So, for a Christmas gift this year my friend A purchased tickets for us to go to the nearby metropolis and see Ministry. This is a huge deal. Huge. (For us and fans of that music of that ilk, anyway.) Since Christmas he and I have been quietly squealing into our fists out of excitement about going to this show--which would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Well, Saturday was the day of the show. We requested the weekend off of work, gotten travel plans solidified, cash procured, earplugs stolen from T's work....everything was a go. We awoke Saturday to a beautiful sunny morning--it appeared that everything was shaping up for a glorious day.
We were wrong.
First off:
T and I spent the night before drinking far too much wine and playing a hell of a lot of video games with F to celebrate our belated co-birthdays, which is something F and I have done for years. As usual for me, when I consume more than 2 glasses of wine in any given sitting, especially when a huge decadent meal is involved, I turn into a pumpkin rather early and consciousness leaves me where I stand. In this case, face down on F's couch with a quilt over my head while T and F raged ever onward with the game. I never lost consciousness, but all that did was make me really grouchy, so when T and I arrived home at 3am I all but collapsed into my bed (To T's relief, as he had just shouldered the thirty minute car ride home with my tired, grouchy ass). And awoke at 8am because I am often smited by the sleep gods.
This means that Saturday was a beautiful day in which I had a hangover. A red wine hangover, for those of you in the know. Red wine is for me in the top three of the "I'm afraid I won't die" hangover pantheon--the other two being keg beer and tequila. I don't get the vomiting hangovers--I get the complete exhaustion kind.
Anyway.
I rallied, and I and I took off for the show. We were going to park and then ride the public transport over to the city, which seemed like a good idea at the time.
The sky was black over the city. BLACK.
We arrived, and started walking towards the venue. It was beginning to rain by this time. We are now about a third of the walk there, nearing the "not great" part of the city, and A says to me, "It's not raining that hard." in an attempt to brighten my hungover spirits. I made a huge blunder at this point.
I poked fun at the weather.
I made the fake thunder sound, and mimed the skies opening up. We laughed and kept walking.
Two blocks later, as we stood at a crosswalk, thunder clapped. And the skies opened. Deluge of rain. I laughed. And laughed. And laughed. We don't get thunderstorms here! Lots of rain, sure, but never thunder!
The rain pounded us. POUNDED. We were so close to the venue we finished the walk, and then commenced with the standing in line. Which is when the wind started.
A and I are standing in line to get into a bar with about 100 soaking wet metal heads. We are wearing jeans and hooded sweatshirts which are completely soaked. Water is running down my face, smearing my makeup and covering my glasses. The wind is screaming and ice cold. I turned to A and said, "Do you know how bad it is going to smell in there when everyone gets warm?"
We left.
Seriously--just got out of line and walked away. And made the 15 minute walk back to the transportation hub, through the same deluge.
When we got back to the car it was snowing.
Nature did not want us at that show for some reason. It did want me to be two of my least favorite things for extended periods of time, however--wet and cold.
With a hangover. Poor A.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Trivia Questions and Redemption
Today is my Friday....Finally. Nine days in a row. Three days off, then one more work week and I AM DONE.
Not excited or anything. I hit overtime at 5pm today. Heehee. I will be done with work long after that.
Last night I had to stay at work for a retarded, super stupid pointless asskissing banquet. A large, monopolizing software company is staying at the resort for a conference and due to how huge and well known this company is, whenever they come to stay here we roll out the red carpet and start kissing ass.
I am willing to do this, because when one group of them were here last summer a small group of them (four) sat in my bar and drank, and when I cut them off and sent them home they tipped me $1000 cash.
So I kiss ass. (Whore.)
Anyway, this group was not of the $1000 tipping variety. G was tipped $0.83 on one ticket. G and I worked the restaurant as usual, and the software group was to arrive at 8:30pm and start their "reception" which involved the game Rockband and board games. And $600 worth of food and an open bar.
The arrived at almost 10pm. Shitfaced. Totally wasted. We brought them food (which they didn't touch) and drink, and proceeded to sit in the restaurant and wait for three hours.
Finally, when I went in to do last call, they were playing Cranium, and one superbly wasted chick was trying to hum a song so that everyone would guess it--None of them did. I did. I told them I knew what it was.....so they had me answer.
Rock the Casbah by the Clash. (Who doesn't know this song?) Anyway, we left them to their own devices and went home rather late.
BUT!!
As we were walking out, G made mention of the fact that his dog had sired a litter of puppies.....and T and I are probably going to get one.
Wait for it......
They are Chihuahua (regular pointy faced and "deer", which makes them bigger--No weird buggy eyes and wiffleball head)(Even though those kind are cute too), Dachshund and....Black lab.
They are black and white.
We will see.
I want to name the puppy something human--but I have to meet it first. "Jeremy", "Alphonse", "Kieth", "Bill", and "Steve" have all been thought of. Mostly because that's hilarious. But I have to meet it first.
T was not against the tiny dog, as I thought he would be, but more against the part lab. My mother laughed hysterically. If we get one, pictures to follow.
****************************************
I have found out why everyone I work with directly wasn't sad to see me go.
I got played, and played hard. My boss apparently intentionally tried (and succeeded) to turn my coworkers against me so that I would get mad and tattle on them for potential wrong doings. I didn't know this was happening, nor did I tattle in any real way, so I went from a schedule of 20 hours per week to 50. And everyone still resented me.
Now that I have quit, and have a lot to lose by doing so (benefits and the like) one person came forward and said they owed me an apology. I was confused and asked why. They then told me the above story. It was backed up by my floor captain, who said that "everyone that works here owes you an apology."
So at least my character is being rehabbed by quitting, I guess. (I made a Pun-ny.)
Not excited or anything. I hit overtime at 5pm today. Heehee. I will be done with work long after that.
Last night I had to stay at work for a retarded, super stupid pointless asskissing banquet. A large, monopolizing software company is staying at the resort for a conference and due to how huge and well known this company is, whenever they come to stay here we roll out the red carpet and start kissing ass.
I am willing to do this, because when one group of them were here last summer a small group of them (four) sat in my bar and drank, and when I cut them off and sent them home they tipped me $1000 cash.
So I kiss ass. (Whore.)
Anyway, this group was not of the $1000 tipping variety. G was tipped $0.83 on one ticket. G and I worked the restaurant as usual, and the software group was to arrive at 8:30pm and start their "reception" which involved the game Rockband and board games. And $600 worth of food and an open bar.
The arrived at almost 10pm. Shitfaced. Totally wasted. We brought them food (which they didn't touch) and drink, and proceeded to sit in the restaurant and wait for three hours.
Finally, when I went in to do last call, they were playing Cranium, and one superbly wasted chick was trying to hum a song so that everyone would guess it--None of them did. I did. I told them I knew what it was.....so they had me answer.
Rock the Casbah by the Clash. (Who doesn't know this song?) Anyway, we left them to their own devices and went home rather late.
BUT!!
As we were walking out, G made mention of the fact that his dog had sired a litter of puppies.....and T and I are probably going to get one.
Wait for it......
They are Chihuahua (regular pointy faced and "deer", which makes them bigger--No weird buggy eyes and wiffleball head)(Even though those kind are cute too), Dachshund and....Black lab.
They are black and white.
We will see.
I want to name the puppy something human--but I have to meet it first. "Jeremy", "Alphonse", "Kieth", "Bill", and "Steve" have all been thought of. Mostly because that's hilarious. But I have to meet it first.
T was not against the tiny dog, as I thought he would be, but more against the part lab. My mother laughed hysterically. If we get one, pictures to follow.
****************************************
I have found out why everyone I work with directly wasn't sad to see me go.
I got played, and played hard. My boss apparently intentionally tried (and succeeded) to turn my coworkers against me so that I would get mad and tattle on them for potential wrong doings. I didn't know this was happening, nor did I tattle in any real way, so I went from a schedule of 20 hours per week to 50. And everyone still resented me.
Now that I have quit, and have a lot to lose by doing so (benefits and the like) one person came forward and said they owed me an apology. I was confused and asked why. They then told me the above story. It was backed up by my floor captain, who said that "everyone that works here owes you an apology."
So at least my character is being rehabbed by quitting, I guess. (I made a Pun-ny.)
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Yarr!
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.
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.
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.
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