I'm not a pirate.
The word of my quitting is moved over to different departments. It would seem that everyone above me, as far as management, is sad to see me go, as well as most people in other departments. The only people that appear to either a)not care or b)be happy are the majority of the people I work with on a daily basis.
Interesting. It also is rather telling that these same people who appear to be pleased are soon to have their asses handed to them (more on that in another post, for this has not actually happened yet), as well as the fact that I look forward to not seeing them again for any real reason. Thanks. So no one need worry that my panties are in a bunch. Cause they're not--they (as well as the rest of me, wardrobe or no) is pleased as fucking punch to be out of there.
Gone are the long hours, the 17 hour days, the stay-until-2am-and-return-at-9am crap, the continual rudeness of the public as a whole, the guilt trips, the crap and flaming hoops one need leap through for time off, the general lack of appreciation or joy in my life......Thrilled, I am.
We have made plans to go to a large city south of here after I quit and visit my cousin, whom I adore. We have also purchased plane tickets to go see my mother, which promises to be several posts in and of itself. (the woman lives in an RV with two cats and a semi-functioning toilet. It promises to be a relaxing retreat, I'm sure. Oh, have I mentioned T's allergy to cats? And my mother's raging alcoholism? And insanity as a general whole? As well as her drug dealing, lesbian ex-con spawning, Valium dealing, ant infestation having Jesus freak of a neighbor who sweeps the snow in her pajamas, her ancient flaccid breasts flapping in the icy wind, a doily with the center cut out placed atop her head like a hat? Have I mentioned her?)
Yeah.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
Kiester
I was at work on Saturday until after 1am.
I returned to work six hours later. Less, actually.
I came home almost 9 hours after that, and fell asleep, much to the chagrin of T, who had just risen for the day. (Cut the man some slack--he finished work at 5am) So now I am awake. It's 2 am.
Two more girls at work have quit. There is talk of closing one of the restaurants.
Is it bad that I smile inside just thinking about it?
Hope you all had a Happy Easter.
I returned to work six hours later. Less, actually.
I came home almost 9 hours after that, and fell asleep, much to the chagrin of T, who had just risen for the day. (Cut the man some slack--he finished work at 5am) So now I am awake. It's 2 am.
Two more girls at work have quit. There is talk of closing one of the restaurants.
Is it bad that I smile inside just thinking about it?
Hope you all had a Happy Easter.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Itemized Lists!
Alright, its 3 am the day after the quitting, so, like, less than 12 hours have passed and already everyone I work with knows that I have quit. I told 2 people, other than my boss.
REASONS I QUIT MY JOB: (other than the ones you may already know from reading here)
1)We have no need for inter office memos--see above statement.
2)I work in a sociopathic junior high
3)Management at my job is a joke at best
4)My job has been humping me up the butt without the common courtesy of a reach around for 18 months
5)I hate people. No, really.
AFTERMATH 12 HOURS IN FROM QUITTING MY JOB:
1)Everyone has been really, painfully, fakely sweet. Offering apologies for slights they have done, as now they know that any and all of the things they thought and said are incorrect because I QUIT, and therefore have to be more pissed at the current situation than they, and even though they are not the brightest lot, my coworkers, they aren't so dumb as to miss normal, glaring common sense. Most of the time.
2)Others are planning on leaping ship after me.
3)My boss took it like a champ to my face, I'm sure is having a mental breakdown/talking shit by now.
4)I feel immensely better already--physically and emotionally. Part of me is sad, because sometimes work was fun and I really loved the obscene amount of money I made there.
5)I am slightly terrified of having no gainful employment/source of income, regardless of the state of my savings account. Also, I am walking away from my uber late gilded benefits package--they were going to give it to me less than 15 days after my final day of work.
6)I think I am going to go back to school. Just cause, you know.
7)This means I have to go see my mother. "Have to" and "Will so she will finally shut the hell up about it" and "I think she may be dying" are interchangeable. More on that late.
So.....yeah. Wish me luck. Or something.
REASONS I QUIT MY JOB: (other than the ones you may already know from reading here)
1)We have no need for inter office memos--see above statement.
2)I work in a sociopathic junior high
3)Management at my job is a joke at best
4)My job has been humping me up the butt without the common courtesy of a reach around for 18 months
5)I hate people. No, really.
AFTERMATH 12 HOURS IN FROM QUITTING MY JOB:
1)Everyone has been really, painfully, fakely sweet. Offering apologies for slights they have done, as now they know that any and all of the things they thought and said are incorrect because I QUIT, and therefore have to be more pissed at the current situation than they, and even though they are not the brightest lot, my coworkers, they aren't so dumb as to miss normal, glaring common sense. Most of the time.
2)Others are planning on leaping ship after me.
3)My boss took it like a champ to my face, I'm sure is having a mental breakdown/talking shit by now.
4)I feel immensely better already--physically and emotionally. Part of me is sad, because sometimes work was fun and I really loved the obscene amount of money I made there.
5)I am slightly terrified of having no gainful employment/source of income, regardless of the state of my savings account. Also, I am walking away from my uber late gilded benefits package--they were going to give it to me less than 15 days after my final day of work.
6)I think I am going to go back to school. Just cause, you know.
7)This means I have to go see my mother. "Have to" and "Will so she will finally shut the hell up about it" and "I think she may be dying" are interchangeable. More on that late.
So.....yeah. Wish me luck. Or something.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Death Rattle
I am graced with having inherited the worlds most abused air purifier.
See, my father was a smoker. The man smoked for at least 65 years, and loved every damn minute of it. Towards the end, I was encouraging him to smoke as it was one of the few pleasures he still had in life--as much as I discouraged him STRONGLY from smoking while he was still hooked up to oxygen. (Strangely enough, he was on oxygen NOT from a smoking related problem. He was a dialysis patient, and old, and was experiencing congestive heart problems, fluid on lungs causing diminished capacity and so on. And before you all berate me for encouraging a man with lung capacity problems to smoke, lets all remember that he was over 80 years old and things were looking rather....grim on several fronts. In my opinion, once you reach 80, if you want to have a damn cigarette and a stiff drink at the end of the day, no one should tell you no, least of all your 24 year old child. I think he had earned the right, raising 4 red haired daughters, having two red haired wives and fighting in two wars, and so on.) (And yes, dad smoked with the oxygen hooked up. We often had the "dad, if you want to go out in a literal blaze of glory, could you please do that somewhere other than here, and without your present company? Thanks." talk.)
Anyway, dad smoked. A lot. He didn't care where he was or who he was with--he would have smoked on an elevator filled with newborns if he could. He smoked in the house, in the car, everywhere he legally could. His girlfriend, well, she was a reformed smoker. You all know the type--they have quit, and therefore are now devoted to making your smokers life a living hell--all to extend your life another ten minutes in which to hate them. (I'm not sure if Bill Hicks or Dennis Leary said that first. Or David Sedaris. All smokers, btw.) Anyway, she made dad leap through hoops of discomfort to smoke--and in response, he purchased an air purifier in hopes of literally clearing the air in the house so that she could come visit and he could still merrily puff away.
This poor, poor machine.
I have cleaned the filter on this purifier weekly since I lived here. Anyone who wants to think about quitting should do this job. COVERED in a sticky, resinous, brackish film that stains and stinks. My lungs quiver with excitement just thinking about it.
Anyway, dad was content to never clean it. "Just so long as it gets the stink out!" he would announce as I stared at the exit screen, now stained brown. The first time I cleaned this filter it had not been done for god knows how long. I quit smoking for six months afterwards.
Anyway, when dad went on oxygen, I demanded that no one smoke in the house for any reason due to the risk of, oh, explosion. Dad listened long enough for me to stop talking. Everyone else went outside. I stopped using the air purifier as 1)I didn't think we would need it and 2)It began throwing off sparks.
That's right, sparks. It would crackle and bang and emit high pitched screeches, then a small shower of fireworks. Again, not conducive to an O2 rich environment, so I unplugged it and cut my losses.
Since dad has passed on, we still smoke outside. I have since washed the film of nicotine off most surfaces in the house, cleaned the carpets and drapes, and covered everything with a layer of Febreeze and laundry.
I thought last week, as I was becoming sick, of reviving the air purifier. With a good, thorough douching and a now better work environment, it could cut the allergens down in the house--making T's and my life much easier. That is, if I could revive it.
I douched. I scrubbed. I patiently vacuumed the lint and dust out of the intakes. I held hope in my heart for this hard working machine.
I plugged it in, turned it on....and it worked! Hooray! Pleased with myself, I left it on in the bedroom for a few days.
T and I both experienced dry sinuses and nosebleeds. I shut it off.
Today I decided to turn it on before bed--(notice that I am not sleep blogging.)and was rewarded with a new found problem with the air purifier.
Rhythmic screeching, banging, and a strange thumping. No sparks.
I took it apart, examined the fan, the filter, the intake and blower. Nothing.
I put it back together, and turned it on.
A howl, then nothing. I waited.
I got in bed. Small thump, a series of clicks, then a howl that was like something out of a horror movie. I got up, I turned it off.
THE HOWLING CONTINUED.
I was horrified. I imagined some small animal being trapped inexplicably in the tiny fan at the top, slowly being killed by allergen removal. I unplugged it.
Slowly, the howling ground to a stop.
Again, I took it apart. No animal. Nothing I could see.
Plugged it back in, turned it on. It coughed, sputtered, let out an asthmatic wheeze, and commenced with the howling.
I tore the cord out of the wall, flipped it upside down, opened it up and shook it. Nothing. I slapped the sides. Nothing.
I turned it on again. Howling. I punched it. I punched it again.
A glob of....Something flew out. Nicotine, tar, dust, allergens, the Hope Diamond and lost city of Atlantis, I speculate.
It is now merrily purifying away behind me.
This just goes to show several things:
Punching stuff that is broken works sometimes.
Smoking continually in front of your air purifier is a really bad idea.
Smoking makes things sticky and gross--Lungs, anyone?
A combination of nicotine, tar, dust, allergens, treasure and anthropological speculation does in fact float when hurled into a toilet.
This has been a long winded public service announcement by yours truly. We will now go back to bitching continually about inane bullshit. Thanks for tuning in.
See, my father was a smoker. The man smoked for at least 65 years, and loved every damn minute of it. Towards the end, I was encouraging him to smoke as it was one of the few pleasures he still had in life--as much as I discouraged him STRONGLY from smoking while he was still hooked up to oxygen. (Strangely enough, he was on oxygen NOT from a smoking related problem. He was a dialysis patient, and old, and was experiencing congestive heart problems, fluid on lungs causing diminished capacity and so on. And before you all berate me for encouraging a man with lung capacity problems to smoke, lets all remember that he was over 80 years old and things were looking rather....grim on several fronts. In my opinion, once you reach 80, if you want to have a damn cigarette and a stiff drink at the end of the day, no one should tell you no, least of all your 24 year old child. I think he had earned the right, raising 4 red haired daughters, having two red haired wives and fighting in two wars, and so on.) (And yes, dad smoked with the oxygen hooked up. We often had the "dad, if you want to go out in a literal blaze of glory, could you please do that somewhere other than here, and without your present company? Thanks." talk.)
Anyway, dad smoked. A lot. He didn't care where he was or who he was with--he would have smoked on an elevator filled with newborns if he could. He smoked in the house, in the car, everywhere he legally could. His girlfriend, well, she was a reformed smoker. You all know the type--they have quit, and therefore are now devoted to making your smokers life a living hell--all to extend your life another ten minutes in which to hate them. (I'm not sure if Bill Hicks or Dennis Leary said that first. Or David Sedaris. All smokers, btw.) Anyway, she made dad leap through hoops of discomfort to smoke--and in response, he purchased an air purifier in hopes of literally clearing the air in the house so that she could come visit and he could still merrily puff away.
This poor, poor machine.
I have cleaned the filter on this purifier weekly since I lived here. Anyone who wants to think about quitting should do this job. COVERED in a sticky, resinous, brackish film that stains and stinks. My lungs quiver with excitement just thinking about it.
Anyway, dad was content to never clean it. "Just so long as it gets the stink out!" he would announce as I stared at the exit screen, now stained brown. The first time I cleaned this filter it had not been done for god knows how long. I quit smoking for six months afterwards.
Anyway, when dad went on oxygen, I demanded that no one smoke in the house for any reason due to the risk of, oh, explosion. Dad listened long enough for me to stop talking. Everyone else went outside. I stopped using the air purifier as 1)I didn't think we would need it and 2)It began throwing off sparks.
That's right, sparks. It would crackle and bang and emit high pitched screeches, then a small shower of fireworks. Again, not conducive to an O2 rich environment, so I unplugged it and cut my losses.
Since dad has passed on, we still smoke outside. I have since washed the film of nicotine off most surfaces in the house, cleaned the carpets and drapes, and covered everything with a layer of Febreeze and laundry.
I thought last week, as I was becoming sick, of reviving the air purifier. With a good, thorough douching and a now better work environment, it could cut the allergens down in the house--making T's and my life much easier. That is, if I could revive it.
I douched. I scrubbed. I patiently vacuumed the lint and dust out of the intakes. I held hope in my heart for this hard working machine.
I plugged it in, turned it on....and it worked! Hooray! Pleased with myself, I left it on in the bedroom for a few days.
T and I both experienced dry sinuses and nosebleeds. I shut it off.
Today I decided to turn it on before bed--(notice that I am not sleep blogging.)and was rewarded with a new found problem with the air purifier.
Rhythmic screeching, banging, and a strange thumping. No sparks.
I took it apart, examined the fan, the filter, the intake and blower. Nothing.
I put it back together, and turned it on.
A howl, then nothing. I waited.
I got in bed. Small thump, a series of clicks, then a howl that was like something out of a horror movie. I got up, I turned it off.
THE HOWLING CONTINUED.
I was horrified. I imagined some small animal being trapped inexplicably in the tiny fan at the top, slowly being killed by allergen removal. I unplugged it.
Slowly, the howling ground to a stop.
Again, I took it apart. No animal. Nothing I could see.
Plugged it back in, turned it on. It coughed, sputtered, let out an asthmatic wheeze, and commenced with the howling.
I tore the cord out of the wall, flipped it upside down, opened it up and shook it. Nothing. I slapped the sides. Nothing.
I turned it on again. Howling. I punched it. I punched it again.
A glob of....Something flew out. Nicotine, tar, dust, allergens, the Hope Diamond and lost city of Atlantis, I speculate.
It is now merrily purifying away behind me.
This just goes to show several things:
Punching stuff that is broken works sometimes.
Smoking continually in front of your air purifier is a really bad idea.
Smoking makes things sticky and gross--Lungs, anyone?
A combination of nicotine, tar, dust, allergens, treasure and anthropological speculation does in fact float when hurled into a toilet.
This has been a long winded public service announcement by yours truly. We will now go back to bitching continually about inane bullshit. Thanks for tuning in.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Vacation Eulogy
Today is the last day of my vacation time.
Let us all give a moment of silence, please.
Anyway.
I have managed to give T the death cold just in time for HIS birthday, so we will both remember 2008 as the year we both celebrated birthdays with extreme whining and napping. I am making him chicken soup as an apology.
****************************
Am I so hideous that no one can comment without lying? Is that why you have all taken vows of silence? I mean, I know that you all have lots and lots of stuff going on--good and bad--and that I should stop being so self centered and all, but, hey. Mah.
****************************
I have to go to two meetings this week for work. Stab me. These meetings are so ridiculous.
****************************
That's about it for now. That and I saw a Volkswagen Eurovan today with a lift kit. I nearly wept for laughing.
Let us all give a moment of silence, please.
Anyway.
I have managed to give T the death cold just in time for HIS birthday, so we will both remember 2008 as the year we both celebrated birthdays with extreme whining and napping. I am making him chicken soup as an apology.
****************************
Am I so hideous that no one can comment without lying? Is that why you have all taken vows of silence? I mean, I know that you all have lots and lots of stuff going on--good and bad--and that I should stop being so self centered and all, but, hey. Mah.
****************************
I have to go to two meetings this week for work. Stab me. These meetings are so ridiculous.
****************************
That's about it for now. That and I saw a Volkswagen Eurovan today with a lift kit. I nearly wept for laughing.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Photo Heavy....Prepare yourselves.
Alright. So I am going to go out on a limb here and show you all what I look like. (Most of you know. A few of you haven't seen me in a few years. Feel free to judge. A lot of these are NOT flattering in any real way.)
So, on Saturday, C arrived. We picked her up at the airport, which was an adventure, as T finished his 12 work shift at 5 and we needed to depart for the airport shortly thereafter, and it is 2 hours each way.....Needless to say, he didn't get a lot of sleep before going back to work at 5am the next morning.
So after C arrived, we all noticed that we were wearing matching outfits. All three of us. Without planning it. C then accidentally took a video of us while trying to take a picture at baggage claim.....but got it right in the end.
Thats me, looking tall in the middle. And less than a quarter of T's face on the right. And the beautiful C, of course. And you can't tell we all are matchy matchy.
Anyway, we came back to my house and slept. I had a bit of a scratchy throat, and, thinking it was from scouring my house and inhaling cleaning products, didn't think much of it.
I was wrong. I was sick. Really, truly, horribly sick. I spent the next three days being a royal pain in everyone's ass, lamenting my illness and not budging from the couch. However, I did rally long enough for us to eat a local delicacy, much to T's delight. (Please ignore my laundry nook and general disarray of household.)
And yes, I am that pale. Ask F--there are photos from her wedding shower where I look more so.
Tuesday we hopped into the the car and drove. And drove. And drove. I slept, mostly. We arrived at the strangest lodge I have ever stayed in--and made lots of comments about how like a horror movie it was. We were miles from anywhere, the only guests in the lodge, no TV, no phone, nothing. The owners were seen twice in the entire trip. It was peaceful, relaxing, and warm. Oh, and the bedroom was very, very yellow.
And T likes coffee.
Anyway, I rallied again. On my birthday proper, we went here.
It was lovely. Windy, cold. I managed to forget my kleenex in the car. Not my finest hour, but gorgeous just the same. My kind of beach.
We then went back to the lodge, where I took an amazingly restorative and unintentional nap.
The next day, still sick, we went to the rainforest, where, amazingly, it rained. I wore about three hundred layers in attempt to keep my "on the mend" progress, as well as the "never lost in a crowd" rain jacket/windbreaker/sailing jacket that belonged to my 6'2" father....Sigh.
C and I.
We then were followed by a set of yearlings, who posed for photos with us. It was semi-amazing and scary how close they came to us--they would have come closer had we not backed away.
Anyway, I am feeling much better now, and will have more photos, and perhaps even some words that are worth reading soon.
So, on Saturday, C arrived. We picked her up at the airport, which was an adventure, as T finished his 12 work shift at 5 and we needed to depart for the airport shortly thereafter, and it is 2 hours each way.....Needless to say, he didn't get a lot of sleep before going back to work at 5am the next morning.
So after C arrived, we all noticed that we were wearing matching outfits. All three of us. Without planning it. C then accidentally took a video of us while trying to take a picture at baggage claim.....but got it right in the end.
Thats me, looking tall in the middle. And less than a quarter of T's face on the right. And the beautiful C, of course. And you can't tell we all are matchy matchy.
Anyway, we came back to my house and slept. I had a bit of a scratchy throat, and, thinking it was from scouring my house and inhaling cleaning products, didn't think much of it.
I was wrong. I was sick. Really, truly, horribly sick. I spent the next three days being a royal pain in everyone's ass, lamenting my illness and not budging from the couch. However, I did rally long enough for us to eat a local delicacy, much to T's delight. (Please ignore my laundry nook and general disarray of household.)
And yes, I am that pale. Ask F--there are photos from her wedding shower where I look more so.
Tuesday we hopped into the the car and drove. And drove. And drove. I slept, mostly. We arrived at the strangest lodge I have ever stayed in--and made lots of comments about how like a horror movie it was. We were miles from anywhere, the only guests in the lodge, no TV, no phone, nothing. The owners were seen twice in the entire trip. It was peaceful, relaxing, and warm. Oh, and the bedroom was very, very yellow.
And T likes coffee.
Anyway, I rallied again. On my birthday proper, we went here.
It was lovely. Windy, cold. I managed to forget my kleenex in the car. Not my finest hour, but gorgeous just the same. My kind of beach.
We then went back to the lodge, where I took an amazingly restorative and unintentional nap.
The next day, still sick, we went to the rainforest, where, amazingly, it rained. I wore about three hundred layers in attempt to keep my "on the mend" progress, as well as the "never lost in a crowd" rain jacket/windbreaker/sailing jacket that belonged to my 6'2" father....Sigh.
C and I.
We then were followed by a set of yearlings, who posed for photos with us. It was semi-amazing and scary how close they came to us--they would have come closer had we not backed away.
Anyway, I am feeling much better now, and will have more photos, and perhaps even some words that are worth reading soon.
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