February 26, 2008
It's a Shorter List Than the Alternative
Things On My Body That Don't Hurt
1. my fingernails.
2. my eyelashes. on my right eye.
3. the tip of my tongue.
4. my left elbow.
5. my nose hairs.
6. my clavicle.
Posted at 02:31 PM | Comments (0)February 25, 2008
The $1,500 Check
I am currently staring down the barrell of a major flu bout. Considering what's been going around my floor at work, I expect to erupt in open, running sores any minute. I came home from work and spent the majority of the evening under the covers, in my sweatsuit, shivering.
So here's my post for the day. I was going to pretty it up, but I'm about to fall out of my chair. So here it is, in all its unpolished glory, a work-related rant that I IMed to Heather. Here's praying it's 80% coherent.
PW: so we got a check for $1500 here at Workplace. and I have no idea what it's for cuz there was no attached backup
Heather: it's for me!
PW: so I called the church where it came from, and the bitch is like, "We ALWAYS send $1500 to you. Every month."
and I can hear her talking to someone else in a snarky voice, and she's all, "She doesn't know what to do with our benevolence check."
Like I'm a fucking retard.
so I'm like, "Well, it says Attn: Hannah Peters, who hasn't worked here in 6 months, and who changed her last name to Stanford 2 years ago. So might it go to someone else?"
and she's all "Yeah, Sharon Reinhardt."
and I'm all, "There's no Sharon Reinhardt here. But I'll check it out and get back to you."
H: bwahahah
PW: mind you, she's all pissy and acting like I'M the idiot here
H: bitch! "our benevolence check"
PW: meanwhile, I find out that the check should have gone to Related Organization, where Sharon Reinhardt works
so even tho' I said, "I'm Wenchie and I work at the WORKPLACE IN CHICAGO" and she knows their Related Org. is in COLORADO, she STILL thought I was the idiot!
so now I get to call her back and tell her that she not only sent it to the wrong person, she sent it to the wrong ORGANIZATION in the wrong STATE
BITCH!
who's laughing derisively NOW, church secretary snotbag!
This will be the first phone call here I've ever enjoyed
H: bwahahaha I love that
AWESOME!
PW: I know!
H: did you call her?
PW: just got off the phone
she's all, "I don't know why that happened. we do this every month off Quickbooks."
and I'm thinking -- retard behind the wheel is why!
H: bwahahaha
like "I didn't screw up! it's the comp0uter!"
PW: exactly
Yup. That's all I got. Sorry so lame. Would have been funnier, if every inch of my skin didn't hurt.
Posted at 09:36 PM | Comments (1)February 20, 2008
GIVE IT BACK!!!
Well, fuckity fucker-fuck FUCK!
My Coach wristlet was stolen. Along with $40 in cash, my Mastercard, 2 debit cards, my Jewel card, my library card, and my Hallmark Gold Crown card.
Well, okay, it wasn't stolen at first. I left it in the shopping cart at Jewel. So technically, it's my fault. HOWEVER. Since then, someone has clearly found it. Found it AND NOT TURNED IT IN OR CALLED ME. Someone found it and intends to keep it and never return it.
So yeah -- STOLEN: My black, leather Coach wristlet.
I have today off work, so I was going to drive out to Billi's house and hang with her and the kidlets for the day. But first, I had to get gas, and I told her I'd pick up some milk and taco shells.
At the gas station, the stupid machine wasn't accepting my debit card. Probably because it was frozen solid and, therefore, not functioning properly. It's 10 degrees today. In a huff, I used my Mastercard and then put it in my wristlet with my debit card.
Normally, I just keep cash, my debit cards (1 normal, 1 attached to my eBay account for use at the Post Office), and a few "rewards" cards in my wristlet. This way, when I'm running errands, I can just pop in and out of the car with my little wristlet, instead of lugging my giant purse around with me.
But today, as Fate would have it, my Mastercard was making a rare appearance inside my wristlet. DAMMIT.
Next stop, the Jewel (that's a grocery chain, for you out-of-towners). Once again, I only brought my wristlet with me. Thankfully, the machine accepted my debit card. (After the gas station incident, I was a little nervous that I had finally spent us into Poor Town.)
I loaded my groceries into my car but left my wristlet in the little front basket when I put the cart into the cart stall.
I cannot tell you the rage and loathing I have for myself right now. People, I am NOT one of those people who loses things or forgets them or misplaces them. I ALWAYS know where my keys are, my glasses, my gloves -- EVERYTHING. It's part of my anal-retentive nature. I just don't forget stuff. ESPECIALLY stuff like CASH and COACH and CREDIT CARDS! Jesus H. Obsessive-Compulsive Christ, I'm not irresponsible!!!
Except that I was today. Oh, happy morning. Tra la, tra la. I'msofuckingpissedatmyselfrightnow.
When I was nearly at the entrance ramp, I glanced down at the passenger seat and didn't see my wristlet. Gloves, check. Purse, check. Cell phone, check. Wristlet...?
Nausea.
I pulled into a gas station and checked my entire car from every angle. No wristlet. So I hightailed it back to Jewel. The cart stall where I had put my cart back was empty, so my wristlet had obviously been seen by someone.
I ran inside and quickly checked the carts. Nothing. So I went to the Customer Service desk. No, no one had turned anything in.
By this time, half an hour had passed. Plenty of time for someone to do the right thing. Well, clearly, whoever has my wristlet has no intention of doing the right thing.
I left my name, numbers, and description of my wristlet and its contents with the grocery jockey, but I know I'll never see it again.
And you know what really chaps my ass? I live in an affluent neighborhood. No one around here needs my $40. The only people shopping at 9:00 a.m. on a Wednesday are moms and old people. So here are my theories:
1. It was an old person living on a fixed income in some nearby apartment, to whom $40 is a nice surprise. Fine, Grandma, take my $40. BUT RETURN THE REST! I DON'T CARE! Just don't make me go through the hassle of cancelling all my cards (which I already did)!
2. It was the cart guy. See, my Jewel employs the mentally handicapped to bag groceries and collect carts, and I can forgive a 'tard for not being clear on wrong and right. But what is Forest Gump going to do with plastic and a Coach wristlet??? GIVE IT BACK!!! Keep the $40 as a reward -- I DON'T CARE!!!
3. It was some 19+ year old chickie working there, and she was jazzed to have a Coach wristlet fall into her lap, especially on a check-out monkey's salary. FUCK YOU, TIFFANY! GIMME MY WRISTLET BACK!
Notice that I don't think a mom could have done it. I just have this idea that moms know what a hassle it is to loose stuff like that, so they'd never inflict it on a fellow woman. Especially not with a kid in tow, for whom they would be setting a terrible example. Aren't I silly?
Oh, and? Husband is out of town. He's driving back from Indiana tonight. I cancelled our Mastercard because I know he has other credit cards he can use, if need be. I cancelled my eBay debit card because I'll need my new one as soon as possible.
But cancelling our joint debit card... that's a harder decision. I'm not immediately worried about it because the THIEF doesn't know the PIN number. And I don't want Husband to be without it for his trip home. Also, it takes 7 to 10 days to get new ones. That's over a week without a debit card. That's something that needs to be planned for, so I'm waiting until Husband gets home. We'll need to withdraw enough cash, using his card, to last us a week, before I cancel mine.
And honestly, this isn't as much of a hassle as it would be if I'd lost my REAL wallet, or my entire purse. I'm actually pretty lucky it was just a piece of my personal belongings.
The hardest part of this is knowing that someone found it, looked inside, and made the conscious decision NOT to turn it into the Jewel Customer Service Desk. The decision to KEEP something that is not theirs. Something that 80% of will land in the garbage because they can't use it. Hell, the thief may even be stupid enough to have no use for a Coach wristlet.
So for $40, someone ruined my day, ruined my plans to see my family, ruined my faith in humanity, and made me spend a bunch of time on the phone with various strangers. That sucks. I would NEVER do that to someone. Even if I was dirt poor and starving and needed that $40, I would at least turn in the rest of it.
Sorry about the milk and taco shells, Billi. But if you get up to the Coach outlet and pick me up another small, black wristlet, I'll pay you back.
Posted at 11:07 AM | Comments (5)February 19, 2008
I'm Infamous... Again
I am so Lady Boss' bitch again today.
Smokey is all impressed that I manage to deal with her by laughing it off. But Smokey has been here for several years, whereas I've only been here since September. It just seems like several years. If I'd been here as long as Smokey, I would go African wild dog on LB's ass and start eating her entrails while she's still alive.
Smokey said, "You might as well have taken a bullet and bore children for her. She pretty much had you do everything else." Hee! Secretarial comradery is the best!
Things I've Done For Lady Boss Today
1. Called the I.T. dept. to get a speakerphone in the conference room she's using. Normally, they require 3 days notice. Because of LB's procrastination, I've never given them more than 3 hours notice for any item she has needed. I am famous with the I.T. people.
2. Called the I.T. dept. because LB couldn't get the speakerphone to work. So she called me, so I could call the Help Desk for her. I begged them just to go to her, rather than making me relay messages. Now I have to name my firstborn "Dilbert," in accordance with the agreement I had to make with them.
[I'd like to interrupt this pathetic list to say this: I have an I.Q. of 146. Mensa, I believe, starts accepting applications at 145. Not that the I.Q. is the end-all measurement of braininess, and I'm not saying this to brag. I'm just saying -- Mensa-worthy. To put this post into persepctive.]
3. Called the mail room to ask them to call me as soon as her overnight package from the printer arrives. Which was pointless because LB just sent my butt down there anyway to stalk the mail guys. (I'm famous with them, too.) Luckily, her package had just arrived, so I could open it for her and bring it up to her meeting. As a reward, she was kind enough to loosen my collar a bit.
4. Checked her email every 5 minutes looking for one from Barb. There was an attachment that I had to open, print off, make 10 copies of, and deliver to her conference room.
5. Lunch. I'd talked to the caterer weeks ago, so all that was left to do today was bring a cart with ice, drinks and cups to the meeting. Oh, and set out juices in the morning. Oh, and meet the caterer and sign for the food. Oh, and find a table for the food. Oh, and play Food Police so the other vultures having meetings today wouldn't eat my peoples' food.
Oh my God. I just saw my fav I.T. guy in the hall. He's like, "Oh, you're the one we're supposed to try not to kill today." See? Famous. Or infamous, as the case may be.
I'm like, "It's not me! It's my Evil Overlord! I'm really a nice person!"
I'm sure Lady Boss will call me any minute now and ask to have I.T. set up a complete surround sound system in the conference room, and I'll have to bring them 3 virgins, 2 white doves and a bull.
There are 400+ people in this building, and 100s more deployed. I have been here for 5 months. I don't believe it is a testament to my sparkling personality that the entire I.T. dept. knows me by name.
Posted at 02:54 PM | Comments (2)February 18, 2008
Things I Have Too Many Of
Nail Polishes (full size): 16
At the moment, I'm wearing black, with a top coat of silver glitter. It represents the limitlessness of outer space. Because I'm deep like that.
Nail Polish Minis: 16
Fifteen shades of pink and one black. Hmmmm, there's a joke in there somewhere...
Hair Products That Smell Like Food: 11
The one in back on the left is Vanilla Birthday Cake, I believe. And how come every time I try to type birthday, it comes out bitchday? Never fails.
Lotions, Creams & Ungents -- Most of Which Smell Like Food: 23
I'm so well-oiled, it's amazing I don't slide right outta my clothes, out the door and into the street.
Labrador Retrievers: 2
In retrospect, one would have been puh-lenty.
February 15, 2008
24 Blunders
The following takes place between 11:00 a.m. and 1:00 p.m.
11:13
I call Beatrix and arrange to meet her in the lobby by the fountain at 11:45. We are going to Camille's Cafe for lunch, and if you don't get there before noon, you don't get a table.
11:35
Lady Boss calls me. She sounds like a man, due to an upper-respitory infection. She tells me that our department head has forbid her to come into the building and spread her germs. Thanks be to God. However, she needs to pick up the 120 pages I printed off for her to proofread. Fine. I can leave the documents at the front desk for her to pick up. Oh, and? Her work friend, Sabrina, who also lives in Lady's Boss' building, asked Lady Boss to pick up her lunch for her. (????) Can I go get it from Maria Lopez on the 8th floor and leave it with the documents? Fine. Whatever.
11:37
I call Maria Lopez and explain, to her voicemail, that I am looking for Sabrina's lunch, which I have to leave at the front desk for Lady Boss.
11:38
I call Beatrix and explain, to her voicemail, that I have to do one quick thing for Lady Boss, and then I'll call her and we can go.
11:42
I call Maria Lopez again, but she persists in being away from her desk. I don't leave another message.
11:43
I call Lady Boss and tell her that I can't find Maria Lopez. She says she'll call Sabrina.
11:45
Lady Boss calls back and says that Sabrina says that Maria Lopez is up on the 11th floor. I'm assuming that Maria Lopez is a secretary and is up on the conference floor in order to meet the caterer, who will bring lunch for some meeting, and with it will be Sabrina's lunch.
11:46
I make Smokey come with me to the 11th floor to find Sabrina's lunch, since I don't know Maria Lopez or anyone on the 11th floor, and I don't want to be arrested for lunch snatching.
11:47
On the 11th floor, we run into Chris from our department, who is waiting for a caterer to bring lunch for a meeting. A different meeting. Not the Maria Lopez meeting. I ask her if Maria Lopez is on that floor, and she says that Maria is IN a meeting. NOT waiting for the caterer. Shit.
11:49
Smokey and I stand outside the meeting room where Maria Lopez is, allegedly. We decide that there is no way we are interrupting the meeting to ask about Sabrina's lunch. We look in the little window and see a small table with some fruit on it but can't discern whether it is lunch-fruit or leftover morning-break-fruit. There is no other food on the entire 11th floor. We discuss whether or not they might already be done with lunch, since it's ten to noon, and lunch usually isn't served until noon. She tells me that, if she were me, she would just call Sabrina and tell her to make a fucking sandwich, but for some reason, I find the whole thing hilariously funny, like a madcap sitcom full of hijinx. Smokey makes sure not to stand too close to me in the elevator. The doors open, and there's Mr. Furley. Clearly, there's been some sort of misunderstanding with Jack.
11:54
I call Lady Boss, explain the situation and ask her what she wants me to do. She says that she'll call Sabrina, and I can hunt for the lunch again when I get back from my lunch.
11:56
I call Maria Lopez and leave a message saying that, if Sabrina's lunch turns up, to please put it somewhere safe and leave me a message with clues as to where it is. Preferrably in the form of some sort of word puzzle. No math.
11:57
I go down to the lobby as fast as the elevator will take me.
11:59
Beatrix is not there. I call her on her cell, and she is up on my floor looking for me. Lou Costello rounds the corner and barrells into me, knocking me over and sending all my packages flying. He also knocks over a fruit cart, then lands on a cat.
12:02
Beatrix and I go have a lovely lunch at Camille's Cafe. We even get a table.
1:05
I arrive back at my desk to find a styrofoam container full of Chinese food. It's labeled Sabrina. As if I might mistake it for someone else's lunch. Or a gift from friendly gnomes.
1:06
I call Lady Boss and tell her that Sabrina's lunch has magically appeared. She says she'll pick everything up at 1:45 at the front desk.
1:07
I decide to wait until 1:40 to bring the food down, so the poor guy at the front desk doesn't have to smell Chinese food for 40 minutes.
1:30
I decide that Lady Boss would probably like to enjoy the roses from her boyfriend over the weekend, so I empty the water from the vase. I rummage around in her desk and find a canvas tote. I also see an open bag of Starburst and make a mental note for later. I wedge both Chinese food and vase of flowers into the tote.
1:38
I realize I'm cutting it close enough and take the tote down to the front desk. I find that two other people have also left packages there for Lady Boss, in addition to my original stack of documents. Front Desk Guy is decidedly unamused. I leave the tote anyway.
1:58
Maria Lopez calls to tell me that Sabrina's food is missing. Not even bothering to conceal my laughter, I tell her that everything is fine and Sabrina's food has already been picked up by Lady Boss. I hang up and wonder who put the Chinese food on my desk. It was probably Curly.
February 14, 2008
I'm a Dirty Old Lady
Okay. So there's this nice, young man who works here. His cube is near mine, so although he's technically in a different department, I run into him often.
I'm not gonna lie -- he's pretty easy on the eyes. Dark hair, dark eyes -- just the way I like 'em. But I'm sure he's at least 15 years younger than me, and since it's completely out of the realm of possibility for him to be interested in me, he's a blip on my radar only to the extent that I know his Mom.
I mean, yes, I'm married -- exclusively -- so that right there is enough reason not to think about him. But my point is, even if I wasn't married, there's no way he would think of me as anything but That Old Lady Who Works On The Other Side Of The File Cabinets, so it's a complete non-idea.
So when he walked past with his long, normally-free-flowing hair in a ponytail, I asked him about it. Because I'm bored out of my skull, and hairstyles are a nice distraction.
He explained that, this past summer, he'd cut off his long, long hair and donated it. And now, he's growing it out to do it again, and it's gotten to the point where it's bugging him, so it's ponytail time.
Well, not only could I relate to hating hair in my face, but I, too, donated my hair! We are kindred spirits, so we bonded over that for 30 seconds. So far, our interaction was fairly standard and not out-of-the-ordinary, according to the standards already set by our previous conversations.
And here's where I probably crossed the line from tell-me-about-your-day-to-distract-me-from-mine to come-sit-on-my-lap-you-adorable-slab-of-bacon.
I was like, "That's really sweet. I would love to have your hair. It's so pretty."
Yeah. I actually said that.
In my defense, his hair is gorgeous. Jet black and thick and shiny. And he probably doesn't use a drop of product on it. It's Fantasy Hair.
Five minutes after he walked away, I realized that, although I had meant, "You're a nice person, and you were fortunate enough to inherit good DNA," he probably heard, "Come let me run my fingers through your locks, you succulent stud."
Not good.
I swear to God, people, I was not hitting on him.
So I turned to Smokey and said, "Oh my God. Do you think he thinks I was hitting on him?"
"Well, that's what I thought!"
"Oh, shit! ... Should I tell him I wasn't hitting on him, or would that just make things more awkward?"
"Um, more awkward."
"Oh my God. I'm a dirty, old lady!"
"Yup!"
And his Mom? Is the head of the H.R. department. I expect to be escorted from the building any moment now.
Posted at 03:28 PM | Comments (4)February 12, 2008
I Went There, but Sue Just Went
Last night, at chorale rehearsal, we were practicing this totally gay 16th century Elizabethan love lament madrigal thing. No wait! Keep reading! It gets better -- I promise.
So the sopranos -- that's me -- have this one spot where we come in a beat later than the rest of the parts, on the downbeat. It's kind of awkward because it's a note and a word that you wouldn't think would be on a downbeat (really, it does get better), so the director gave us a pep talk before making us sing that measure forty-seven times.
He told us, "The butt needs a big entrance!"
Okay, what he really said was, "The 'but' needs a big entrance."
As in, the word but, which started the phrase. But I don't need to tell you, my sweet flying monkeys, what a nose-picking degenerate I am. All I heard was some advice for great butt-sex.
"HA-HAAAAA!!!!!!!"
I looked around. I was the only female who had reacted. Outwardly, at least.
So I nodded resignedly at all the snippy bitches staring at me and said, "Yeah. I went there. ... I'm not proud."
Of course, my gay Husband and gay A were giggling like Japanese school girls on the other side of the room. They had gone there together. But I had gone there... alone.
Sue would have gone there with me! But nooooOOOOOOooooo, Sue isn't singing with us this season because she wants to... I don't know -- work on her career or some such shit? I wasn't listening, to be honest.
So I texted her:
PW: sigh. Another night without Sue.
S: Dude i'm in the coach outlet in napa. I'm buying stuff. A dog collar.
PW: Buy me something!
S: Shit i was still drunk from wine tasting. I bought two purses and a polka dot dog collar. Oh and i fell for an Irish bartender. Giving him my email if he works tonight.
Wine? Coach? Bartender? What else could I text back, except...
PW: Best! Vacation! EVER!
But I don't think she's going to buy me anything. If she's still coherent enough to text me, she's too sober to buy me a designer handbag.
Posted at 05:51 PM | Comments (1)February 08, 2008
A Sampling of the Instructions I've Left for the Dog Sitter
Make the dogs sit and stay while you put their food in their bowls. Daisy will drool little droplets while you do this, so make sure Stella isn't sitting under her.
Dogs go out after they eat because that's often when they poop.
Don't bother letting them out right before you feed them because they won't do anything.
When the dogs go outside, you have to go with them to make sure Stella doesn't eat Daisy's poop. Seriously.
If you don't want them begging while you eat or licking your feet while you put your socks on, they know the command, "Other room!" This means, "Be anywhere that I am not!"
You can have sex anywhere in the house, EXCEPT on our $1,000 Amish quilt.
Eat and drink anything you want. Don't bother looking for chocolate because there isn't any. But there's plenty of beer.
Don't have the basement t.v. and the dining room light on at the same time or it will blow a fuse.
The erotica is in the middle drawer of my nightstand. Don't judge me -- most of it is Heather's.
The lightswitch for the patio light is in the linen closet. I don't know why.
If you need any help or anything goes wrong, call my parents. They are four blocks away and have nothing to do anyway.
Don't run through the hallway while playing one of your little sex games because there's no rug-grip under the new runner, and you will slip and kill yourself.
If the dogs die or eat the couch, I will not hold you personally responsible. However, if you soil the quilt, I will kill you and eat your soul.
[I wonder where Elle lives? I'd sure like to stop off on our way up north for my 7 martinis! Well, it is morning -- maybe I'll just have 3 or 4. And she can put the rest in a to-go thermos.]
Posted at 08:53 AM | Comments (2)February 07, 2008
I'm Giving Up Bowling for Lent
The last third of an IM conversation between A and I yesterday afternoon (it being Ash Wednesday):
A: ok...I'm outy
A: will I see you at church tonight?
PW: HA!
PW: that's a good one
PW: America's Next Top Model is on!
A: jesus still loves you
PW: then how come he never writes?
A: he died for you so you could skip church
PW: tell him I say Hi!
A: will do
A: he's a little nailed up right now
PW: he's a trooper that Jesus
PW: oh, I have to change my nail polish, too
A: of course
PW: what color is Lent?
A: purple
PW: I'll do them purple, in honor of Jesus' 40 days without dessert
A: there you go
In my defense, it's not like I could go and get ashes on my forehead. We all know that grey on me looks teal!
Posted at 07:56 AM | Comments (3)February 06, 2008
Wandom Wednesday Wamblings
I'm so focused on anticipating when they're going to close the office, I can't entertain naught but 30-second thoughts.
There's an episode of "America's Next Top Model" on tonight! Apparently, it's a Best Of compilation from past seasons. All our favorite drama! Which means they'll have plenty of Jade, and they MUST include "Bitch poured beer in my weave!" Classic television.
In the parking garage this morning, I saw a bumper sticker that said, "Gun Control means using both hands." Awwwwwwwwwww, yeeeeaaaahhhhhhh! Have I mentioned that I am dead-on with a BB gun?
Little known fact about Wenchie -- I used to have shooting contests with the boys down the road and whupped their asses. Their Dad called me Calamity Jane. Of course, after seeing HBO's "Deadwood," I'm more convinced it was as much for the colorful way she expressed herself as for her trick shooting.
Well, the snow is doing lots of blowing around but not enough accumulating for my aspirations. I aspire to go the hell home, snowblow the driveway, and take a nap. I find that if I set my goals reeeeaaaaally, really low, I don't often disappoint myself. It's a good system, and I'm sticking to it.
This weekend, Husband and I are trekking up to Door Co. They're supposed to have single-digit weather there, so we're bringing lots of movies. And books. And KY.
"But Wenchie," you're asking. "You can read and screw and watch movies at home. Why go all the way up north?"
Because Husband and I are so compulsive that if we're not physically removed from the things we have to do, we will not sit down and relax. Also? The dogs are annoying. It's nice to get away from The Evil Incarnate That Is Stella.
Lunch time!
Posted at 12:01 PM | Comments (0)February 01, 2008
Wenchie vs. Nylons
As I watched the White Scourge of the Midwest fall outside my cubicle window yesterday afternoon, I had this conversation with Heather via I.M.:
[By the way, Meebo lets you chat without having to download software onto your work computer -- check it out!]
PW: It's a bitch outside.
PW: I'm really hoping they close the building early, and then just LEAVE it closed until Monday!
H: yeah. liek that'll happe.
H: n
H: sorry. trying to type and hold a pen at the same time...
PW: don't worry - I speak Heather
PW: last time it snowed 5 in., they closed early and didn't open until, like, 10:00 or so the next morning. which was awesome
PW: and tonight we're expecting EIGHT
H: damn. sweet.
PW: I know!
PW: The person who makes the decision must live far away or something
H: that is genious.
H: it takes me an hour to get home no matter what, and they don't seem to mind if I come in late, or early, or on time, or whatever.
PW: at my old work, the guy making that call lived 5 min. away, so he didn't give a crap
H: I hate that
H: my last job, at IEC, they NEVER EVER cared about weather.
H: because the guy lived walking distance away.
H: fucker.
PW: fucker
H: ha!
PW: oh, tomorrow, I have to attend a staff-only-plus-spouses/partners dinner for Husband's work at the Bumblefuck Country Club
H:
PW: 28 miles away
PW: and I have to be there by 6:30, in rush hour traffic, so if Google says it takes 42 min. I'm gonna have to leave at 5:00 or something
PW: and drive to fucking Bumblefuck in the snow, in rush hour traffic
PW: to have dinner with strangers
PW: in a skirt
H: wear pants. and a low-cut top, or no top, just a bra and jacket.
PW: and I'm not even sure I OWN nylons, and I'm not going shopping in this weather
PW: Husband said that one lady's partner hates these functions, too
PW: I'm like, "Partner as in lesbian?" He goes, "Yes." I said, "Awesome. We're sitting with the crabby lesbians."
H: nylons? in this century? what happened to good old fashioned tights?
PW: don't have any of those either
PW: Yeah, I may do pants
PW: with black sheer blouse and black shelf-bra tank
PW: and my sword necklace
PW: so everyone gets the right impression of me right off the bat
PW: "Yes, I'm a bitchy, pirate hooker who'd rather fall on her sword than be here. Nice to meet you. Where's the bar?"
H: the perfect dinner date!
PW: exactly
You know, I live my live in a specific manner that ensures that I never have to wear nylons/tights/pantyhose/whatever you want to call those demonic strangulation devices. So thank God that He intervened and dumped a Rhode-Island-sized load of snow on Chicago.
(Sure, the one prayer of mine that He answers is about snow. Figures.)
Since my conversation with Heather, my work building has announced its complete closure for the day, and Husband has decreed that it's too dangerous for his precious, delicate angel to be driving to Bumblefuck this evening.
Nylons: "You got away this time, Wenchie! But I will return! Mark my words! I WILL RETURN!!!"
Posted at 10:59 AM | Comments (4)