Secretary's Day

Today is Secretary's Day -
On this most blessed day, my boss and I have an agreement:

• I do not have to do any actual work, unless I want to.
• He has to do all of my actual work if I ask him to.
• He is not allowed to bitch at me or nit-pick.
• He must provide me with flowers.
• He also must buy me lunch, and not that rabbit food that he eats, but an actual good lunch.
• He must see that I am adequately supplied in chocolate.
• He gives me a massive raise, just for today, because I showed up on what totally should be a secretary's holiday.

Ok, not really.

Our agreement is:
He will buy me flowers and I will be nice to him for the rest of the year.

Chick Fight

I realize that I haven't posted in forever and why is a post for another day.

Today is all about the chick fight I want to get into with the bitch in our main office.

We don't have an HR person. Instead we have the VP of Money and the Bitch of Payroll. I have walked a very fine line with the Bitch of Payroll for a long ass time. I kiss her ass and pretend that I don't think she fucked something up everytime I ask her to fix my guy's paychecks. I talk sweetly to her and kiss her ginormous ass and everytime I'm at the main office I devote 30 minutes to listening to her tell me ALL about her life.

Yesterday I had a migraine from hell. I mean can't-lift-your-head-off-the-pillow-the-husbands-voice-is-needles-through-your-skull-the-light-from-the-crack-in-the-closet-door-is-a-knife-through-your-closed-eyes-and-fuck-dealing-with-children-because-everytime-you-think-about-getting-up-the-world-spins-and-you-vomit migraine. And our company has this beautiful policy of "no doctor's note no pay" for sick days. It makes me want to bring a note from my mommy as well. (In fact if I ever won the lottery that's what I'd do. I'd take a sick day and come back to work with a note from my mommy instead of the doctor and when they bitched about that I'd bring a doctor's note with no diagnosis on it and tell them how fucking ILLEGAL they are being by making me have a diagnosis on my sick note from my mommy doctor.)
Anyway. So yesterday as I was contemplating how much I shouldn't be driving to go to the doctor I thought that maybe there was a form that I could turn in from a doctor saying that I have been diagnosed with migraines and might miss work from time to time for them and maybe that would count as my doctors note. So in my foggy head it seemed like a good idea to call and ask the Bitch of Payroll. Notsomuch.

I won't lie to you and say that I was pleasant. I was in pain. But I did apologize to her several times for my waspishness, and she said "Oh don't worry about it, I get migraines too!!" and then she told me that I could a) go to the doctor and bring back a note b)not go to the doctor and ask Red-neck Boss if I could use a vacation day (which I need for Bean's surgery) or c) not get paid.

And we got off the phone and she immediately called Anal Boss to complain because I called her.

So today I got pulled into Red-neck Boss's office to ask me about my phone call with the Bitch of Payroll.

Seriously?!?!? Payroll is a people centric job. If you cannot talk to people without getting your panties in a wad YOU SHOULD NOT DO IT.

I think maybe I should file a complaint because the Bitch of Payroll said hello to me last week and that's not following the chain of command. She needs to tell the VP of Money to tell Anal Boss to tell Red-neck Boss that she said hello.

And this is why I hate working with women.

Note to Self - No Exercising

Out of The Office

This last week has been crazy..

I was out of the office almost the entire week.. and this week I get to do it all over again..

I've been at our main office in Galveston working with my Work Wife (who I love) because she's swamped, and I'm not..

And though I love her to pieces and she would be busy no matter what, I have to say, after working with her for a week that she is crazily disorganized.. or maybe she just organizes in her own way. I don't know, but I couldn't find anything in her office.. Hell, she had 8000 emails in her inbox!!

Anyway, I have to go help her again next week, which is awesome, because then I don't have to see Redneck Boss and Coon Ass Boss and FNG..


While I was gone however, I did have a run-in with Napolean Boss.

(are you noticing that I have a lot of bosses?? That's right, I am the dirt on the peon's shoes)

Napolean Boss is new. And contrary to his blog name, he doesn't have Napolean Syndrome - but he would be fully within his rights to, since he's all of 5'3", maybe.

But I like Napolean Boss. He gets shit done.

I call him and tell him I need something taken care of and that day it's taken care of.

The other bosses take at least a week.

But last Friday he decided that I need to get on a boat.

That's right a fucking boat.

As in the kind that is on the water.

And to top it off, it was a broken boat, on the water.



I don't know if you've ever gotten onto a working boat. But at least at our terminal, you have to step off of a concrete slab that is the dry land, onto a log (that looks like it could rot away at any moment) that is attached to the slab and then up onto the ledge thing on the boat and then climb your happy ass over the side to get on.

And my almost 200 lb self was doing this while shaking violently with the help of a 150 lb man who is 3 inches shorter than I am.

By the time I got on the boat I thought I was going to vomit.

And Napolean Boss says, "See! Now you can say you were on a boat! Just as stable as land."

Except that it's not because it's moving!!!!

So we went upstairs and downstairs and into the wheelhouse and back.

And the place he decides to get off the floating deathtrap required me to jump (yes, I said jump) from the boat to the concrete slab.

I don't like him anymore. In fact I hate him. And I may demand the waive my drug test if they ever make me do it again.

And he wants me to go on a boat ride this week.. As in where the engines are on and there are other floating deathtraps around you to crash into.

Can I call in sick with an anxiety attack??

I Think I’ll Move to Australia

Do you remember that childrens’ book, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day??




Yeah, that’s me yesterday.




It started when I had some freaky dreams. I couldn’t tell you what they were, but they were unpleasant.



Then Bean’s ears were non-functional. So every time I said something, he said, “Huh”.

Ya’ll, I’m not a morning person. I really don’t like to talk at all in the mornings, so to have to talk and repeat myself sucks.



Then, I got to work only to realize I’d forgotten my phone.

My phone is my lifeline. It’s not just “in case the kids need me”, though it does serve that purpose. It has my facebook, my ebook, my blog, my email and the entire flippin’ world wide web.

I need my phone.

Bean, after working 12 hours that night, brought it to me – because he’s that amazing.



But here’s the kicker. (Bare with me a little, because Bean’s editing me big time.)

Earlier this week I made a comment to Mr. Opinionated Next Door. A comment that anyone in their right mind would have taken as a joke, or at the very most would have thought, “Damn, she’s a fucktard”, and then moved on.

Not Mr. OND. He fucking went to Redneck Boss and tattled on me.



So Redneck Boss called me into his office to tear me a new ass.



I told him I was joking.


He tore into my ass some more.


I explained how it should be obvious that I was joking.


He tore my ass some more.



I was now beyond controlling my facial expression so he fucking asked me what was wrong!!

I wanted to say:

What’s wrong is that you’re a pussy assed dickwhistle, and I can’t believe that you didn’t stand up for me to the douchecanoe next door!!



What I actually said was:

I’m livid with Mr. OND. He - and his entire staff - make crude, sexual innuendo laced comments all the fucking time, and I don't say a word. But I say one thing and he decides to get all huffy about it?? That's fucked up

And then I told Redneck Boss that I would just not talk to Mr. OND anymore, so it was fine.

He tried to argue with me and I just told him that nothing in my job required me to talk to Mr. OND.



Here's the thing - I never have attitude at work. At least not real attitude. And the guys all know that I'm joking. They know that I'm not offended and I have never called them on their offensive stuff. Ever. And I have never hesitated to do everything asked of me, even when I feel like it's not my job. I just do it.
So why would Redneck Boss think that all the sudden after 3 years I've gotten attitude????

Plus - Mr. OND is the same guy who royally fucked over Bean and laid him off the minute he was cleared from disability, and I have never acted like I loathe him or even attempted to punch him in the trachea.

Why?? Because even though I work in an extraordinarily UNprofessional office, I am professional.

So suck it Mr. OND & Redneck Boss.


Oh, and I think I'll move to Australia.

I'm Too Random for My Blog

Its a random kind of day, so here's a sample:

Redneck Boss cannot speak proper English. He sent me an email the other day that said:

That are a clock would be our best bet. We will start looking Monday.

What does that even mean??




Do you ever think that you’re not cool enough for things?? Like your car, or your phone, or your shoes?? Like maybe they’re singing the “I’m too Sexy” song about you..

I’m too sexy for this girl, too sexy for this girl too sexy baby!!

Ok, maybe it’s just me.



Why do people like to insist they know things about other people's lives??

Yesterday Mr. Eyes & FNG were talking about Colonel Sanders insisting that he didn't need overtime because he's got a shitload of money. WTF?? Ya'll we don't work someplace where everybody's all best buds so how the hell would anyone know that?? Besides, Colonel Sanders lives in White Trash KKK City, why would he live there if he was rolling it in??

People need to mind their own business.


I heard on the radio that 90% of women would prefer to have a perfect body themselves rather than have a significant other with a perfect body. They needed a study to figure that out?? They could have just asked one woman that and gotten their answer.

The Cats in the Attic

No really, there are cats in my attic. I tend to think we should leave them alone, cats are very self sufficient and there’s nothing up there. And if they want to fry in my bazillion degrees attic, more power to them, but I’ve gotten lots of advice on how to deal with them, mostly from the guys at work.

Coon-Ass Boss says to throw some rat poison up there and then go retrieve the dead bodies.

Yuck.

FNG says to throw a dog up there, preferably a rat terrier (he has a neighbor I can borrow one from) and let it kill them and bring the bodies to me.

Redneck Boss says that Dodger can do the job.

Again, yuck.

Old Pervert and Colonel Sanders for once didn’t have any advice.

Go figure.

Tallulah says we should feed them, and hug them and love them forever.*

Um, no. We already have a cat that I don’t like, we do not need more.

*She actually didn’t say that. I’m not really sure what she said, because I was at work when they were discovered, she probably really said “Awwwwwww!!!!!!!!”, but I guarantee she was thinking something to that effect, she’s a cat person.

And incidentally I'm doing the Friday Follow - I'm not entirely sure how it works since my phone is smarter than me, but I really like the idea..