August 30, 2010

Inappropriate Vacation Photos

Would you expect anything less?

Happy Monday, my peeps! Here's some barnyard porn because I have absolutely nothing intellegent to say.

Chicken va-jay-jay!

Horse erection!

All the parents were busy being proper and directing their kids' attention away from the ginormous equestrian boner, but I felt compelled to point and laugh. It is what we in the education profession call a "teachable moment."

How else are they going to learn that schlongs are hilarious? Won't someone please think of the children?!

Posted by Pirate Wench at 06:07 AM | Comments (2)

August 26, 2010

And Now I Will Shut-Up for Forty-Six Days

Yeah. Well. Jeebus sent an email on Tuesday to let us all know that Monday, October 11th is The Day the Axe Falls. That's when the entire organization will find out who stays, who goes, and whose life sucks more afterwards.

And since none of you had October 11th in the pool, I'm keeping all the money. So there!

I took the short elevator trip to see Steel and WM yesterday afternoon. If you'll remember, yesterday was the last day of the "within three weeks" that WM was supposed to let me know whether or not the job I'd applied for -- and won -- still existed. But no cigar. They moved my cheese. (Damn. Now I'm kinda wishing I'd read that stupid book.)

I says to WM, I says, "So, I guess I'll be waiting until October 11th, like everyone else."

And WM says, he says, "Yeah, that's how it looks."

Well, at least I'm in good company, with the waiting and such. I guess I can understand it. Besides the fact that departments will be eliminated and people moved around, and nothing will be the way it is now, making it pointless to fill a position that will just have to be changed anyway -- it would probably look pretty damn bad if they hired/promoted someone while everyone else was waiting for their pink slips.

I mean, the position DOES need to be filled, and the temp doing it now just got a call and will be leaving to be a pastor somewhere very soon. But if it will spare me the envy and spitefulness of other support staff in the building, I guess I'm willing to wait another forty-six days.

(In all reality, I don't give a fuck what anyone thinks of me, you know that; I'm just trying to talk myself out of being a neurotic wreck for the next month and a half. Pretend there's a silver lining, Wenchie! And put down that crack pipe!)

So I'm gonna try really hard not to be a whiney, emo tween between now and Columbus Day. I'm not saying that I won't bitch about PhD Boss because he's due back in the office on September 13th, and let's face it -- after being without him for an entire summer while he was on his "extended leave," I'm not looking forward to having a stress headache again every weekend.

I'm just gonna try to remember that bigger things than Wenchie's So-Called Career are at stake and only cut myself where it won't show because no one likes a poser cutter.

So I will bid you Adieu for a few days, my pudding pies. I am going up north to gaze across the water, browse quaint antique shops, and have lots of sex with my husband without having to worry about if the dogs are watching or what time we have to get up in the morning.

Thanks for watching the dogs, Mom!

Posted by Pirate Wench at 08:38 AM | Comments (1)

August 24, 2010

A Summer Retrospective

With a title like that, I'll bet you're expecting some wistful recounting of a romantic fling, or a retelling of some exotic vacation adventure. Wrong. Life only takes the summer off when you're in grade school. This is just stuff that happened while I was trying not to sweat. (Yes, I did more this summer than just obsess about my job. But not much more.)

Pedophilia
Jesus H. Glistening Christ, when did the neighbor's son get so damn hawt? Last summer, he was a scrawny twig who looked ridiculous in his hockey and football uniforms. But I caught a glimpse of him exiting their pool one July afternoon, and all of a sudden, the world went all slo-motion. He hoisted himself out of the pool with one arm, using chest and back muscles I didn't know existed. It was very Phoebe-Cates-In-Fast-Times-At-Ridgemont-High, only reversed. And then I snapped out of it and felt like a dirty, old lady. Now I can't even look him in the eye. I don't want to look at him because I don't want to get caught looking at him. *sigh*

The Date Is Set
Older Step Daugther will be getting married in a three-hour, Orthodox ceremony, to which I will be bringing a book. The date is set for July 3, 2011, which is kind of ironic -- giving up one's independence the day before we celebrate our country's independence. But then, I'm a bitter, cynical bitch. So I'll just shut-up, wear something conservative, sit in the back, and bring a really good present. Assuming I'm invited.

Frontierville
This little nightmare started on a Friday that I stayed home with a migraine. Once lying in bed groaning lost its magic, I got on the computer. Because what's better for a migraine than staring at a computer screen? Billi was on FB and, via FB Chat, pressured me to join Frontierville so she'd have more neighbors because neighbors = benefits. I didn't stop playing Frontierville until late that Sunday night. In case you're lucky enough to be unfamiliar, here's what it looks like:

Should be called Why-Wenchie's-House-Is-Messy-Ville. I haven't had one productive hour all summer. Thanks, Billi! Hope your laundry never gets done!

...

And now I'm thinking about what else I want to write about, but really, I just want to get back on Frontierville. I don't like where I have my windmill and want to move it. Perhaps over by the shed...?

Posted by Pirate Wench at 09:12 AM | Comments (3)

August 19, 2010

Meatloaf or Spaghetti?

Let me share a comment from Stacey, which, I believe, succinctly sums up the thoughts of probably everyone here. (Or both of us here, depending on how many readers I want to pretend that I have.)

"Do you really want to work here permanently? Really?"

No. I don't. But I'm not sure that question, while poignantly logical, is entirely relevant.

You see, here in this organization, I have some worth. I have a reputation. I have value. Hard to believe, if today is not your first day reading, but there are many people here who know firsthand how awesome I am, and there are every more people who have heard how awesome I am.

I feel like, if I have any shot at all of getting a job during this recession, I have a better shot at a place where I'm a known commodity, rather than showing up on some doorstep with twenty other applicants as just another stranger with just another resumé.

Does that make sense?

Six more work days for me. Is that not crazy? I suppose I should be panicking and speculating and mining my contacts for information. But I'm not.

The strangest sense of ennui has come over me. I no longer have an interest in my own future.

Thirteen days from now, on September 1st, I will be doing one of two things.

1. Unpacking my box of stuff that I'd packed on the 31st and getting settled in my new cube, and meeting with my new bosses to find out how, exactly, to jump into the fray.

2. Waking up, making pancakes for husband, going back to bed for a bit, then texting all my friends to see who wants to play hookie and see an afternoon movie with me.

Both scenarios have their pros and cons. I would find both to be disappointing and a huge relief, in different ways. But each requires such a completely different mindset, I have no idea what to do with my brain in the meantime.

It's like, when you're really hungry, and you're deciding what to do for lunch, and you can't decide where to eat. You're hungry! You know you're going to eat! But nothing is jumping out at you. Your tastebuds seem to want something that's completely unavailable, but you don't even know what.

Wait, that's a dumb analogy.

It's more like -- I don't know what Mom's making for dinner, so I don't know what to set my tastebuds to. Is that a bizarre concept? I got it from my Dad. He liked to know what he was going to have for dinner well in advance, so he knew what he was looking forward to, and so he didn't have something similar for lunch.

Leftovers or steak? Meatloaf or spaghetti?

Unemployment or new career level? Freedom or indentured servitude? Working on my novel or being a productive member of society?

Pizza or chicken casserole?

What's for dinner, Lady Luck? What should I set my tastebuds to, Fickle Fate?

I'm not even hungry anymore. I'm going for a walk.

Posted by Pirate Wench at 06:22 PM | Comments (3)

August 16, 2010

This Is the Sound of the Fat Lady Not Singing

Have I lost you, yet, darling readers? Have my flying monkeys taken off for greener... monkey... places? Where the hell do monkeys live? Oh, right, jungles. Where was I?

Ah, yes. I was where the career drama continues, and I am just so fucking sick of it. At first I was anxious, then I was complacent, and now I'm just disdainfully perturbed. I mean, do they need someone to update the website, and make Steel's travel plans, and balance the unit budget, and plan huge events for V.I.P.s -- OR NOT?!?!

Of COURSE, they do! JEEBUS! It's not ancient Hebrew translation, people! A department with three executives needs a support person!

Head Boss is convinced that the new job is mine. Completely convinced. Done deal. So much so, that he hasn't even bothered to see if HR will extend my current contract beyond August 31 if I don't get the new job.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

HOLY CRAP!

This cynic, however, remains unconvinced. I mean, if the job was mine, then they would have already made it official. The job isn't mine until I'm signing on the dotted line. In blood. And swearing on the Bible. "I do, and I ask God to help and guide me."

I'm taking a couple vacation days next week. So I literally have, as far as I know, NINE working days of gainful employment left. In my life. Absolutely no one has told me otherwise. Isn't that weird? I think that's more than a little weird. I feel like, if someone finally decides that they want me to work for them, I should make them beg. Just on principle.

Oh, and there's more! PhD Boss was in the office on Friday, and before he left abruptly, lured into the elevator by Meg's siren song, he told me that he's having Head Boss talk with WM about having me continue with ONE OF MY CURRENT DUTIES, should I get the new job.

Is that not completely fucked up???

PhD! Dude! I am applying for other jobs to ESCAPE YOU and your immature, arrogant, soul-sucking clutches!!! You can't just go ADDING responsibilities to my new job, in a completely different department! If you want me to stay on my current job, PAY ME WHAT I'M WORTH!

And have a personality transplant.

But seriously, I was so pissed when I heard that. And even more stupifying is that no one who is actually HAVING the conversation -- i.e. PhD Boss, Head Boss, and WM -- knows exactly how much time this particular quarterly project takes. And no one who actually UNDERSTANDS the magnitude of what PhD is asking -- i.e. ME -- is being involved in the discussion! Do you believe this shit?!

Amazing.

My first instinct was to go to WM and say, "Bro. Listen. Before you agree to adding anything to my job description, you should know exactly what it entails." And then tell him. Step by step.

But then I thought, screw it. No one has offered me anything. I'm not putting the cart before the horse. As far as I know, Head Boss is only humoring PhD Boss and hasn't asked WM a goddamn thing. So I'm not saying anything to anyone until HRT2 has to suck it up and put the paperwork in front of me.

And then I'm asking, "Considering all of the resturcturing going on, has any part of this job description changed since I interviewed?"

Posted by Pirate Wench at 07:27 PM | Comments (2)