The end of Angry Pony?

Two things have made me consider ending my blog today.  I was sitting there killing time after work today, so I pulled up my blog to see how many hits I've had lately.  It's always fun to see what countries have run across it.  Of course, I never know if they just ran across it accidentally or if I have actually seduced some foreign folks with my charming angry pony demeanor.  I mean, really, it is hard to resist, I'm sure.  Anyway, as I am looking at my stats, I can look and see what key words people are using to either find my blog, or what they searched that lead them to my blog. I saw the normal combinations, "angry pony,"  "Cassondra angry pony," etc.  I saw two phrases, however, that kind of disturbed me.  One was "his potty time undies."  Ok, stop right there.  I have never written about potty time undies...however, I guess I have talked about the bathroom at work a lot and that nasty person that left panties in there. I mean, the people at work could use some potty training, maybe that is where those key search words kicked in.  The second one I saw that was disturbing was "Cassondra White spanking."  Whoa. I haven't spanked anyone.  That just sounds dirty.  Maybe they meant my good dog Spanky, but I don't want to be naive.  I think there could be some wild Cassondra's out there.  To my followers, rest assured, you will never see me featuring a picture of myself in a black leather outfit with a riding crop spanking Will.  It just isn't going to happen.  On this, you have my word.

It all makes me wonder about having this blog.  Maybe it's out of hand.  Maybe crazy people are reading it.  I mean, crazy people kind of are "my people," but still.  And then things happen at work and I want to blog about them so bad, but I know I can't.  Maybe I should throw the towel in and avoid temptation.  Maybe this is the end.  And then...something magical happens and I think, I can't stop.  For example, I was minding my own business tonight while I was checking my blog stats  and one of the people at work said something to me that I can never un-hear.  I was teasing him about being a man and making some comment about how something couldn't be helped because he was a boy and he says to me, "Hey!  I'm not even a whole man, I'm half woman, I have boobs!"  I can't leave that alone.  I can't not share that.  I can't not make up a million different names for him.  For example, these are the first ones that came to mind, Moobs (you know, Man + Boobs = Moobs), Mooby Dick, and then a whole variety of names that rhymed with his real name.  It has never been so easy to give someone a blog name.  I laughed at his joke and then I just stared at him in disbelief.  I couldn't believe he left himself that wide open.  But, again, now I'm worried I won't be able to contain myself.  I'm going to have to bite my lip at work to not make boob jokes.  I can just see it now, at a staff meeting I will say, "So Mooby Dick, what do you think?"  or "Oh yeah, why don't you go over there and cry in your spilled milk...you know, the milk from your man boobs...." or if we are in the elevator, just as the doors start to close, I can jerk him backwards and say, "be careful, you'll get your boobs caught in the door!"  I can't keep this kind of thing in.  I can't be trusted.  This is where the blog allows an outlet to get it out of my system.   Or, does it just make the problem worse?

I don't know the answers, but Mooby Dick, here's to you...and you're man boobs.  And now I've mentioned the words, "boob," "panties"  "spanking" and "dick" in my blog.  What kind of crazies will find my blog tonight?!  Some days, it's a crap shoot.  Great, now I just said "crap shoot."  I have to stop.

Pony Minions - I haz them

Work life has been fairly stressful the last couple of days. It never ceases to amaze me how decisions are made and how I am supposed to put a smile on my face about it, not question it, not respond and go on as if I enjoy having a smelly load of crap dumped on my desk.  I mean, even when big trucks deliver a load of crap, they make that "beep, beep, beep" noise as they back-up.  Can't I even get a "beep, beep, beep" first?  And then as I sit there at my desk, diligently working, someone says to me, "smile, it's not the end of the world."  To which I respond, "ok, when I don't get stuff done, I'll just say, "it's not the end of the world."  To which that person said, "yeah, it won't be the end of the world when you get fired either."  And people wonder why I'm crabby at work.  First of all, if you see me sitting at my computer, which is the keeper of all the work and requests and stupidity and I'm smiling, stop and call the paramedics right away.  If I am actually smiling at my PC, check for a Jib Jab, if you don't see one, run, hide, save yourself.

I was so angry all day today, I couldn't let it go.  Blame it on PMS or the unheard plea's for justice, I don't care.  I told at least one person to drop dead, I told a group of people to "get over it if they didn't like it" and then let's not talk about my fantasies involving on woman in a car driving off the Grand Canyon. So, let's pretend I just did a serious blog about how I can't believe the crap that goes on at the glass palace.  Let's say it was witty, it was insightful, it was a regular tell-all and that I outed everyone for being stupid, being an asshole or simply breathing.  Let's say I just did that and that I got it all off my chest.  Let's say I just did that and that I didn't get fired as  result.  Best Blog Ever.  Sadly, I seriously doubt certain people would enjoy this riveting tell-all play-by-play of my day.  And, I do need to keep my job.

Instead of that tactic, I have come up with a plan to save my sanity.  I was sitting at my desk today and I could hear my bosses' words from the day before playing back in my head, "we'll figure this out (and when he says "we" he does mean me)."  It was then I looked around my desk and realized, I had the solution.  I have all the resources I need.  Meet my Pony Minions.

Pony Minions - I haz them

 That's right, the yellow one with the pink mane, aka Cotton Candy, will take care of all pizza orders. The orange one with the yellow mane, aka Sunshine, is in charge of administering typing tests and scheduling interviews.  The hot pink one with the light pink mane, aka Bubble Gum, will do all sales incentive tracking for contests and gift cards.  The purple one, aka Sugar Plum, will take care of answering questions I've answered 300 times before and responding to stupid emails.  The pink one, aka Princess of Pain, will handle new hire orientation and badge requests.

More Minions

Here we have additional staffing to handle the morning meeting, answering the phones, and expense reports.  Their names are Dumpling, Nugget and Giveashit. 

Please take note of the picture frame with the sun in the middle.  This was a present from the best intern ever.  I'll call her, Pocketful of Sunshine.  I hope I can get her back this summer so that my ponies can take a break.  They are going to look like they were rode hard and put away wet daily.

Anyway, there is a bunch of other stuff that needs to be done, so I guess I'll do that.  It's clear to me I am going to need more minions.  As soon as I can get them all system access and teach them how to type, I should be in pretty good shape.  So, if you walk past my desk and see me talking to what appears to be no one, rest assured I'm just consulting with my minions.  No cause for alarm, what-so-ever.

I did get my new work uniform today.  It arrived in the mail and I could not be happier.

That's right, I'm changing my title to Pooper Scooper.  I can't think of anything more perfect for what I do each day.  I'll just wander around the office chanting "Unicorn Poop...I'm coming to pick up your Unicorn Poop...."

Rise of the Admin

Yesterday was a pretty crappy day.  So crappy, I could not blog.  If I had blogged, I would have been fired for sure.  At one point, I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror and realized my face was bright red all the way down to my chest.  I guess I was super pissed.  A couple people had come to my desk cautiously and asked me if I was ok and I guess now I knew why.  Suffice it to say, a bottom-feeder was trying to out rank me and boss me around.  I don't know who she thinks she is, but I call her Clone Barbie and she is not going to mess with me.  As a result, today was to be rise of the admin.  Today things were going back into balance.

Anyway, that is all I can and will say about Clone Barbie.  It's for the best.  I would like to talk about some other random stuff that happened yesterday and today.  First of all, to those of you that follow me on Facebook, you know about the bathroom incident yesterday.  I went to go into one of the bathroom stalls and found a pair of panties hanging off the toilet. What the hell happened in there?  What possessed this person to abandon her undergarments?  Someone suggested hanky panky was going on, but I have to believe, for my own sake, that no one would ever have sex in that bathroom.  A dog in heat would even say, "no way, not in here!"  Even the rats do it in the basement.  Anyway, I don't know why they were abandoned, but maybe it was the same person that crapped on the floor the day before.  In any case, I just want to say to the people of the glass palace, if you want to go commando, please either put your undies in your purse or throw them away.

I can never say enough about the bathroom, but it really does draw a crowd.  Today someone was sitting on the floor right outside the bathroom door next to a garbage can eating lunch.  Now, I don't want to judge, but we do have a cafeteria and a couple of break rooms.  I guess I just don't get the appeal.  I just like to pee in there, never thought about eating lunch anywhere near it.

The exciting news of the day is that I had another candidate come in to take the typing test today.  I just can't get enough of the typing tests.  I take this person into the small conference room for the test.  There is a table with one computer and a chair.  Someone had moved the chair so it was kind of off to the side of the table in the corner.  I told the candidate to go ahead and have a seat.  The person looks at me and says, "over there?" I didn't respond at first because I wanted to say, "where else are you going to sit, genius?"  But I didn't.  I was my usual cordial self.  The first practice test was done, the score was zero.  I looked a second time.  How does anyone get zero?  I told this person they were going to have to step up their game.  Somehow they managed to eek out a passing score.  And then, as if I hadn't been tested enough already, this person wanted to shake my hand.  Eww.  Germs from the outer sanctum.  I rushed to my anti-bacterial.

Upon arriving back to my desk, my good pal Val was there with Fun Size Barbie.  As it turns out, she was reliving a difficult part of her past.  I mean, at one point, at her fattest, she weighed 106 pounds.  She says she doesn't talk about it anymore as it is too painful.  Thank goodness she has come back down to a more realistic 103 pounds.  I just looked at her.  What do you say to that?  I didn't want to be unsympathetic, so I said in the sincerest tone I could muster, "That must have been horrible for you."  And then, I was crude, but this tortured skinny girl thing was old.  I said, "I can probably crap and lose three pounds."  I'm not proud of my locker room talk, but I couldn't take it anymore.  I just stared at her little body.  How horrifying for her to be 3 pounds over weight.  What a heifer.

I was so disgusted with the day.  I knew what I needed was some inspiration.  One of my co-workers informed me there was an employee roaming the building in a unicorn poop T-shirt.  I knew at that moment what I needed was  my own unicorn poop T-shirt.  And so, I selected one with care on-line and ordered it.  If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.  I'm still going to pee and poo in the toilet like a big girl though, and I refuse to abandon my panties in a public restroom.  I can only take crazy so far.  I do have standards.

Surrounded by Donut Deliciousness

I've been trying to behave with my nutrition.  I think I've been pretty good.  I've set boundaries, I've said no to potlucks, I've declined sweet snacks.  Today my boss brings in a big box of donuts and sets them on my desk.  Are you serious?  Apparently he is.  Valerie was standing there and I said, "Valerie, please take these over to that file cabinet over there."  I gave the boss the stink-eye and reprimanded him, "hey, I'm trying to be good!"

I watched eager faces come and open the box and then get that look on their face that said, "hmmm, which one do I want?  Maple bar?  Chocolate covered? Apple Fritter?  Sprinkles?  Jelly Filled?"  OMG!  I was dying.  I could smell them.  I could almost taste the sugar.  I really wanted a donut.  I don't know why today the craving was so strong. 

It wasn't long before I resented each person that took one a little more.  I resented their metabolism, I resented their skinny waistlines.  I resented their care-free attitude about lard, sugar and doughy deliciousness.  Bastards.  I saw File Bitch over there peeking in the box.  FB is super trim.  I did the only thing I could do, I attacked him for being thin. He defended himself by saying he had eaten healthy all day and that he hadn't had one.  He was clearly missing the point.  The point is, he can have one and his ass will not pop out of his jeans, his muffin will not hang over the muffin cup.  He will recover from one incident of donut deliciousness.  Then Smarty Pants comes over and informs me that he earns the right to have a donut because he plays basketball a couple times a week and that works it off.  Smarty Pants is also super trim.  And, playing basketball with a bunch of guys that routinely kick his ass, jam his thumb, beat him up and generally "own him" cannot be considered a donut workout.  What about me?  I work stuff off.  It just isn't the same, I don't have teen-age boy hips.  Nothing I could possibly do could erase a donut emergency. 

However, I resisted all day.  I never had one. That doesn't mean that every time I walked by the box I didn't think about my donut "O" face and what it would be like to smell one, lick the chocolate off my fingers and bite into the doughy heaven that comes from a bread-like dream. 

As I was preparing to go home, I walked past where the donuts had been all day one last time.  Heavy sigh. I could still smell their presence.  I headed to the bathroom to get rid of part of the 72 oz of water that was floating around in my body.  The bathroom sobered me right up.  That's right, someone had crapped on the floor in the third stall. More disturbing, someone had stepped in it.  How does that happen?  What circumstance lead to that?  All I could think was, maybe it was the donuts?  Someone was hovering while dropping a deuce and crapped themselves because they ate all that lard and sugar...and bread-like deliciousness.  I guess, in the end, no pun intended, I'm better off.  At this point, I'm not sure if I am better off for not eating a donut, or because I learned how to use the potty when I was a toddler.

Here's hoping tomorrow I won't be surrounded by devil food...and become less crass in my story-telling.  The donuts just have me all riled up.

Dear Thursday, I'm Bad Ass!

I woke up thinking this was Friday.  Nope, it's Thursday.  A cruel reality.  I decided the best way to handle this was to listen to AC/DC Back in Black on the way to work.  By the time I got to work, I was BAD-ASS.  That's right, Thursday can't touch me, I will kick it's ass! 

Upon arriving at my desk and signing in, the usual suspects poked the bear.  Whatever, I'm Back in Black, baby, I'll Cock it and Pull it.  And then the maintenance boys showed up to restructure the walls by my desk. To say they made a hot mess and a lot of noise is an understatement.  This went on all day.

Yesterday the group right next to me had a potluck. I was strong, I didn't stray from my new resolve to behave. Today the group on the other side of me had a potluck.  What is wrong with these people.  All day I am staring at a damn chocolate cake with these big smiling flowers on it.  The frosting must have been two inches deep.  I wanted to shove my hand down in that cake, grab one of those damn smiley flowers and then smear it on someone and then yell, "Smile about that, Bitch!"  I had a few people I could think of that would be perfect victims, but I remained focused.  Hells Bells, this is going to be a long day. 

And so the day went.  It seemed everyone wanted something and the construction going on in my area had me on edge.  I had one project that was particularly frustrating.  I marched over to one of the other departments where there are new people that don't know me.  The person I was looking for had gone home for the day.  It was only 2pm, where in the hell did this hooligan go?  I kind of railed about it.  Ok, skip the "kind of" part.  This other guy that is new to the department looked at me and said, with kind of wide eyes, "I don't ever want to make you mad."  I raised my brows at him and said, "No, you do not."  And with that, I returned to my area.  I'd like to say at this point, if there is going to be construction going on, I at least want eye-candy to look at.  No such luck.  One of the guys said, "Oh geez, I'm starting to sweat."  Well, Space Cowboy, why don't you try cutting off half of your long-ass scraggly hair and buying some deoderant.  It's worked for millions of people nationwide.

About now, another round of Shamrock shakes showed up from McDonald's.  They bought three extra.  I had one in my hand.  I smelled it...I really wanted a drag out of that straw, but I didn't.  It was supposed to be for my boss, but then someone else said they needed it, so I gave it away.  My boss didn't need that shake either.  He doesn't even realize I am not just an admin, I'm his nutritionist.  I realize a few weeks ago I was bringing him corn dogs, but today...today, if I couldn't have a shake, neither was he.

Next thing I know, the phone rings.  It looks like another person is here for a typing test.  I'm kind of getting sick of them, but I paste on that scary, perky admin smile like I am vying for Miss Admin USA and head off  to go get the candidate.  I notice on the way down to get them that  the room  I need for the typing test is occupied by one of our employees that has a young child and needs to pump her breast milk, let's call her Boobalicious.  I knock and ask her how long it is going to be.  She says five minutes.  I guess I can stall for five minutes.  I've got stuff to do, doesn't anyone know I have stuff to do? 

I finally finish running around taking care of the typing test.  I now need to place a large order of equipment for the company.  I'm using a requisition process I have never used before.  It's a little confusing, but I'm a big girl and I'm going to figure it out.  I click on the link that says "Support" thinking it will give me some tips.  It gives me a drop down menu and one of the options is a manual on how to use this system.  Jackpot.  Look how self-reliant I am!  I open the manual and it is a one page document with one sentence across the top.  It is identifying itself as a help manual.  I closed it, tried it again.  Nope, still nothing.  I tried the other option on the menu which was providing me a contact list for "support."  I look at the email address and then put it into an email.  Turns out it is no longer a valid email.  I'm not going to lie, my disbelief and frustration lead to an outburst.  I took a screen shot and sent it to my boss and said, and I quote, "Seriously?"   It was getting late, I figure I'll deal with this tomorrow.

The great thing about tomorrow is that it actually will be Friday.  One of my bosses will be out of the office and he said, and I am quoting this exactly, "I don't care what you do."  I felt a warm glow in my heart, kind of like when you see the Grinch's heart grow for the first time in The Grinch that Stole Christmas.  It was a glorious feeling.  I"m not stupid enough to believe anyone will actually allow me to do "whatever I want"without a lot of interruptions, but I am sure going to give it the college try.  Maybe AC/DC can help me out again.

To those that need inspiration...here's the play list.  I heart this album.

Side one

1. "Hells Bells" – 5:10
2. "Shoot to Thrill" – 5:17
3. "What Do You Do for Money Honey" – 3:33
4. "Given the Dog a Bone"^[20] – 3:30
5. "Let Me Put My Love into You" – 4:16

Side two

1. "Back in Black" – 4:14
2. "You Shook Me All Night Long" – 3:30
3. "Have a Drink on Me" – 3:57
4. "Shake a Leg" – 4:06
5. "Rock and Roll Ain't Noise Pollution"

Disturbance in the force...

I have a new "team-mate" that has moved into my general area.  He sits by Valerie.  I like him.  He is a good sparring partner.  Maybe too good.  I can't decide on his blog name, but for today's purposes, his name is File Bitch.  Let's call him FB for short.  Now, I pretty much have Valerie trained to ignore my rantings, rages and lapses of intelligence.  The same cannot be said of FB.  He's whippy and apparently has some sort of sonic bat ear hearing.  The reason I call him FB is because he had the audacity to "critique" my filing system, or lack thereof.  He blatantly mocked me and inferred that I don't know how to run my business. Just because I temporarily lost something doesn't mean I don't know how to file, it just means that item has not been prepared for the process of being filed.  Or maybe that item doesn't need to be filed, it just needs to be a "free agent" ready for reference when I need it.  That is where the random piles come into play.  FB has called me a "File Invalid."  Them are fightin' words.  I know where everything is (most of the time), so I think what I have going on is fine.  When he becomes the high priestess admin, then and only then, can he judge. I think I am getting used to him though because today, I was having an issue, and vocalizing about it and just as he started to speak, I said, "Shut up, FB." Even across the wall I sensed a disturbance in the force.  My Jedi smart-ass sensing skills are keen.  I think this will work out just fine with FB and I.

In other news today, in Valerie and FB's area, which is close to mine, they had a big ol potluck.  Now, I'm trying to behave myself.  I'm foraging on salad and lean proteins and the little group of infidels is eating chips, dip, pie, cake, cupcakes, cookies and several other items to be referred to as "food of the devil" henceforth.  And apparently the cake they ordered was a reject, so they had to get a second one.  I guess when you look on a website of the local grocery store and see a beautiful shamrock shaped cake made of cupcakes, it is a bad idea to order one, because what you receive is a hideous cake that doesn't look like a shamrock.  One side of it kind of looked like a penis.  I don't know how you really get from shamrock to penis, but apparently these decorators are either just that bad, or just that talented.  In the stores defense, I don't know if I could have made a shamrock out of 21 cupcakes personally.  Anyway, there were cupcakes everywhere piled high with yummy smelling frosting.  I just kept reminding myself that the frosting was just a bunch of lard and that it would probably taste yucky anyway and that seemed to do the trick. 

The closest call I had today to heading down the path of fat girl sin was due to Slurpee Guy.  Slurpee Guy decided that today we needed to do a contest that allowed everyone to earn a shamrock shake from McDonalds when they met their goal.  I just looked at him and said, "I'm not doing that."  I'm not going to be anyone's shamrock bitch. Shamrock shakes are pretty tasty and ice cream, in my book, is it's own food group.  A food group that is certainly of the devil.  Since one of the supervisors had to go get the shakes, she was at my desk tallying the orders.  She was concerned she was going to miss someone as not everyone had placed their order.  She seemed in distress.  I said to her, let me show you how we do this.  I grabbed one of our 2-way radios, which all of the supervisors are to carry, and said in my best bitchy flight attendant voice, "Attention all supervisors, the Shamrock Shake ship is sailing in exactly 5 minutes, if you have an order, please answer this call or get to my desk immediately.  If you do not, you can get your own."  Instantly orders came in.  The supervisor looked at me and said, "wow."  I smiled and said, "and that is how you handle that.  You gotta know how to handle these people."  I know FB can't make make supervisors jump like I can.  hmpf.

One more thing I'd like to bitch about before I go is  typing tests.  If I could broadcast this from the highest mountain, or like, from Twitter, I would say, "Stop making excuses!!!  I know this is not your normal keyboard, I know you are nervous, I know you normally type faster.  And furthermore, I don't care if you have a headache, hang-over, hang-nail, a case of the shits or whatever your malady is.  I don't care!!!  Also, if you could shower instead of using cologne or perfume to mask your normal stench, I would greatly appreciate it!!!"  Tell your neighbors, tell your friends, hell, tell strangers.  These people wear me out.

Ok, now I'm done.  The End.

What the heck is going on around here?

There are a number of things that really make me wonder, "what the hell are people thinking?"  Not like today was more incredulous than any other day, but still.  Here are a few things that made me wonder today.

First of all, I work with people that are capable of using multiple phone systems, ordering systems, billing systems, etc.  Some of them are pretty smart, some, well, it takes a little longer for things to settle in.  Overall, we ask a lot of these people, so you would think, when you give them a task as easy as ordering a new badge, they would be able to handle this.  Wrong.  Even after I sent out instructions on how to do this, which, quite frankly, is going to a website and filling out a form, a form that has their personal information, there were still problems.  And don't get me started on the pictures.  No, it is not ok to use a picture of you at your wedding 15 years ago when you were wearing a tiara and looked young and happy.  You either provide a reasonable picture or march your miserable ass over to that wall and get a mug shot taken like everyone else.  And don't ask me to remove your extra chin or make you beautiful.  This is telecom, not Glamour Shots.  Oh and the coy look you have while you angle your face to the side, no, not going to fly.  If half your head is missing from the picture, it is also not appropriate.  These people exhaust me.  So much so, I had to give the job to my pal "Stiletto Barbie."  It's her problem now.

I walked into the bathroom today and you all know how I feel about our bathroom situation, but it never stops disappointing me with it's dire state of being.  Now, our bathrooms have a main door and then right after that there is another door, which is usually propped open with a door wedge thing.  Someone keeps stealing the door wedge thingy.  What the hell?  Why do people do this?  What is so alluring about that little stupid door wedge that would cause someone to get all stealthy and steal it when no one is looking?  Why?  Do they have a lot of problem doors in their home that they need to prop open?  Are they using them to start fires in the wood stove?  Is someone crafting some sort of bathroom masterpiece?  Maybe this is the same person that keeps breaking into the tampon dispenser.  I bet they have one hell of a masterpiece at home.  And another thing, if a bathroom is out of toilet paper, try putting more toilet paper in there instead of putting a sign that says, "out of toilet paper."  The amount of effort is the same.  Seriously, people.  And the one sink in there that doesn't work, maybe we could fix it instead of putting a napkin over the sink.  Are we treating this like a dead person at a crash site?  Are we covering it so no one has to see it?  Dead sinks are horrifying.

And as long as we are talking about things that mystify me, why in the hell did someone steal some lady's coat hanger at work?  She was quite distressed about it, she sent an email to the entire office.  Do you think the same lady that is stealing the door stopper, possibly the toilet paper too, is also stealing random items in the office?  I mean, this is big.  Clearly an epidemic is about to unfold.  I better not leave anything important to me out.  Crap, what if this vile human being steals my ponies at my desk, or, possibly my pink pen. Shit.  I'm going to need a safe.  I'll just have to get one and expense it.  Each night I will lock my ponies, my pink pen and an ample supply of toilet paper away safely.

And finally, something happened today that made me realize I need to ramp up my non-verbal communication for people that don't know me.  I was returning from an appointment, I hadn't eaten my lunch yet, which quite frankly was rabbit food, but nonetheless, I needed it badly.  And this guy, I'm calling him Sean Penn (Lizard Lick and Weird Toe Guy helped me name him), approaches me as I am walking to my desk. I am putting out all my signals that say, subliminally, "The Queen is not available to see you now." Sean Penn thinks this doesn't apply to him.  He continues on and follows me back to my desk.  I told him I was not prepared for him to be in my environment.  He was unaffected.  I was so hungry, I was ready to eat a human being, so I got my salad out and started to eat it. One of my bosses came up and saw me eating it and said that seeing me eat salad depressed him.  I don't know if it depressed him to see someone eat salad because he doesn't like salad or because it was sad to see a fat girl down on her luck eating something that she was pretending was a cheese burger.  Either way, I continued to eat it, but Sean Penn was undeterred.  When he finally did leave, I thought, "what could I have done differently?  I've clearly lost my touch." 

All of these events made me say, "what the hell is going on?"  I hope tomorrow brings more answers, less questions and that Stella gets her groove back.

Machine Maintenance is not my problem...

Stressful day today.  I felt like I was rode hard and put away wet. I really am exhausted, exhausted from trying to be nice to people when all I want to do is go home and go back to bed.  One of our visitors spotted me finishing up with one of the typing test people and sending him off in the elevator and being all perky and then as soon as the elevator doors closed, my face returned to the exhausted look.  Our visitor laughed and said, "Love it!  You totally turned it off as soon as the doors closed."  Story of my life.

Yesterday, before I left, I reported an issue with our copier.  Anyone that works with me knows that I have a long history with that piece of machinery.  To say we have an intimate relationship is not an exaggeration.  I know crevices paper can get stuck in that the machine doesn't even know it has.  Anyway, the Copy Guy always comes and fixes it.  I checked my voice mail this morning and it was the Copy Guy.  He went on and on about what the problem could be and what I needed to do to fix it.  My blood instantly boiled.  I'm not the freaking Copy Guy.  I'm not even the Copy Girl.  I'm an admin, and I will be dammed if I am going to get my fat, crippled ass down on the floor and perform some sort of inspection on tray number four when we have a Copy Guy for this type of thing.  I didn't even finish listening to the voice mail, I just deleted it.  Screw him, lazy Copy Guy.

Not long after the message was left, I had to go administer some typing tests.  I come back and my trusty pal, Valerie, says, "Oh, Copy Guy called while you were gone, he wanted you to blah, blah, blah, red button, blah, blah, blah, reset the machine."  I said, "why did you talk to him, that lazy bastard!"  She gave me the same kind of look that someone might give a grizzly bear as they offered it a peanut M&M when he was hungry for blood.  She said, "well, I did what he said, and I think it is fixed.  He said we didn't have to call him back if it worked."  I said, "Good, cuz, I'm not going to."  As if right on que, my phone rings.  Because the copier is a repeat offender, I know Copy Guys phone number by heart.  It's him.  I ignore his call.  I'm busy, I don't have time for him.  He leaves a message.  I ignore it.  He then continues to call me repeatedly.  Dirtbag.  Why doesn't he just drag his lazy ass out here and check out the machine?  I get paid to be an admin, he gets paid to be a copy guy.  Duh, do the math.  Copy guy apparently finally got curious enough because he showed up and serviced the machine and then came to talk to me about it.  I hate this part. I smiled and acted like I was happy to see him.  Freaking Oscar worthy performance, if I do say so myself. I bid him adieu and went about my day.
 

My day progressed and ran me ragged.  The front desk kept calling me informing me, "Someone's here for a typing test."  "Someone left their purse outside."  "Someone ordered pizza and it's here."  "Someone is here and needs you to fax his diploma and offer letter to HR."  Great, now I'm freaking Kinkos.  Whatever.  I go down there and grab the stuff, walk over to the 4th floor copier so I don't have to go back upstairs for the 400th time and who is there?  Copy Guy.  It as if the universe was mocking me.  I said, "so are you going to be a while?"  He said he would be a few minutes.  I limped my fat ass back up the stairs and used the 5th floor copier.  I hardly ever need to use the 4th floor copier and the one time I do, the ever-elusive Copy Guy is bent over it.  Dumb.

I finish my task and start to walk back to my desk.  I see this guy I've never seen before and he is standing there talking on his cell phone.  I was wondering who he was as I reached up to push my glasses up and my finger missed and went right up my nose.  Brilliant.  It's like I was freaking Rainman.  Never in my life have I accidentally put my finger up my nose and now I did it right in front of this random guy.  I need a drink. 

Now it's time for the staff meeting.  My boss is sick, possibly running a fever and crabby.  I felt it was my duty to advise him of his crabbiness.  Men are not good sick people, they just aren't. I actually documented in the meeting notes that he was crabby.  I mean, he wasn't as crabby as me, let's not get carried away, but for him, it was crabby.  Anyway, over two hours in that staff meeting.  All my ideas were shot down, so it was a defeat on my part.  I suggested moving my desk to the third floor, denied.  I suggested getting tall walls around my area, denied. I think, however, I might be close to getting my own celebrity star on the skybridge with my name on it.  I think I have some people backing me on that.  We should make that happen. 

After all the stress of the day, I did finally get back to my desk where someone had left me some tulips on my desk.  Awww...who would do  that?  Come to find out, my dear hubby, Will, had stopped by and left them for me.  Such a guy.  And even better, when I got home, he had even cooked dinner.  Home Sweet Home.

Spanky 's strange addictions

I think my good dog, Spanky, is gay.  And if he is, that is okay.  I mean, I love the little guy, so his orientation is irrelevant to me.  I know I am the one that took him to the vet to get his "buddies" cut off, so I guess some of the responsibility is mine.

Today, Spanky was kind of out of hand.  When we take him places in the truck, we usually have to make sure my lip gloss is secured in the glove box.  He always noses around in the front console to see what he can find, and what he is truly looking for is my sparkly, flavored lip gloss.  Today, my favorite Lip Smakers Cherry Blossum lip gloss fell victim to Spanky's desires.  It was my favorite.  At least Spanky had sparkly, kissable lips, and for once, decent breath.

Tonight, I am doing laundry, so I bring my clothes downstairs and separate them in piles in the bathroom.  I went back in the front room to watch a little TV while one load ran.  I came back in later and my clothes were all over the place.  I knew underwear would be missing.  I look in the kennel and there are my multi-colored polka dot undies.  He loves those and my rainbow ones.  They are his favorite.  He also had one of my brightly colored striped socks in there.  This really ticks me off.  I am tired of that dog stealing my underwear whenever an opportunity presents itself.  It's creepy, really.  He covets them, loves them, protects them. Ew.

Spanky also screams like a girl when it is time to go outside.  Like, he is so excited, he can't stand himself.  He dances and screams like he is a 12 year old girl at a Justin Beiber concert.  And speaking of singing, the dog really does love to sing.  He hits those high notes that can break glasses. 

The more I think about it, Spanky doesn't really mind being dressed in doggie clothes either.  I mean, he isn't super fond of the Doggles we got him, but he will wear them to pose for pictures and stuff.  Long term, he can't be bothered. He has a certain "pop sensibility" that teenage girls strive for.

And, finally, Spanky loves to sit on top of the other wiener dogs or on Will's lap.  The fact that he is drawn to that sort of environment is really the last proof I need.  I want to be supportive of my dog, no matter what, but I have to draw the line on my underwear.  I'll even get him his own lip gloss, but he needs to keep away from my rainbow underwear.  Does anyone know where I can get some cute doggie underwear?  Please advise if you do.