's super fun to pretend not to be annoyed when you leave a message for someone and they call you back and this is how it goes down: "Thank you for calling 'The Glass Palace,' this is Cassondra."  "Yeah, somebody just called me about some job."  "Ok, well, who am I speaking to?" He responds with his name, as if he is irritated he is having to deal with me.  I set him up for an interview because I am Cinder-freakin'-rella and I work at the palace and that is my job to make dreams come true. I'd also like to send a message to parents everywhere.  Quit trying to name your kids some super unique name.  Do not combine a normal cooking spice with a disease or ailment and think it is cool.  I'm not going to reveal the specific name I'm talking about, since that would be a violation of company policy, however, I will give you an example of what I am talking about.  Put the spice of Ginger together with a condition called Psoriasis.  Ginger Psoriasis.  Isn't that beautiful?  How about Nutmeg Pustule?  Seriously people.

In other news, while I am talking to applicants like I am Polly Anna hopped up on a Rockstar energy drink, apparently one of the nearby people came over and offered Valerie some chocolate.  They apparently were thinking about offering me one, but didn't want me to go off on them in one of my blogs.  Well, epic fail, my friend.  I was chocolate blocked and for that, you will be featured in tonight's blog. Chocolate Block Barbie decided not to offer me a yummy milk chocolate See's candy bar.  It might have been delightful, but now, I'll never know.  I mean, just to have been asked, that would have been something.  I would have felt loved and appreciated, but now, I'm just...hungry for chocolate.  Well, Chocolate Block Barbie, here's to you!

And so the day goes.  I finally finished calling all of those people, I'm exhausted.  Too much positive energy in too short of a time.  When I have days like these, it's fun to decompress with the girls.  Often, when us girls talk, whether we mean to or not, we end up talking about someone's period.  It just happens.  As it did tonight, one of the managers came up.  He's been featured in my blog before, it's CrossFit Crazy.  He asks us what we are talking about.  Valerie informs him we're talking about Rachel's period.  He says, "oh my God, that is what they are talking about over there! I can't get away from it!"  With that he walked away.  So I yelled after him, "maybe it is your red sweatshirt, it's making us think about periods!"  He said, "That's what they just said!"  I think I speak for a lot of women when I say, mission accomplished.  Every man that can be made squeamish by bodily functions of a woman, it's a victory.  They get to fart, burp, whatever and women just roll their eyes and they think it is hilarious.  Well, here's to you flatulent friends!

Anyway, one thing leads to another and we start talking about badge pictures.  I guess one person sent her badge picture in and she got it back advising her that her forehead was too big.  I was speechless.  Seriously? Well, what in the hell is she supposed to do?  Does she have to have her picture taken from 20 feet away? Will she have to get a poster sized badge?  I was outraged.  It made me want to challenge the security department.  Like, I wanted to see if I could create a badge picture with so many double chins, something so hideous that they would be like, "crap, what do we do with this?"  Go ahead, tell ME I have too many chins. I double-dog dare you!  Working in the badge department would be the funnest job ever.  I could mock people all day.  It's almost my calling.  I could send the pictures back, "Your eyes are bulgey."   "Nice try, but can you uncross your eyes?"  "Too many zits."  "Side part is ridiculous."  "My God, find a comb, use it and resubmit."  "No one is this ugly, please send alternate form of identification."  Or, the flip side, "In order to verify your identity, I will need a shirtless photo showing all of your abdominal muscles."

Oh well, I'll keep my job, it's pretty glamorous too. 

I'm not perky, and I don't play a perky person on TV

I finally got some good sleep last night.  So good, in fact, that I overslept.  For some reason I didn't set my alarm last night.  I was having a weird dream about how I couldn't get to work and then I finally woke up.  I laid there and thought, something doesn't seem right.  I rolled over and looked at the clock.  It said 6:49AM.  Holy crap!  This is a problem!  Normally I get up between 5:30AM -6:00AM.  I needed to be at work early today because of day two of the open house and now that was virtually impossible. 

I went out and fed the ponies, who looked at me like I was a total criminal for not being there sooner.  I told them if they wanted to see criminals they should come to the open house.  I threw myself together and off to work I go.  I hear on the radio that traffic is totally screwed, this is just not my day.  I'm going to need a hot chocolate.

I arrived at work 30 minutes late.  I had already missed the rush of hopeful applicants.  Damn.  I worked the screening table and was able to successfully deter a guy that was dressed for a job interview at Harley Davidson or the Hells Angels, not sure which.  After considering all I had to say about our great opportunity, he left.  Then, I signed in the smelly guy that had worked for a ton of call centers.  Okay, if you have worked for a ton of call centers, that doesn't make you a desirable candidate...just so you know.  Yeah, cuz we are dying to dump a bunch of money and effort into training your smelly ass, only for you to quit on a whim.  And, P.S., if I can smell you across the table, it's time for a shower, or at least stop in the rain for a few minutes without your coat on. 

And just like that, the open house is over.  We clean up the carnage of the open house and one of the HR gals, that has been working on a recruiting video decides she needs to video my boss coming out of his office and then he will say something very intellectual, yet fun, about our company.  But before he comes out, aforementioned HR gal wants a shot of me standing at my desk smiling and waving.  STOP.  First, I am over-due to have my high-lights redone in my hair.  I have a little grow-out going on.  Second, I hear the camera adds 10 pounds.  This is a weight gain I cannot withstand.  And finally, I am not the face of our company.  I am the face of fat girls fighting for calorie free ice cream, a comfortable chair at the movies and jeans that fit.  I am the face of bitterness, sarcasm and angst.  I am the face of "if you don't get the hell away from me, I will cut you."  This can't be happening to me.  So, I stand there, roots hanging out, with a fake pursed lip smile, waving like an idiot.  I wanted to do the Miss America wave (Never about the crown ladies, NEVER above the crown - elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist) , but they wanted something more "casual."  I only have one wave, and that is the princess wave.  Nonetheless, I acquiesced and performed like the trained seal I am.  I can't wait to see the final edit on this.  The biggest challenge was watching my boss in action as he walked out of his office in his new red sweater all Rico Suave-like talking about what a great place this is to work.  I'll be honest, I had to turn around and bite my lip to keep from laughing.  I gave some suggestions about what he could say, but I don't think they wanted my spin. Anyway, my boss is a good sport, he rocked that video. LOL.



The rest of the day can only be described as the hours I spent trying not to eat all the left over cookies from the open house.  I won't talk about my success rate.  Stupid open house cookies. 


Anyway, I am home now and am super excited because my doctor prescribed a muscle relaxer cocktail for my siatic nerve that is totally pissed off on my left side.  If I play my cards right, I'll be drewling and slumping in my chair tomorrow singing "Red Solo Cup."