This Will Never Get Old

My day in a series of letters.

Dear Crazy Office Lesbian,

I have no problem with your lesbianism. Actually, I wholeheartedly support it. If only for the awesome drama. I'm sure there aren't many people who have had this scene screamed across the middle of the office:

Lesbian: "Why's that guy bringing you flowers?"
Hesitant Lesbian: "None of your business."
L: "I sent you flowers, why is this guy sending you flowers at the office? That's inappropriate!"
HL: "Don't you tell me what's fuckin' appropriate. It's none of your g-damn business who sends me flowers."
L: "Don't say that word!!"
HL: "What word?"
L: "You know, the f-word."
HL: "You have a fuckin' problem with me saying the fuckin' f-word? WELL THEN I WON'T SAY THE FUCKIN' F-WORD IN FRONT OF YOU YOU FUCKIN' BITCH!!!"

And it continued. And it was hilarious. And neither of you were fired. So your lesbianism, and in fact, even your interoffice lesbianism, is a non-issue.

What is an issue is you being a jerk. I walked in 5 minutes late today. I was on 2nd call. Which means that there is a person ahead of me who is actually responsible for things, and it is my job to back her up. So when I walk in 5 minutes late and you get in my face and say "FINALLY!" It makes me want to punch you. Because:
1. You have no idea how to do my job.
2. It's actually 1st call's job, and
3. I hate you.
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Dear Co-worker Who Had Nothing Better to Do But Share With Me Intimate Details of Others Bathroom Habits,

Sweet baby Jesus I wish you hadn't spoken to me this morning. Honestly. I now know that I can't drink coffee in the office anymore because the chick that makes it is averse to hand hygiene. I also found out about a lady at work that doesn't flush toilet paper. Seriously. She doesn't want to clog up the septic tank. (HUH??!? Country Mouse! It's on a sewer line!) So she instead takes used toilet paper, wraps it in more toilet paper, and throws it in the bathroom trashcan. If I was housekeeping, I would kick her ass.

But here's the real question. How/why do you know this stuff?? Do you just sit in the bathroom and take notes?? Really. I could have gone my entire life without knowing any of this, and I'm pretty sure that my life would have been richer and fuller as a result. Instead, I threw up in my mouth at 9 AM. And that's no way to start the day.
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Dear Chick Who's Supposed to Answer the Phones and Talk to Nurses,

What is wrong with you? Seriously. Do you have some sort of immunosuppressant disease? There's no way that you have functioning white blood cells with the number of sick days you take. At least two a week. And you don't have kids. Hell, you don't even have real knees! Where else do you need to be?!? Do you have any idea how much my day sucks when you're not there?!? Apparently nurses don't blog, because they're certainly not using writing as an outlet for their pent-up rage! They'd rather give me their 'tude. And I had to sit there and take it. All day long.

And yes, I know I should have had plenty of help. Sure, hypothetically the first call person would be bearing the brunt of the assault. But do you have any idea who I was on first call with??!? I'm pretty sure you can guess.
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Dear First-Call Person,

As Homer Simpson would say, you are the suckingest suck that ever sucked. I have been on call with you 3 days this week, and each has sucked more than the last. You get to work at least 15 minutes late every day. When you arrive, rather than walking straight into the main center and helping me answer phones, you prefer to go straight to the kitchen, pour a cup of coffee (haha, I know something you don't know), then go sit in your office for a while. I believe today you didn't come in to help with the phones til about 11 AM. Sure, I'd like to be sitting in my office, doing nothing, chatting with my friends, playing pictionary online, but you see, I'm on call. And because of that, I feel responsible for doing my frikkin' job. And so I sit. All bloody day. Waiting for you to come in and do YOUR job. Because you suck.

Also, everytime you try to talk to me as if I were your friend, I contemplate hanging myself with the phone cord. Just thought you should know.
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Dear Boss,

I like you a lot. I think you're a great boss. You're a lot of fun, you're very supportive of everyone on your staff, and you're a goofball. You've asked me to feel your pecs every day for the past two weeks, and you're an overweight Malaysian dude. I think it's a scream. Really. And I completely support your decision to let everyone leave work early today. Everyone was in a crappy mood even though it was a Friday. Clearly, we needed a morale boost.

That being said, I needed a morale boost. And letting everyone but myself and the 1st call person that I hate leave 3 hours early, is not good for my morale. So now not only was I answering all the calls for the chick that called in sick for the 80th time this month, I was answering all the calls that came into the place, period. For 3 hours.

Honestly, I still support your decision, because I think it was really nice. But I was jealous. And sad. And I spent a lot of the afternoon looking at the phone cord. Just thought you should know.
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Dear New Management of My Apartment Complex,

I'm happy that you purchased this place. After three people were shot here last month, my confidence in the management's ability to control this place had started to wane. And I think things are going to change for the better. You've already sent out a memo to everyone regarding the schoolchildren that stand in the street in the mornings taunting natural selection. And I commend that. Mainly because I think scraping a kid off the hood of my truck would increase my insurance premiums. And you guys have promised good things, lots of changes, new facilities, I can totally get behind it. But let me tell you guys something. As much as you can't fix stupid, you can't fix geography.

This complex is located on the border of a bad part of town (Irondale) and the most affluent and snooty part of town (Mountain Brook.) And the complex is actually located in Irondale. Or, as some call it, the ghetto. The former name of the complex was "Sharpsburg Manor." Which was already pretty fancy-pants for what it is. Namely, apartments that were probably build in the 70's or 80's. Certainly not the stuff of "manors" but whatever. So today when I pulled in, I noticed our new name. "The Enclave at Mountain Brook." Huh?!? WTF? The Enclave? Honestly, I've heard the word a million times, but I dont really know what it means. And when I think of the context in which I've heard it used, I'm pretty sure it was always where cults lived, or terrorists were hiding, or vampires slept. I've certainly never lived in one.

And another thing. You can say Mountain Brook all you want, but unless you're wearing ruby slippers, you're not going to get there just by saying it. This is not Mountain Brook. Accept your fate. Police patrol the complex since the shooting. Guess what it says on their cars? Irondale, baby. Actually it says "Irondale, baby. Oooh, yeah." But the point is, it's not Mountain Brook cops down here keeping us safe from our fellow residents. So how about a little pride in your community? Sure, the criminals are from Irondale. But so are the police officers.
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So now I'm home. And after writing this long, pointless post, I feel better. So I'm going to take a bubble bath and think about a massage (since that's as close to affording one as I'll ever get) and then lie on the couch and wait for my pager to go off. Laters!

Reading

About halfway through the evening, a little group of us got the tired feet and went to lean our butts against a table by the back wall of the Garten. Like birds in a row were perched Bob Bullock, the state comptroller; me; Charlie Miles, a black man who was then head of Bullock's personnel department (and the reason Bullock had such a good record on minority hiring); and Ms. Ann Richards.

Bullock, having been in Texas politics for thirty some-odd years, consequently knew every living sorry, no-account sumbitch who ever held office. A dreadful old racist judge from East Texas came up to him, "Bob, my boy, how are yew?" The two of them commenced to clap one another on the back and have a big greetin'.

"Judge," said Bullock. "I want you to meet my friends. This is Molly Ivins with the Texas Observer." The judge peered up at me and said, "How yew, little lady?"

"This is Charles Miles, who heads my personnel department." Charlie stuck out his hand and the judge got an expression on his face as though he had just stepped into a fresh cowpie. It took him a long minute before he reached out, barely touched Charlie's hand and said, "How you, boy?"

Then he turned with great relief to pretty, blue-eyed Ann Richards and said, "And who is this lovely lady?"Ann beamed and said, "I am Mrs. Miles."

I love it :)

Brilliant!

I went out to my favorite pub on Friday night. Ordered a Guinness, and then sat out on the patio with C and a couple of her friends. One of her friends was a nice guy who bought our drinks the rest of the night. Very nice of him. Of course, in all the free-drinkery I forgot that I had started a tab. And accordingly forgot to close the tab upon departure. When I got home I realized what I'd done and called my friend who's a bartender/bouncer at the pub. Left him a voicemail to please find my card and watch over it and prevent the mandatory gratuity from being added for the overnight stay. (Although 20% of $4.50 really isn't that big of a deal.) I went to pick up the card on Saturday evening, but arrived too early and the bar had yet to open. I was too lazy to venture out again that night, so I just trusted my friend had gotten the card and decided to get it Monday. (You can't buy alcohol on Sundays...welcome to the Bible Belt, people.)

So, today after work I stop at the pub. And my friend asks what he can get me. "Um, my credit card?" "Oh, is that why you called the other night?" "Yeah, didn't you get my message?" "Nope." Oh great. So, he goes through all the credit cards. Doesn't see mine. Goes through all the receipts. Doesn't see mine. Uh oh. So, I went home and checked for bandit-spending on my credit card...so far so good. I'm pretty sure that the bar has the card and just overlooked it in the search. I'm going to hold out til tomorrow and see if the charge pops up for the beer...confirming that they are, in fact, in possession of my card. But as it stands, my credit card is lost.

Leave your credit card at the pub after just one beer?! BRILLIANT!!*

*Man I am such an idiot sometimes.

Reading

Jeff has a gorilla suit on (it was a fancy event, he had to wear a suit.) We have some mini bottles of liquor with us. We've stolen a cup or two. We need ice. The obvious solution: we'll go to a bodega and someone will bring a bag of ice to the counter under the guile of making a purchase. Jeff will then enter the bodega in the gorilla costume, ask for bananas, then take the ice off the counter and run. The person purchasing the ice will then act confused. “What just happened?” “A gorilla stole your ice.” We leave, confused, and fill up our glasses around the corner.

From the archives of "The Daily Dump." I'm so sad Dan's not writing anymore...that kid is hilarious.

I Hate Bobby Flay

Some of you already know this, but for those of you that don't...a tirade. I watch a fair amount of Food Network programming. My father used to watch it non-stop when I lived at home and I hated it. I thought as soon as I moved out I would never watch the Food Network again as long as I lived. Turns out, I actually really enjoy a few of their programs. I am an avid fan of Iron Chef...both the Japanese and American incarnations (I think I prefer the Japanese version...although the American version does have Alton Brown...so it's a tough call), any of Alton Brown's shows, and Mario Batali's show (although I have no idea when that comes on...if it's even still on the air.) I watch the shows and have delusions of grandeur about my ability to cook. Then I go and microwave a soy corndog. I have some sort of disconnect with reality. But whatever.

So I like Food Network. For the most part. But I think the very worst thing about the Food Network, is Bobby Flay. I hate him. I hate to look at him, I hate to hear his voice, I hate to think about eating his food. Why such an intense hatred? Well, there are a few reasons:

1. He's a dick. He has this new show "Throwdown" where he goes and challenges people at making their specialty dishes. Some guy has awesome chowder, he goes over and challenges him to some sort of chowder showdown. He makes his chowder, other guy makes his chowder, then some fancy-pants judge/food critic is brought in to judge. The only redeeming quality of this show is that Bobby Flay sometimes loses. Man is that sweet. :) The entire premise of the show is obnoxious. It's basically "Anything you can do, I can do better." Which I'm pretty sure is the jerk's motto. Win or lose, he's not gracious to the competition. There's no hearty congratulations. Rather there are excuses, there are promises of rematches, there's Bobby Flay being Bobby Flay. He's a jackass.

2. He's a dick. One of my first exposures to Bobby Flay was when he went on Iron Chef before it was adapted to American audiences. He challenged the Japanese chef Morimoto...I can't remember what the ingredient was. Over the course of the show, Flay was cocky and arrogant. Always making comments to the camera about how he was going to win, blah blah blah. When the time was up, Flay jumped onto the countertop...stood on top of his cutting board...did the "raise the roof" hand motion and started chanting "USA!! USA!! USA!!" Really. Was this the best we had to offer from the American culinary profession? Morimoto was completely scandalized by Flay's behavior. He was highly offended by the act of standing on a cutting board and said as much. Rather than sincerely apologizing for his cultural faux pas, Flay brushed it off. Said Morimoto was overreacting and left it at that. Then Flay lost the battle. (hahahaha.) And all of a sudden his "equipment was inferior to that of the challenger, and he was electrocuted in the kitchen (which did happen and was hilarious), and the judges were biased." Sore loser. They ended up giving him a rematch..this time with American judges. When the time was up, he took the cutting board off the counter and threw it on the floor (because that's so much more respectful) and then jumped up doing his "USA!" crap again. Really guys, this dude is a piece of work.

3. I wouldn't eat anything he cooks. Honestly, I could be Bobby Flay. "Well, I got this lobster, and I put some mango on it. So now it's amazing and southwestern." I can sum up Bobby Flay's cooking in one word. Unimaginative. Or mango. You pick. Seriously, you won't find a Flay show that doesn't feature at least one mango. On the last episode of Iron Chef, I'm fairly certain he commandeered his menu from Applebee's. And Applebee's isn't that good.

Anyway...so I hate Bobby Flay. But I love "Law and Order: SVU." Unfortunately, I cannot love one of its former stars anymore.* I've completely lost all respect for Alex. No wonder she had to change identities. I wouldn't want anyone to know I was with Bobby Flay either.


*Yes, I know this is insanely old news, but it was new to me. And sparked this entire post. My father, knowing my hatred of the Flay, called me at work to tell me he'd just found this out. I think his exact words were "Well Samantha, looks like it's too late for you and Bobby." Thanks Dad. :-p

Instant Replay

I ran into one of my friends yesterday. He works at a job very similar to mine...24-hour call, driving around the state, stuff like that. Apparently the other night he had a car accident. He was driving through a pretty rural area at about 90 MPH. In the middle of the night. At that speed in the dark, he didn't really see the construction barrels ahead of him. He swerved to avoid them and his car ended up rolling three times into a field. He was fine, got out of the car, and used his cell phone to call the police.

About 30 minutes later, he sees lights approaching. Quickly. The cop was speeding, swerved to miss the barrels, and his car rolled once over into the field. Right next to my friend's car. The cop is fine, my friend helps him out of the car, and the cop looks up at him.

"Guess I don't have to ask ya what happened."

They called the police and waited for the next victim. :-p

The Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head

Today has been so frikkin' long. It's cold and pouring down rain outside. The only people left in the office are my bosses and I. And I'm eating what I brought for breakfast, for lunch. And it was not a filling breakfast people. Also, I'm still hacking my lungs out and am getting pretty sick of it. Honestly that Mucinex commercial is a bunch of malarkey.

So, earlier I decided to go shopping with B and BigB. Well, it turns out that it was just B and I. A little background on B...I think I've mentioned him on this blog before as the "office casanova." He frequently dates (read: sleeps with) coworkers, nurses, service-industry representatives, and basically anything that moves. I guess he's good looking, but he's short and stocky and I don't see the appeal. Plus the whole man-whore thing. But whatever. So, since everyone knows about him, everyone is constantly teasing me about when I'm going to date him. (Read: never.) Simply because I'm the only one who hasn't. (Again, my place of employment is the poster-business for sexual harassment lawsuits.) So, if I spend any time with him, rumors start. My boss already doesn't put us on call together because she hates him and doesn't want us near each other (she really likes me.)

So, he and I were going shopping. Our boss decided that he was going to be nice and as kind of an office Christmas gift is going to buy us all jackets. Nice ones. With a fleece liner and outer waterproof shell and a hood. (I doubt it ends up happening because these jackets are ridiculously expensive, but it was nice of him.) So, he asked B to price them out. B asked me if I wanted to go with. When faced with my options 1. shop for jackets for a while or 2. sit in the office for a while, I think the choice was basically made for me. So, B and I leave...drive to a few different places pricing out these really expensive jackets. No one knows I've gone with him...we just kind of left. So, we're going to yet another store, and he says that he needs to stop by his house to email someone some pictures. "Do you mind if we stop by my house real quick?" So, I say sure and we stop at his house. We are getting out of the car, he grabs his keys, locks the van, and I shut my door. Right as he's saying "Don't shu..." Turns out he's grabbed his housekeys, but not the key to the company van. Good job.

So, we are at his house. With the keys locked in the van. And the only spare key in my boss's office. Oh yeah. This looks good. So, we call BigB and ask him to discreetly bring us the keys. He shows up about 30 minutes later. Turns out there was no discrete about it. Our boss who keeps the keys in his office (and who wouldn't have cared) was gone. And BigB had to get the lower boss (that hates B) to open the office and give us the keys. And she'd seen us leave together. Also, B has a really big mouth. So I'm sure the rumors will start flying soon. This stupid office. Oh well...I guess it'll be something to keep me entertained.

Role Models

When the new director took over at my office, things changed. All of a sudden we had a dress code....we can only wear scrubs on the days that we're on call. Otherwise, ties and slacks and whatever chicks wear in the business environment. (Really, that's what my boss said. My job is rife with opportunity for sue-happy chicks.) And our office hours changed from 9AM to 8AM. Which sucked. And we were expected to come to work everyday unless we've worked the night before. Also, they took away casual Fridays which really made me sad. Because I love wearing blue jeans. So, there were a lot of changes, everyone thought he meant business, we all changed rather quickly.

And then the months wore on. And people...well, certain people...started to test their boundaries. Two of the guys I work with, B and BigB, are notorious for testing the rules. And they are two of my favorite people to work with. Because they're a lot of fun, and they're hilarious, but they're still very good at their jobs. But everyone kind of looks at them warily, and my boss always uses them as the example of what not to do. And I don't think he likes it when I hang out with them...because my boss thinks I'm great. So far. :)

So, last night I went to pub trivia. And I drank a little bit in an attempt to get rid of the cough that's been plaguing me for days. A remnant of the cold from hell that I can't wait to get rid of. In the end it was a temporary fix, but oh well. So, it made it a little hard to get out of bed this morning. The alarm went off, I ignored it and rolled over for a little while longer. When I finally dragged myself out of bed, showered, and tried to figure out what to wear, the effort proved to be too much for me. I decided to just wear scrubs. Even though I'm not on call. Because such was my drowsiness. So, I finally went to work. I walked into the office...30 minutes late...and who's sitting in the glass room right next to the door staring right at me? My boss, B and BigB. And they're all wearing scrubs.

So, I go and put my stuff in my office and come back into the room with them. And my boss walks out without saying anything. As soon as he leaves, B, Big B and I have a conversation.

B: "Thanks for getting us in trouble!"
Me: "What?!"
B: "[The Boss] just told us that we're a bad influence on you."
Me: "Why?"
BigB: "Because you just came in late, we always come in late, and we're all wearing scrubs."
Me: "Aren't you guys on call?"
B: "Nope."

Apparently my boss is on call today. And we're all cold hard busted. But oh well...I'm about to duck out and go shopping with B and BigB. I say if you're already in trouble, make it worth your while. Laters! :)

Just Fallin' Apart

I have been sick all week. I have some kind of terrible mutant cold that is migrating through my body and driving me crazy. I'm hoping to wake up tomorrow and be miraculously cured, but judging from the outcomes every morning this week, I'm not going to hold my breath. So, I am kind of a little bit miserable. But, on the upside, I worked a grand total of one day this week. Muahahaha. I do like that. On the downside, I'm on call over the weekend and I bet I'm going to have some unhappy surgeons if they get stuck sitting in a tiny flying tin can with me hacking my lungs out. We shall see.

Unfortunately, I'm not the only thing falling apart. Everything in my apartment has decided to go on the fritz this week. The other day I cooked and peeled a bunch of vegetables, put their skins in the disposal, whoops! Disposal's broken! Super-sorry! Appliance number 1, down for the count. And let me tell you something, rotting vegetable skins? It's bad news for your olfactory senses. Really bad news. Stupid garbage disposal.

Then, the bathroom sinks decided to act up. My apartment has two sinks outside the bathroom. It's great...I brush my teeth in the sink furthest from the bathroom and wash my hands at the sink closest to the bathroom. It's convenient and when people come to visit, they can have their own sink. That is, of course, unless the obscene amount of sediment and God knows what other kinds of particles don't completely clog up the sink and prevent the flow of any appreciable amount of water. Stupid thing is putting out one tiny thread of water with enough pressure to take a pinkie off. Takes like 10 minutes to wash your hands. And when you're done you're thankful to have retained any digits. Seriously, you could do laser-quality engraving with that thing.

Then there's the shower. The shower has actually been messed up since I moved in. I didn't really notice the problem until little bits of the ceiling started landing in my hair. Because apparently the showerhead is not so well screwed on and therefore is spewing a spout of water up into the ceiling. Eventually it saturates the paint (?) on the ceiling causing it to flake and fall off in little bits. I called the apartment people months ago about this problem and about a closet door that wouldn't slide open. They came while I was at work, fixed the door, and didn't touch the showerhead. So, I decided to just McGyver it. I wrapped a washcloth around the showerhead and tada! Problem solved.

Then tonight, turned on the dishwasher as I've been doing for the past few months. Went, got the mail, watched some television, and decided it was time to make some supper. Walked into the kitchen, and put my foot straight into a nice large puddle. And by large, I mean kitchen-spanning. My entire kitchen floor is covered in a nice thin layer of yellow-ish water. The yellow cast probably due to the mud, particles, sediment, and toxic waste that's dissolved in my tap water. So, I'm just waiting for my fridge to start heating my food and my stove to catch on fire and I'll be seated comfortably in apartment hell.

So, yesterday I called maintenance about all the problems (except for the dishwasher which just happened a few minutes ago, spawning this poisonous post.) A guy shows up at my door around 5 PM. With nothing. No tools, no cool Batman utility belt, dude's not even wearing paint-covered clothes or workboots. In fact, in his polo shirt and khakis, he looks more like I'm keeping him from his golf game. So, I answer the door, "Can I help you?" "Um, yes ma'am. I'm with maintenance." "Oh! Come on in." So, he first fixes the disposal by turning it on and off and then STICKING HIS HAND IN THE THING. I don't know what he did, but he fixed it without the use of tools. Go him. Then it was on to the bathroom sinks. He went to get a set of pliars from his truck (um, you could've brought your little toolbox up the first time buddy...would've saved you some time.) He unscrewed the bottom of the faucet head, pulled out the aerator thing, and scraped it with his fingernails. Way to be professional. Then replaced it. It still doesn't run 100%, but it's better. Then he got a phone call on his cell, so I left him alone and went to watch television. A little while later (after, I assume, he's fixed the other sink and the shower) he comes out, says goodbye, the end. So, the next morning, I get in the shower, and it's still shooting up to the ceiling. So, I decide that I can just as easily fix it as the stupid maintenance guy can since obviously all you need to do any job is a set of pliars. I have a set of pliars, so I get them out and tighten up the showerhead. Screw it on tightly. Or what I assume to be more tightly. Get back in the shower. Turn it on, and it goes EVERYWHERE. It's not just hitting the ceiling, it's now headed in every direction but straight ahead. It was hilarious.

So, now my showerhead has a washcloth safely wrapped around it once again. And my kitchen floor is flooded. And I'm praying that nothing else breaks. Because I don't want to have to hate this apartment. But I'm close. I'm really getting close. Stupid maintenance.

Reason #473 that I love my friends

R and S went to visit my friends K and G at their lakehouse this weekend. They hung out, went boating, I'm sure there was some drinking, whatever. Then it was time for R and S to leave. K asked them if they'd like to see some of the new lakehouses...they said yes...so they drove around in the mud looking at lakehouses. Then they left to head back to Birmingham.

After they'd been on the road for a half an hour, a car kept pulling up beside them on the highway. R finally notices and looks over at the car's passengers. He notices the woman in the passenger seat is waving her arms and motioning to them. "S, I think she wants to tell you something." So, S rolls down his window. They're driving down the highway with the windows down, and the woman in the car driving beside them can't stop laughing. When she finally gets control of herself, she tells them in a thick Southern accent, "Ya'll know ya'll got underwear hangin' off the back of your car, right?"

So they pulled off at the next gas station. And found this.
Well, kind of. After driving through the mud, picture these, but dirty.

How did I get this picture? K took pictures of the car before they left, and sent them to me in an email with the message:

Bet theese girls were the LAUGH of 280 all the way back to Birmingham!

R is planning retaliation. I can't wait for this to escalate. It's going to be great :)

I am in love with this mother-f-ing snake!

Man I love Stephen Colbert :)