February 27, 2007
Ankle Update
Two weeks ago:
PW: Well, it was feeling better, but now it's hurting again.
Dr. Hottie: Lemme guess. It was feeling better, so you decided you could walk around more.
PW: Um... Yeah.
Dr. H: Don't do that.
Last week:
Dr. H: [bending and poking my ankle] Does that hurt?
PW: Ow. Ow! OOOWWWWWWWWWWWW!
Dr. H: Does that really hurt?
PW: DUH!
Dr. H: It shouldn't still hurt that bad. You're doing too much.
PW: [thinks back to recently moving the couches in preparation for Husband's 50th birthday party] Probably...
Dr. H: [gives me the you're-a-grown-up-and-we-shouldn't-even-be-having-this-discussion look] If you don't cut it out, I'm going to have to put you on crutches.
PW: But! I'm having forty people at my house for Husband's birthday! I have to clean!
Dr. H: Well, you're just going to have to lower your standards of clean.
PW: [recoils in horror at the thought]
So, I had people over, and I didn't even vacuum the bedrooms. Jesus, why don't I just sprinkle cedar chips all over the floors.
Posted at 03:44 PM | Comments (5)February 26, 2007
When Does the Book Cart Come By?
My internet connection has been down. Who knew you had to pay the bill? Please enjoy this photo of my dogs while I delete many days worth of spam comments.
February 20, 2007
I Am the Lizard King!
I can do anything!
Except regulate my own body temperature. As I may have mentioned before, I'm a lizard.
These past few weeks of single-digits temps here in the midwest have been particularly hard on Husband.
(Heh-heh. She thaid "hard on." Heh-heh heh.)
PW: [snuggling up to Husband in bed] Mmmmmmm, you're nice and warm.
H: Great. [turns over]
PW: You know, you're making it very difficult for me to get cozy.
H: [moves away] You're making me sweat.
PW: You're just making it more difficult for yourself! I will snuggle you right off the edge of the bed, if I have to!
H: How can you be cold? You're wearing pants!
PW: They're thin pants!
H: God, I'm dying over here. I gotta get these socks off. They're wool.
PW: Ooooh, are they still warm? Give them to me!
H: You're already wearing socks!
PW: And your point is...?
Of course, two hours later, I woke up broiling and had to take off all my clothes. My feet were so hot that I went and stood on the bathroom tile for a couple minutes.
See? Lizard.
Posted at 08:28 PM | Comments (0)February 19, 2007
The Thinly-Veiled Ultimatum
(Yes, I know this has been a long time coming. I've been distracted by sublime contentment.)
Know what else makes me special? The kind and helpful way I answer the phone with my sultry-yet-professional voice. I mean, that's the only reason I can think of for the G.M. to keep insisting that I do switchboard every morning, to the exclusion of every other secretary in the company.
Special! It oozes through the phone, my specialness!
I can't even put into words how fed-up and frustrated I was at this point. And, against my better judgement, I went to H.B. with the offer of a compromise. Compromise is good, right? Fair and mature. So I offered G.M. every other day. I would consent to do switchboard every other morning until The Big Switchboard Meeting of '07 had settled the bullshit once and for all.
But G.M. was not in the mood for compromise, fairness or maturity. Not when he could smell blood in the water! Not when his ego was on the line! My offer was rejected. I got called into H.B.'s office for the billionth time and was told that G.M. had given me "No option." Literally. Direct quote.
That's when I decided to call in The Big Guns. I.e., the H.R. person. It's their job to make sure employees are treated fairly and not harassed, right? It's their job to see that the workplace remains professional and not an arena for petty grudges, right?
So I spoke with H.R., and after answering many objective questions with honest answers, I got the impression that they, too, felt I was being treated unfairly. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part. Either way, they agreed to go talk to G.M., and for the first time in weeks, I felt a tiny bit of weight lift from my shoulders.
Which didn't last long. I was called into H.B.'s office, with H.R. present, for what turned out to be the last time. I was told that I had to do Switchboard... or else. Or else what, H.B.? I'm fired? Welllllllll, H.B. didn't want to say that... but it was clearly implied. I got the message. Enter The Thinly-Veiled Ultimatum.
Just so I was clear, I said something to the effect of, "So you're asking me to give in to his harassment and do Switchboard every morning, knowing that there's no guarantee it will change even after The Big Switchboard Meeting at the end of February?"
Yes.
I looked H.B. in the eye. "Would you do it?"
"Well, yes, but I'm of a different generation."
"I'm not of a different generation," said H.R. "And I'd do it."
More than I want to know who killed Kennedy; more than I want to know what happened in Area 51; more than I want to know what Britney ever saw in K-Fed -- I want to know what the fuck went on in G.M.'s office.
What is it that made H.R. change their tune? What is it that made H.B. bow to a man who had no official authority over either of us? What the hell did G.M. say that was so goddamn convincing, when both H.R. and H.B. knew I was right and he was wrong???
Meh. I'll never know.
I think I left saying something brilliant like, "Fine, I'll do it. But I won't like it." And cried all the way to my desk.
I felt so dirty. Like I had just compromised everything I feel is important about myself. I'm nobody's bitch, and I felt in my soul that, having caved to their demands, things were only going to get worse for me there.
When Husband got home that night, I was a mess. On the verge of tears, nauseous, boiling mad. I said, "You have to do my rational thinking right now because I am just too emotional about this."
See, I wanted to quit. I wanted them all to go fuck themselves. But since that would mean loss of income, I knew that wasn't a decision I should make by myself in the heat of the moment.
After a brief discussion, Husband surprised me by saying exactly what I wanted to hear, "Quit. Just quit. That place is a joke. Here, I'll help you write your resignation letter."
And as good as it would have felt, at the moment The Thinly-Veiled Ultimatum was issued, to have quit on the spot, it felt even better to do it the next morning. After they knew I had slept on it. After they knew I'd had time to give it much thought. After they knew I had discussed the whole thing with my husband.
It felt great demonstrating, not a hasty resignation that might be regretted later, but one that was made thoughtfully and with complete confidence. I had that paper waiting for H.B. on his desk when he got in the next morning. Signed, sealed, delivered, I'm not yours.
And that, my friends, is how Wenchie got her groove back.
Posted at 05:18 PM | Comments (2)February 16, 2007
Outing Myself
For the past almost-a-year or so. Or less. I've been toying with the idea of "outing" myself on my blog. That is, putting my name on the damn thing and posting a photo of myself once and for all.
But I never did. And I don't know why.
Is it because I'm ashamed of it? No. I stand by my smut. If my Mom can handle it, how bad can it be? Now, it could be argued that years and years of my limit-pushing behavior has merely served to numb the poor woman. And indeed, if my mom- and dad-in-law saw the site, I'd probably be a bit stymied. But in the end, I would choose to continue my superfluous use of the word vagina, and they'd just have to learn to forgive me for it.
Is it because I'm afraid it will ruin Husband's standing in the community? No. I think most adults can accept this site for what it is -- a bit of rakish shenanigans. And I don't think anyone would be shocked to learn that we occassionally indulge in a bit of The Oral Pleasure, within the sanctity of our marriage.
Is it because I'm horribly disfigured? Well, only when I'm PMSing.
Is it because I'm psychic? YES.
Wednesday, I was supposed to start my new job, right? And I was freaking out Tuesday afternoon as I weighed my options. On the one hand, drive home in a blizzard and end up in a 30-car pile-up. On the other hand, call in stranded on my very first day of work. Neither was appealing.
But then Husband called and said that the H.R. woman called and told him that my new boss was stranded in Baltimore, so I shouldn't bother coming in until Thursday.
Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet! I stayed at Billi's until Wednesday afternoon.
Anyhoo, I got to work this morning, and H.R. told me how she managed to find me. See, she was working from home on Tuesday and didn't have my resume or contact info with her.
So she Googled me.
Googled. Me.
People? Can you imagine what would have happened if she had Googled me, and this site popped up??? Yeah. Bad News Bears, all the way. Especially when she read me bashing my EX-employer! I'd be fired before my official first day! Shortest career ever!
So my decision is made for me. I can't out myself until I find a permanant position, preferrably with a boss cool enough to appreciate potty-talk and hatred of the entire human race.
I wonder if I should include that in my cover letter...?
Posted at 05:01 PM | Comments (2)February 15, 2007
Santa Baby
So here's my first day of work at my new temp job.
The people are all really cool, and I have quickly ascertained who are the ones I can joke around with. I'm still on my good behavior, mind you. I'm The New Girl, and it's a church headquarters I'm working at, so I haven't mentioned my vagina.
One of the jokers, R, is standing by my desk when a man rushes into a meeting right across from my cube. The man has bright white hair and a bushy beard to match.
R goes, "You know who that was who just went into that meeting?"
I blurt out, "Santa?"
"Nooooooooooooo. That was the Presiding Bishop."
Great. Juuuuuuuuuuust great. It took me less than five hours to secure myself a place in the innermost circle of Hell. That's gotta be some kind of record.
Posted at 05:22 PM | Comments (2)February 13, 2007
So Pumped, So Stranded
I. Am. Exhausted. I don't know how Billi does it. If I were her, I would be dead.
The Girl Child went to the hospital today to have her tonsils and adnoids taken out and some tubes put in her ears. She'll be much healthier in the long run, but right now, she looks like someone beat the crap outta her. I feel so bad for her, I'm not even going to eat any of the ice cream Billi bought for her.
Anyhoo, guess who volunteered to take care of Boy Child and The Spare today? Me. Spare is, actually, the most happy-go-lucky baby there ever was, and with the invention of Legos Star Wars for Xbox, Boy Child practically babysits himself! Right?
Right?
So how come it's only 3:30, and every muscle on my body is screaming in pain??? Seriously, my left arm is so pumped right now. Spare only likes to be on my left shoulder. God forbid I should switch arms. Or sit. Or stop bouncing.
Anyhoo, here I am in Practically Wisconsin, with an hour's worth of Illinois tollway between me and home. Which, in my unemployed state, shouldn't be a problem, despite the five to thirteen inches of snow that's currently falling. I have my toothbrush with me, and I can always borrow some of Billi's underwear (our asses are similar enough).
Except that... I'm not exactly unemployed at the moment. Tomorrow, I start a part time temp job five minutes from my house. Pretty sweet, huh? Sure, it'd be nicer if it were permanant, but at least I'll be bringing home some bacon while I look for the pig. Or something.
Anyhoo, I'm scheduled to be there at 9:30 tomorrow morning. So I HAVE to leave here tonight, no matter what. Dammit.
Of course, I should be grateful I have a job to go to. Grateful that my friend, K, is basically Assistant to God at this organization. Doesn't hurt to have God's work-wife hand deliver one's resume to the H.R. department, no siree-bob!
This storm is just poor timing is all. Wish me luck, my darlings! Thank God I have 244 songs on my iPod!
Posted at 03:57 PM | Comments (3)February 12, 2007
There Are No Bad Dogs, Only Perverted Owners
Things I've Said To My Puppy That Sound Dirty But Aren't
1. Don't eat Mommy's crotch!
2. Stop licking! There's nothing down there!
3. No fighting between my legs!
Posted at 01:11 PM | Comments (1)February 08, 2007
Ice: Cause & Solution
You know, I've been getting a wee bit annoyed by all the people insinuating that, now that I'm between jobs, I'm sitting at home on the couch watching Oprah and eating bon-bons. In fact, I'm almost insulted that some folks seem to think I'm a lazy-ass with nothing else to do.
Yeah, I'd be offended, ...if it weren't for the fact that I'm totally spending the better part of my day on the couch.
Because I sprained my ankle.
Day Two of Blissful Unemployment, and I slip and fall on the ice. In my defense, it's January in Chicago -- who knew there'd be ice?!?!
I was bringing the garbage can in from the curb -- a Man Job -- and I fell. Scared the shit outta me.
First thought: Shit, my leg is broken.
Second thought: I hope no one saw that.
So I crawled into the garage, where I was sure there was no ice and once in the house, ironically, got some ice to put on my ankle. Ice, like Homer's alcohol -- "The cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems."
As I sat there, icing, I mentally assessed the damage to my ankle. And leg. And knee. Yup, the knee wasn't feeling great, either. I was kind of hoping it was one of those walk-it-off kind of injuries, but after a few hours of stabbing pain, I gave up and called Dr. Angel, my hot chiropractor who looks like Angel, the vampire with a soul.
Why go to the E.R. and wait seven hours when I can see Dr. Angel on demand? I told him I'd be there in twenty minutes. He's only ten minutes away, but I had to factor in enough time to change out of my unemployment attire -- pajama pants and a sweatshirt. Yes, I dress up to go see my chiropractor. Shut up.
While changing my pants, I realized, I have to shave my leg. I can't let Dr. Angel touch my nasty, hairy leg! Quick -- into the bathtub!
Having shaved the injured leg, it occurred to me that he might want to see both legs, side by side, in order to ascertain if there was any swelling. So then I had to balance, on my nearly-broken ankle, and put my other foot on the rim of the tub to shave. As if any of us needed any more demonstration of what an idiot I truly am.
Vanity, thy name is Wench.
(I know Spikette [nee Older Sister] understands.)
Driving with a mutilated right ankle is no fun. I hobbled into one of the patient rooms.
I didn't know if he'd want me sitting down on the bench or lying down or what, so I said, "How do you want me?"
He said, "Naked."
Oh, honey. If only. Doesn't he know it's not nice to tease old, married ladies? So I unzipped my pants, and he dropped my file folder. Papers went flying everywhere -- Hee! It was like a sitcom gag, and yet totally adorable.
Several x-rays and an hour later, he decided it's not broken, but it's badly sprained in two places. I'm going back Saturday morning for a brace. In the meantime, "no unnecessary walking." Which means, only walk to pee or get food. Also? No driving.
So now, not only am I unemployed and unable to bring any income to the table, I'm also gimpified and unable to do the simplest household chores. If I was a horse, Husband would shoot me. I'm utterly useless.
Well, I guess there is one thing I don't need to be on my feet to do...
Posted at 12:49 PM | Comments (3)February 07, 2007
Zingers
As I've stated before, the people around me are often much funnier than I am.
The Scene: Billi's kitchen.
The Players: Wenchie, Brad and The Girl Child.
Girl Child: (making Valentines with Auntie) How do you spell Nana?
Brad: O - L - D.
Wenchie: Zing!
The Scene: Thursday dinner.
The Players: Wenchie, Mom, Dad, K, G, Husband.
K: I'm gonna be buried in my tiara.
Mom: Ooh! Can I be buried next to you? Then we can talk!
G: I wanna be stuffed and sat on the couch. You can decorate me for Christmas!
Husband: I'm gonna donate my body to science so they can use all my organs.
Dad: Not me! I'm gonna use up all my organs before I die.
Mom: Well, we already know your liver is gone.
Wenchie: Zing!
Posted at 02:10 PM | Comments (0)February 02, 2007
And I Didn't Let the Door Hit Me On the Way Out
Pure Awesome Things About Today, My Last Day at The Company
1. I took a Xanax when I got to work, so instead of being weepy when saying goodbye to thirty people I've known for over a decade, I was toooooooooooootally mellowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. (Xanax -- not just for airplanes anymore!)
2. Prezzies! Balloons! Candy! Cards! Heartleft notes! Books! Gift certificates! Flowers! *sigh* I am loved.
3. Leaving a fart trapped in the cushion of the chair for the next person to unwittingly unleash.
4. Hugging all the men good-bye! And lemme tell ya -- they didn't mind it too much either!
5. God's little going-away present to me: I guess there was no one to cover the Switchboard during lunch today, so G.M. was doing it HIMSELF! BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAAA! Instant karma, baby!
Posted at 02:09 PM | Comments (4)