October 30, 2009
Finding My Place In the World
Yesterday, about half an hour before I was supposed to leave work and begin my own, personal birthday celebrations at home, PhD Boss called me over to his desk.
PhD: I have a few things for you.
PW: Make it quick. I'm outta here soon.
PhD: YOU make it quick! I need these documents scanned and put on the K drive. I need you to find out what fares are like to and from Palm Springs. And I need you to find everything we have on Pirate-Ninja relations and send them to Kate Johnson.
PW: In the library, or on the K drive?
PhD: K drive.
PW: Who's Kate Johnson?
PhD: She works for PNR. Just type in Johnson on GroupWise, and she'll come up.
PW: Not if I've never emailed her before.
PhD: Yes, cuz you have proxy to my email!
PW: Just to read it! I don't have access to your address list. That's not how it works.
PhD: Fine. I'll get you her address.
I went to my desk and opened the K drive, which is the shared drive where all the folder are for our department. There are 116 folders on the K drive. I shit you not. It's the craziest thing I've ever seen.
PW: [yells over to his cube] Dude! There are 116 folders on the K drive, and none of them have anything to do with Pirate-Ninja relations.
PhD: There aren't 116.
PW: I counted them.
PhD: Well, there shouldn't be.
PW: Come over here and look at my screen.
PhD: [begrudgingly comes over] That's too many folders.
PW: I know! You people are crazy! How do you find anything?
PhD: You really can't find the Pirate-Ninja documents?
PW: NOTHING here even remotely pertains to Pirate-Ninja relations, and I am not opening every, single folder.
PhD: It shouldn't look like this. Come over and look at my screen.
PW: Fine. [follows him to his cube]
PhD: This is how the K drive should look.
PW: [smacks forehead] Okay, the only thing different is that you have the folders in list form, and I have them as thumbnails. THERE ARE STILL 116 FOLDERS HERE! How do you find anything?!
PhD: It's easy!
PW: Well, I wasn't here when you geniuses created this mess, and it's not at ALL intuitive, so NO, it's NOT easy.
PhD: It's intuitive! You just have to learn it.
PW: Do you even know what intuitive MEANS?!
PhD: Shut up. Here, I'll find the Pirate-Ninja documents for you. [spends several minutes finding the documents]
PW: [looks out the window and sighs repeatedly]
PhD: THERE! There are the documents!
PW: Yeah, that was easy.
PhD: Now go.
PW: There are 30 documents there. Which ones do you want sent to Kate Johnson?
PhD: Um... Lemme see... [clicks on various items] This one... and this one.
PW: Should I be writing these down?
PhD: I'll tell you what. I'll email you the ones I want you to send to her.
PW: Don't forget to include her email address in the email.
PhD: Jeez, why don't I just send her the email myself?
PW: GREAT IDEA!
PhD: [starts typing the email] You really are something.
PW: [laughing my ass off] And YOU, my dear, are the BEST SECRETARY EVER!
Do you know what this means, my darlings?! It means that I have finally figured out how to bend others to my will! To make them do my bidding! I have finally started to use my powers for EVIL!
On my 40th birthday, I have become a force to be reckoned with! It's the dawning of a new era, I tell you! All shall love me and despair!!!
Posted at 04:26 PM | Comments (1)October 28, 2009
Bitches Are On Notice
I have a very low tolerance for bullshit and fabricated drama, and I am quite willing to confront the people who engage in such retardedness and, if necessary, banish them from my life.
This being said, I am not taking off my earrings every time a skank looks at me sideways. I do not look for fights, and I put many, many hours of thought into a situation before deciding to get in anyone's face.
In short, I do not seek out confrontation, but when it finds me, I am ready for it. I am, after all, a Scorpio. BRING IT.
I'll start from the beginning. My predecessor, I'll call her Alfa because she came first, did support work for PhD Boss as well as adding things to our website and sending out an e-newsletter. When I was brought on, she was contracted to continue working on the website and e-news. (No one even asked me if I knew how or could learn. Because temps can't learn or do hard stuff, right?)
On her way out to bigger and better things, she threw a few parting shots in PhD Boss' direction (I know they included the word ignorant), which hurt him very much because he thought they were friends.
Needless to say, things between he and Alfa have been chilly since then. He even went so far as to throw the ignorant comment back in her face, which was probably unprofessional on his part, but whatever. I can't say for certain I wouldn't have done the same thing, so I can't wholeheartedly condemn him for it.
Meanwhile, Alfa was still doing work for us, and I played go-between for she and PhD Boss. Not wanting to cause undo drama, I tried to stay neutral and friendly with both of them. Their tiff doesn't have to involve me, right?
Oh, but if it didn't, I wouldn't be writing this, and you figured that out, my clever minions.
Enter the Executive Administrate Assistant in my department. I'll call her Bea. As in busy as a bee. As in BUSYBODY. She is so fucking special that she doesn't consider herself a mere administrative assistant or staff support, so you know what she must think of me. Monkey on a tricycle!
Bear in mind, also, that I work in a four-person department. So the Head Boss, PhD Boss, Bea and Alfa (with whom I communicate only via email) are the only people around. It would be nice if I had a fellow peon with which to share the trials and tribulations of being support staff, but I don't. I can't share shit with Bea because she thinks my job is soooooo easy compared to hers, and anything I say to her will be broadcast all over the damn building.
For the past several weeks, I have been going back and forth between Alfa and PhD Boss, trying to iron out a renewed contrat so Alfa can keep doing our website and e-news. Really, all it would take is a ten minute phone call between the two, but I couldn't get a straight answer from Alfa about when that would be best for her.
There was definitely some passive aggression going on there, but I was still stunned by her actions yesterday. She sent an email to the HR person who was handling her contract saying:
I received the contract renewal paperwork, dated October 16, 2009, last week. I am writing to regrettably inform you that I will not be renewing my contract. Thank you for your time and attention to this matter. Hope you are doing well, and blessings to you in the future!
Mind you, she did NOT send this to PhD Boss. He had to find out from HR when he was CCed on the reply, "Thank you for the notification."
Holy fucking shit! How rude is that?! I mean, I have given notice to some serious asshats, and I have never handled it that obnoxiously! What a BITCH! And completely unprofessional, to boot, but I'm mainly focused on the bitch aspect of it.
Now, I found out about all this over the phone from PhD Boss yesterday morning because he worked from home. And when he told me, I was floored and reacted quite verbally. I didn't go so far as to call her any names, knowing that Bea is always well within earshot. But to anyone listening to my end of the conversation, there was clearly some outrage and drama going on.
And what could be more interesting to the building's biggest busybody than outrage and drama? Honeynut Cheerios, apparently. Once I got off the phone, instead of coming over and salivatingly pleading for the details of the conversation, as I would expect her to do, she just quietly continued eating her breakfast. Didn't say a word to me. Didn't even look up.
Now is it just me, or is that a little suspicious? Methinks that Bea knew precisely what I was talking to PhD Boss about because she knew well beforehand what was going down. Oh, yes, my friends. While I was carefully trying to retain neutrality, Bea and Alfa were feeding off each other like the parasites they are.
This morning,... wait. As a sidenote and backstory, you should know that PhD Boss has been toying with the idea of replacing the department e-newsletter with a blog. I, of course, am wholeheartedly behind the idea, but that's neither here nor there. Now back to our story.
This morning, PhD Boss sauntered in at his usual time -- two hours after I got here -- and we went into one of the small meeting rooms to talk about things that needed to be done, as we are wont to do. But before we got down to business, we got down to business, IF you know what I mean.
No, we didn't have sex. We had a very bitchy and in depth discussion about Bea and Alfa. I was surprised to learn that, on several occassions, things that PhD Boss had mentioned to Bea had gotten back to him through Alfa! Now, it's one thing to be a gossip; it's quite another to out yourself as such! STUPID!
I was also surprised -- and I don't know why -- that Alfa had once brought up ME in a conversation with PhD Boss. As in, "No TEMP can manage an e-newletter, a website or a blog!" Apparently, they were aruging about how awesome/non-awesome she is? I don't know the context, and I don't particularly care. My issue is this: BITCH DON'T KNOW ME!
There's so many things about that statement that anger me, I am going to have to get all anal-retentive and make a numbered list, as such.
NUMBERED LIST FOR ALFA
1. Don't talk about me when you, LITERALLY, have never even met me. That's a given.
2. Don't talk smack about me to someone who likes me better than they like you. That's just going to backfire on you. A bit of advice.
3. Don't assume that because I am a TEMP that I have no skills beyond typing and filing. I've got fifteen years on you, sweetheart, and I've managed to pick up a thing or two in that time.
4. Your skill set is not so magical and special that you can safely assume that I don't have it. Okay, I don't, but that's not the point. The point is, you don't know me, and lots of people can write basic HTML. Statistically speaking, anyone in this position could very well know enough code to update a website or e-newsletter.
5&TheMostImportant. Okay, I can't build a blog from scratch like Alfa and Heather, but I CAN MANAGE A FUCKING BLOG, YOU COW! Jeebus, half my friends have their own blogs and/or websites! I can even add photos and pop-up links and change around my sidebar! IT AIN'T ROCKET SCIENCE!
And while these are all quite valid enough to be carved in stone, and the tablet hung on a thick, hemp rope around Alfa's next, it all boils down to one thing.
If you're going to talk smack about me, make sure you know what you're talking about. I mean, there's plenty of material there. You can say that I'm stuck-up, or I'm fat, or I'm a closet lesbian, or I'm a self-absorbed blogger geek -- whatever. It's not like I don't have any actual factual quirks. YOU DON' GOTTA BE MAKIN' SHIT UP!
I'm onto you now, Alfa and Bea. Consider yourselves on notice. I will let this particular shit slide because PhD Boss knows I'm awesome, and the only real harm you did was to your own characters. But be warned. If any of your covertly-typed emails do MY character any harm,... I don't even know what. But you can bet it's gonna be BAD!
Posted at 02:16 PM | Comments (2)October 20, 2009
Sparkling Conversation
Terry, Billi and I drove home from Door County on Sunday afternoon. Well, we started in the afternoon -- right after lunch, in fact -- but then we stopped for antiques. And pumpkins. And fudge. And a resale shop.
By the time we got south of Green Bay, the road was suddenly packed. And I do mean PACKed, as I noticed a lot of green and gold attire in the cars surrounding us. Anticipating a lot of stop-n-go traffic, we stopped to fill up the tank.
There was a nice-looking young man in a Packers jersey, drinking a Pepsi, so I went over and talked to him. (I know -- I hate and fear all people, and yet I have no qualms about walking up to random strangers and asking them questions. I don't understand it myself, but it's true. I'll talk to strangers in the check-out line, strangers in an elevator, strangers in the car next to me. My phobias are very selective and follow a complex set of rules. But that's a whoooooooole other blog.)
PW: Excuse me! Was there a Packers game today?
Packers Fan: Yup.
PW: Ohhhhh. Did it just let out?
PF: Yup.
PW: So all this traffic is Milwaukee Packers fans going home?
PF: Yup.
PW: So it'll be backed up for a while then?
PF: Yup.
PW: Okay. Thanks!
PF: Probably an hour.
Holy crap! Multiple syllables from a Packers fan to a F.I.B.*! I was quite honored, especially since the mound of pumpkins, shopping bags and bakery boxes, piled well above the bottom edge of the car windows, signaled that we were probably not on our way home from the Packers game.
Once we'd been in the car for a while after that, we discovered that the several-mile back-up wasn't due to the Packers fans. Indeed, they were in just as big a hurry to get home as we were.
No, the back-up was a gapers block, due to the car on its side, in a ditch. Terry goes, "Do you think alcohol was involved?"
I really hope the car had Wisconsin plates. I don't need any help purpetuating the F.I.B. stereotype.
* Fucking Illinois Bastard.
Posted at 06:55 PM | Comments (1)October 15, 2009
Yes, I Am, and Here's Why
But, Wenchie, how can you be an evil, rotten, hateful Conservative?! You LOVE the gays!
I do. I do love the gays. And I would love to be the ring bearer at Joe's wedding some day. Which is why I actively support gay rights in my personal life.
But voting Republican is so much more than that. It's about guns.
You guys, I can't run to the corner. I can't throw a ball more than four feet. I can't catch a ball before it hits me in the face. I can't ski, jump, kick, hurdle, NOTHING. I can't even do a decent summersault.
But I can SHOOT. My Dad gave me a BB gun when I was ten, and I was Annie Friggin' Oakley coming outta the gate! The neighborhood boys and I would line up empty beer cans on a log. I'd start shooting from one end; one of the boys would start from the other. Invariably, I would knock off seven or eight cans before they got through TWO. For a ten year old tomboy, there is no better high than having bragging rights like that!
I grew up with guns. My Dad has one hidden in every room of the house -- just in case. I can't be anti-gun because, if someone broke into my house, I would shoot them in the face. Well, if they were attacking one of my step daughters, I'd shoot them in the face. If they were just taking my t.v., I'd be nice and shoot them in the knee.
And then there's the racism thing. We all know how often I am accidentally racist. And purposely racist, when it comes to the French. I don't think the Democrat party would have me! (Which reminds me -- have you seen the trailer for the new Chris Rock movie, "Good Hair"? OMG! That is at the TOP of the Wenchie Must See While Sober list!)
And then there's the other big issues -- like People and Children. I don't like either. I think that Al Gore, in particular, is a giant douchebag. You can have my SUV when you pry the steering wheel from my cold, dead hands. We routinely haul lots of big stuff! So there!
And while you've got your hate on, please remember to direct some towards Heather, the Liberal who hates nature and burns empty plastic water bottles to heat her bath every night.
Posted at 01:42 PM | Comments (2)October 13, 2009
Outing Myself To My Boss... and the World, Apparently
Last week, my boss attended a big, huge, important muckity-muck meeting in D.C. He ate dinner in the Benjamin Franklin State Room. The guest list included princes and His Beatitudes and the like. He practically got noseprints on the Treaty of Paris.
I tell ya, there is NO living with him now. This was him last week, baiting me from his cubicle across the hall. (We have a lot of conversations at decible levels inappropriate for the office.)
Boss: Did I tell you that Tony Blair is gonna be there?
PW: Four times. Hey, get his autograph for me!
Boss: Bill Clinton's gonna be there, too.
PW: You can skip Bill's autograph.
Boss: ... You're a republican, aren't you?
PW: Yes.
Boss: [huge eyeroll]
PW: Don't you roll your eyes at me!
Boss: [laughs] How did you know???
PW: And don't make some blanket assumptions about who I am just because of the way I vote. I get enough of that shit around here.
Boss: [still laughing] I'm sure you do!
PW: Don't make me come over there.
Boss: [laughing harder]
PW: I mean it! You couldn't handle half of me!
Boss: [stops laughing] I know.
I also told him to bring me a present. So I got this!
Event-specific chocolate is WAAAAAAAAAY better than a White House spoon!
Posted at 08:50 AM | Comments (0)October 12, 2009
Totally Copping To the Fact That I Suck
As my current state of Being My Workplace's Bitch continues to shred my soul, and a general state of ennui encroaches upon all other aspects of my life, I continue to ponder the question: what the hell is going on with my blog?
Most workdays, I can barely manage having any civil, mono-syllabic communication with Husband. I'm sure he's walking on eggshells from day to day, wondering if he's going to get Chipper Wenchie or Dark Cloud Wenchie. I don't envy him.
It's not like I'm bi-polar or clinically depressed or anything. I just feel trapped in a way I never have before. At least, when I was married to a drunk, I had the option of divorcing him. Which I did. But my only option here is finding another job, and, well, I'm going to need a helluva lotta luck for that to come true. Which is also scary -- having to rely on fate and not merely on my exceptional skills and experience.
Ah, yes, we come to the real reason I'm so scowly-faced lately -- lack of control. It is at the root of all the perceived evil in my life. Learning that I can't control other people, only myself, was a pretty easy lesson for me, and one I embraced. At least I had the option of doing something.
But now I face a situation where the only thing I can control is how I deal with the problem, emotionally, and that is NOT easy. I am too easily enraged by people who don't acknowledge and reward my worth. And it makes me feel stupid, like a child stomping her feet on the playground crying, "It's not fair!"
Lame. Especially lame when I have it better than so many others. I have a job, I get a paycheck, I work with nice people, my commute is short, I don't do any manual labor. My glass is half full, and it's a constant struggle for me to see it that way. God, I totally suck.
Then I think about The Great Depression, and both of the World Wars. People had to toil like animals to keep their families together, to keep some semblance of a life, to not starve to death. Now THAT's hardship. How embarassing that I'm constantly whining about being underpaid. I'm sure I'm not instilling any confidence in Husband that I'll be able to tackle anything life throws at us.
I've never been good at sucking it up, but I'm trying. I'm new at this, so cut me some slack, eh? As for my blog, posts may be shorter for a while. But they WILL NOT CEASE. My blog will always be half full!
P.S. Yes, in the previous post, I really did refer to Stella and Daisy as "well-adjusted and well-behaved." I was working on a sliding scale. Compared to a lot of the dogs in my neighborhood, my dogs wreck the bell curve.
Posted at 11:49 AM | Comments (1)October 08, 2009
Dog-Walking Ettiquette
No, I'm not going to bore you with a rant about how people should pick up their dog's poop. That's a given; there's nothing new to say on that topic.
Instead, I'm here to pose an ettiquette dilemma. I don't know what to say when someone says, "Your dog is so pretty!" And they both are, so I get compliments on both of them.
But do I thank the person? Seems odd. They aren't complimenting me or anything that I could take responsibility for. All I did was arbitrarily pick a cute puppy, from a slew of cute puppies, that happened to grow into a pretty dog. Pretty hard to go wrong there!
It's not like they're complimenting my child's looks, which I could take at least 50% of the credit for. When I'm out with Billi's kids, and someone says, "Oh, what adorable children!" I say, "Thanks!" Because it's at least somewhat feesible that I could produce children that cute.
It is, however, somewhat less feesible that I could produce offspring of an entirely different species. And if I could, they probably wouldn't be pretty.
The other day, I had this brief interaction while out walking Daisy.
Stranger: What a pretty dog!
PW: Yeah, I think so, too!
Stranger: Okay then.
So apparently, my response -- however accurate and appropriate I thought it to be -- was the wrong one.
My other problem is that I seem to keep apologizing for walking my dog.
Example #1: That family with the six year old boy who is terrified of dogs happens to be walking towards us. The boy starts screaming that he wants to go home. I walk past them, in the street, and say, "Sorry!"
Example #2: Someone with an aggressive dog happens to be walking towards us. The dog starts barking and jumping and pulling on its leash. I walk past them, in the street, and say, "Sorry!"
WHAT THE FUCK AM I APOLOGIZING FOR??? For walking my dog on a public sidewalk in my own neighborhood? For owning an animal, which I keep leashed, collared, tagged and vaccinated? For existing?
Look, if one of us turns a corner, and it happens that our paths will cross, and your kid starts freaking out, it is NOT MY FAULT. Probably not your fault, either, but it's your responsibility to take care of your kid. Pick him up and take him home, preferrably via a route that doesn't force me off the sidewalk.
And if your dog can't handle the mere sight of another dog, not only is it NOT MY FAULT, it is 99% certain to be YOUR FAULT. You don't see MY dogs barking or pulling or throwing a shit-fit. If you can't handle your dog, it's your responsibility to drag your psycho dog into the street so that me and my well-socialized, well-adjusted and well-behaved dog can use the sidewalk.
Huh. Turns out I did end up getting on my soapbox for a bit. Sorry 'bout that. All I want to do is walk my dog without seeing any other living beings. Is that so much to ask?
Posted at 11:04 AM | Comments (3)October 02, 2009
Boobs 'n' Blood
Mom, there will always be things to rant about. So long as there is breath in this body!
And I am feeling the need to compensate for the whiney, self-pitying crab-fest that I puked into your laps on Tuesday. So here are some funny things about work.
Boobs
I was totally busted checking out some woman's bust at work. In my defense, her boobs are amazing, especially for her age.
Judging by the wrinkles, she's definitely older than me. And yet? Her boobs are, like, three inches from her chin! It's crazy! Once a woman hits 30, her tits start trying to flee from her face! Where does she get off have such buoyant boobies?! It's not fair!
I was merely trying to discern what kind of bra she was wearing, so I could go get one. But then yeah. Totally busted. She gave me a really dirty look, too, which I think is completely unfair. I mean, if you're going to display them like that, you can't get pissed when people notice! It's just rude.
Blood
If you've noticed that the Lamb of God looks a little anemic lately, it's because I sloshed a bunch of His blood all over my hand in chapel yesterday. Yeah, I was Assisting Minister again, which means that I'M the one who has to pour the blood of Christ into the chalice. It never goes perfectly.
I poured too fast, and I slopped Jeebus blood onto the altar tablerunner, my hand, and the sleeve of my alb. Holy Moses, I just used "alb" in a sentence. Correctly. I think...
Anyway, I didn't know what to do. It would look tacky if I wiped my hand on the alb, and I didn't want to stain it. So I just... let it dry. Dried Jeebus blood, on my hand. We don't believe in transubstantiation, but it's still a little disconcerting to be covered in something that had been consecrated.
Should I be worried that it burned a little...?
Posted at 08:24 AM | Comments (0)