(The Good vs. The Bad)

4:15 a.m. - The driver backs up ever so slowly into my very long driveway. Mr. Hot comes into the bathroom where I have just stepped out of the shower.

“You won’t need to worry about Metro Cars being late. They’re already here.”
“What? An hour early?”

9:15 a.m. - Mr. Hot calls me.

“Remember when I told you the driver was backing up really slowly this morning? He broke off about a 15-foot piece of driveway - not just cracked it, broke it completely, fucking off. The asphalt is laying in the grass and you can see where his tires went right into the yard.”

I told him to take pictures so I can call the car company. Dumbshit drivers. Why they feel the need to back up a driveway they’ve never been to before is beyond me. In the dark. Thank you, Mike-the-asshat-driver who so kindly introduced himself and thanked me for the tip. You’ve probably just cost me $200 in driveway patching and repair. Bite me.

7:00 a.m. - Pilot comes on intercom:

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to O’Horror International Airport. Since we’ve arrived 10 minutes early, there is an airplane at our gate. We’ll taxi to the gate as soon as they leave.”

7:20 a.m. -

“Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated. We’re about 50 feet from the jetbridge due to some equipment that was left and needs to be moved.”

Excuse me, Mr. Airport-Wave-the-Stick-Thingie worker? Could you please move your shit? Pretty please with sugar on top? I’ve had 2 cups of coffee and I’m about to piss my pants, and since we got here so freakin’ early, the flight attendant wouldn’t let me use the bathroom, and now I’ve been sitting here for a whole hell of a lot longer than I expected. Someday, after you have had children or your prostate decides to start growing, you’ll know exactly what you’ve done. Bite me.

7 :45 a.m. - Calling home to check in.

“Hey sweetie. We just landed. How’s the weather there?”
“It’s supposed to rain. Hold on, let me see what it’s going to be like in Chicago today.”
“No, really, it’s okay. I’ll find out when I get down to the city.”
“No, really, it’s no problem, just let me, wait, damn it, why isn’t this thing working? Hold on.”
“But I need to get to the train.”
“It’s going to rain there.”
“Oh, okay, well, I’m heading downstairs I’ll talk to you later.”

7:55 a.m. - The Hotfessional gets to the bottom of the escalator for the Blue Line. She hears: “All Aboard. Doors closing.” And runs in her cute heels, dragging her suitcase and lugging her laptop towards the train which is a mere 10 feet away. Then it’s 12 feet away. Then it’s 15 feet away. Oh, and Mr. Train Conductor? Bite me.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Next time, remember. Do not call Mr. Hot before you get on the train. It will only screw with your timing and you’ll end up sitting next to the woman with the hacking cough and snot-filled handkerchief. The one she keeps waving around as she talks to her “friend” (and by “friend” I mean the imaginary being that apparently followed her onto the train).

Oh, did I mention? I’m in Chicago. For 1 day in the office, and 2 in an “Executive Leadership” conference in a hotel.

8:45 a.m. - At my desk, finally. I hang up my coat, stow my suitcase out of the way, get some money to buy a bagel and coffee. I try logging on before I head down to the cafeteria. No connection. No network at my desk. The desk with my name plate and my phone and all of my stuff.

“Hello, helpdesk? I’m having problems connecting to the network. Looks like my network jack has been disabled.”
“Okay, what’s your jack #? What floor are you on? North or South side? What color underwear are you wearing today?”
“N38-2876, the 20th floor, North side, and black lace.”
“Alright Hotfessional. Your ticket # is 973262 and the ETA for resolution is 2 - 3 business days.”

8:46 a.m. -

“Excuse me, did you say 2-3 business DAYS? To get me connected to the network? To be able to do my job? This isn’t a new setup. This is broken. If it’s going to be 2-3 days, I’ll be back home.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, but this vendor takes 24 hours to process a request.”
“Okay, whatever. Just put a Sev 1 on it, and get them here as quickly as possible.”

Y’all? WTF? Two to three business days to flip a friggin’ switch in a closet somewhere to re-enable something that obviously should not have been shut down? I’m thinking about calling it a day, heading over to my hotel and ordering a bottle of top-shelf vodka and some grapefruit juice. I’ll hook up my wireless, order room service, smoke, and blog. Because, y’all? It’s only 9:57. a.-fucking-m. Hey Network Vendor? Bite me.

—- However, someone did search for “replacement knees deKuyper” and ended up here. I don’t know about you, but anything made with deKuyper does make me wish for replacement knees. —-

(I promise I won’t subject you to this daily. Just my way of keeping track.)

Well, it’s 3:54 and I’ve only wanted to kill my family seventeen times once. I’ve discovered:

• Poopy the Puppy cannot figure out why Mom is home.
• The cats are shedding. And they like to sit on my desk. And did I mention they’re shedding? I feel like I’ve been lickin, um, a kitten. I’ll be harfing hairballs by the end of the week.
• It’s really great having an entire kitchen to explore for lunch instead of dealing with a cafeteria lady that fights with me over a fucking teaspoon of peanut butter.
• Mr. Hot talks to himself while he scrubs the bathroom. (Yes, he scrubs the bathroom. He is a gawd. I’m going to make him wear an apron after Spring Break is over and Shortman goes back to school.)
• It’s nice to not have the admin who can’t spell my name come in to talk about her daughter, but….oh, who am I kidding, there’s no but. It’s nice!
• Spending 2 hours trying to hook up a printer to your laptop that has no ink in it sucks. donkey. balls.
• The little girl cat can scale the shelves in the closet and go to sleep on the clean piles of sheets - which can scare the shit out of you when you don’t know she’s there but you see eyes glowing above your head.

—- And getting the office ready effectively killed my chances to write my New Commenters for the Month of March AND my March Hotlight posts. They’ll be out later this week. —-

Snow again last night,
The sun is shining today -
Hope comes with blue sky.

After work yesterday - having beer and burgers with my team for the last time. And yes, that’s me, for all of you who have wondered. I knew I had to mark my unveiling with a momentous occasion.

—- They’re a great group, and they’re my friends. —-

Gosh and Golly Gee. Wasn’t that mean? I’m not generally a violence-unto-others type of person (I may rant at stupidity, but I rarely never fantasize about bodily harm), but oh mah holy hell y’all. I had a knot the size of a softball between my shoulder blades when I walked out of here yesterday.  I may have also ground my teeth down to the gums.

I know! Stress much?

Nothing that vodka/limeade, soft food, and a nice shoulder rub from Mr. Hot couldn’t cure, though. (Well, that and the fact that I only have one.more.day. to deal with it. One.More.Day. Ohhhhhhhm.)

Which brings me to today’s subject. Major Bedhead tagged me for The Six-Words Meme. Y’all have seen this right? Originally started by Smith Magazine - the history being:

Legend has it that Hemingway was once challenged to write a story in only six words. His response? “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” Last year, SMITH Magazine re-ignited the recountre by asking our readers for their own six-word memoirs. They sent in short life stories in droves, from the bittersweet (“Cursed with cancer, blessed with friends”) and poignant (“I still make coffee for two”) to the inspirational (“Business school? Bah! Pop music? Hurrah”) and hilarious (“I like big butts, can’t lie”).

Here are the rules:

1) Write your own six word memoir;
2) Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like;
3) Link to the person that tagged you in your post, and to the original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere;
4) Tag at least five more blogs with links; and
5) Don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play

And my memoir?

Classic Type A attempting to B.

I’m going to tag:

Michael, Meghan, Jennifer @ The Cubicle’s Backporch, Sarah O and Ali.

—- And yes, tomorrow is my last day in this office. After that, I will be working from home with these on my feet and cats in my lap. One step closer to calm and serene. —-

moar funny pictures

I’m going to send this out to the following people:

• The employee that I’ve laid off twice. Both times he’s been instructed that terms of his severance package are completely confidential and should not be discussed with anyone. He then goes to several people to tell them exactly what his severance package entails and what the law says about notification to employees. Apparently he has no fuckin’ brain -or- he’s trying to piss me off. (I’m guessing piss me off)
• The project manager who takes up 20 minutes of my time at 5 p.m. on Friday to discuss several issues. When I hang up, after answering his questions, I believe that we’ve resolved all of the problems. No emails come in from him on Saturday, Sunday, Monday or Tuesday. This morning, I discover that he called my employee last night to ask him the same damn questions. Apparently, he has no fuckin’ brain -or- he’s trying to piss me off. (I’m guessing no fuckin’ brain.)

—- I want to scratch their eyes out. But the first guy? I want to rip his balls off and shove them down his throat as well. Because he’s even more stupid for trying to piss me off. —-