December 24, 2010
On the Day of the Full Moon Winter Solstice Eclipse
Because I am an idiot, I left the acquisition of a Walmart gift card, for younger step daughter (Y.S.D.), to the week of Christmas. Mind you, I do not begrudge the dear child a Walmart gift card. I mean, could she be any more practical and easy to please? If only Husband and Billi were so down-to-earth.
But even as I say that, I know in my heart it's a lie. Because I shopped for Billi and Husband exclusively online (except for some candy, purchased at Target). And I stupidly left Y.S.D.'s for the last minute. I mean, I had all her stocking stuffers -- I'm not an animal, for God's sake. I just forgot that there is no Walmart in the area that doesn't have five miles of road construction between it and me.
So. I was at work, and I got on Google Maps, I did a Search, and I found a Walmart in a neighboring town that I didn't know what there. What luck! Such glee! I printed the directions on company paper using company ink from the company Xerox machine (relishing in the ability to steal for a little while longer), and I was off!
But Google sent me to a trailer park. Which is disappointing because I switched to Google from Mapquest years ago because Mapquest once sent me to a casino intead of Lola's house. I should have known something was fishy when the address of the alleged Walmart location and the street name on the map did not match. Alas, I trusted Google instead of my instincts. Curse you, Google! Your all-knowing attitude caused me to doubt myself! How can I ever trust again? How can I ever love again...
I ended up just going to one of the Walmarts surrounded by road construction, and it wasn't too bad. Nor was finding the gift card display, nor checking out with my purchase (plus a box of Bottle Caps -- a rare find!). No, the real trouble started after I departed the Walmart parking lot.
It was as if God was saying, See? Nay-sayer! Walmart isn't so bad, you bloody snob! You wanna see bad? I'll GIVE you BAD! And then He smote me.
God sent one of his angels down to plant within me the desire to eat without getting out of my car. And he set a McDonald's in my way. And lo, thus did I order of the cheeseburger, and of the fries, and of the egg nog shake. And the Lord spake, and He pronounced it good.
But my body told me otherwise. The verdict is in, and I am officially too old to be eating McDonald's anymore. Ever again. Ever. I mean, do they put roofies in their special sauce? I have been known to eat some ridiculously shitty food in my day, people. But I've had more energy after consuming an entire box of Kraft Mac 'n' Cheese than I did after that one damn cheeseburger and small fry.
By the time I reached the parking garage back at work, everything was a chore. Pressing the button to lower my window, reaching my arm out to wave my key card in front of the box, putting the car in park, picking up my purse. I'll never know how I made the walk all the way back to my desk. I'm sure it was the blaring alarm of the car by the elevators that helped me remain awake.
Once there, I quickly discovered that I had left my regular glasses in the car. Which explains the clatter when I grabbed my purse -- my glasses falling out. For a while, I did my work wearing my prescription sunglasses. But after explaining to the fourth person why I looked like Bono, I set my mind to the unholy quest back to the parking garage to retrieve my glasses.
When I finally summoned my body to return to my car, thirty minutes after decided to do so, I was assulted by the same damn car alarm that was going off when I left for my trip to the trailer park! Double-U-tee-eff? The security people are usually much more on top of those things. Oh, wait -- we don't have security in the parking garage anymore. Please, come break into my car, hooligans! Enjoy the John Denver Christmas CDs! And don't bother stealing my super-cool sunglasses because you won't be able to see out of them!
The moral of this story is: Don't eat McDonald's if you want to function properly. Or is it, don't leave your shopping to the last minute? Or is it, if you hear a clatter in your car, check and see what it was before getting out? No, I'm sticking with the first one.
I wonder if their breakfasts have the same effect on me now, or if I can still indulge in the ocassional sausage biscuit...?
Posted at 07:13 AM | Comments (3)December 21, 2010
Seasonal Tasting Trio
For my next job (God willing and the creek don't rise), I want to work at a FOR-profit company. No more of this bullshit workin-fer-Jeebus crap. I want PERKS, man! PERKS! Perks like Husband has, working at his fancy new job, getting showered with money and bonuses and awesome food and GOING TO THE FOUR SEASONS FOR THEIR COMPANY CHRISTMAS PARTY!!!
Okay, I managed to put away my Green Monster Face for that last one because spouses were invited to partake. And did I ever! Here is the menu, typed verbatim.
* * * * *
Appetizers
Ginger Grilled Cocktail Shrimp with Thai Dipping Sauce
Lobster "BLT" - Lobster Salad encased in Peppered Profitterole
Curry Chicken Salad on a Crispy Pappadam
Brie en Croute with Apricot Sauce
Sesame Chicken Strips with Teriyaki Sauce
Peppered Sirloin of Beef on Roasted Garlic-Rosemary Ficelle with Bernaise Sauce
Now, there are at least two words in there that I don't know -- Pappadam and Ficelle. And although I know what a Profitterole is, I couldn't pronounce it to save my life. Luckily, pronunciation is not a prerequisite for stuffing one's face. I had so much brie, I'm surprised I was able to poop at all that week.
Dinner
Carnaroli Risotto with English Peas, Lemon, Dried Tiny Tomatoes, Marcasrpone Cheese, Reggiano Cheese Crisp
Cripes! That's two more words I don't know, just in the entrée! Carnaroli? Reggiano? But that didn't bother me -- they were still delicious. What does bother me is Risotto. Is it a pasta? Rice? Tapioca? Some kind of hybrid of the three? And why is it so hip and popular? It tastes like, well... pastaricetapioca. Bleh. Luckily, all the fancy crap they added to it made it quite delicious.
Young Spinach Salad, Shaved Breakfast Radish, Wedge of Camembert and Candied Walnuts with Walnut Oil-Honey Vinaigrette
Okay. I will buy English as an accepted adjective for Peas, and Young for Spinach, but c'mon, people. We have to draw the line somewhere. I can accept peas imported from England. I will even let Young slide, even though serving Old spinach is so ridiculous that letting the diner know that their spinach is Young should really go without saying. But Breakfast Radish? Really? Breakfast Radish? What the hell is that?! Who eats radishes for breakfast, and how could they possibly be any different than the ones you eat for lunch or dinner?! "Oh, I couldn't possibly eat THAT radish -- it's after noon!" I gotta call bullshit on that one.
Sliced Roast Tenderloin of Beef, Cabernet Wine Reduction
OR
Lemon Thyme Striped Bass, Champagne Chive Reduction
Needless to say, I had the beef. Because fish is gross, I don't care how much Champagne you pour on it. The beef was three inches thick, and you could cut it with a fork. The kind of beef that would make a vegetarian denounce his vows and start wringing the necks of cows with his bare hands! When Husband wasn't looking, I whispered sweet nothings to my tenderloin, telling it how majestic and manly and desirable it was, and how I loved it above all things.
Anna Potatoes and Grilled Asparagus
Now, I don't know who the hell Anna is, but her potatoes are out of this world. And that's not even a euphemism for anything -- I am dead serious. I can only assume that Anna is dead from eating her butter-laden potatoes, and I hope that she is buried in Westminster Abbey.
Dessert
Seasonal Tasting Trio:
Pumpkin Cheesecake
Mini Chocolate Pudding Cake
Apple Cranberry Crisp
Oh, heavenly day! See, this wasn't a choice of desserts. The waiter didn't come around to ask us which one we wanted. No, no, no. We were brought all three! No decision to be made! And no judgment, either! We were expected -- nay, encouraged to eat them ALL!
And what did my fantabulous place of employment provide us with during this season of festive activities? Well, we got a pulled pork sammich buffet in the cafeteria and a bunch of spin-centric emails telling us that we're all much happier now that 65 of our friends and co-workers have been shown the door. Yay.
Posted at 11:02 AM | Comments (1)December 14, 2010
The Later the Date, the Goner I Get
Sixteen more days in this job, and PhD Boss is getting weird.
Now, this is a man who, as you know, has blown-off every opportunity he's had to show his appreciation for my AWESOMENESS through cold hard cash. TWO birthdays, TWO administrative professionals day, my one-year anniversary, Christmas, EVERYTHING.
And on the extremely rare occassion that he does take me to lunch (like, twice ever), he puts it on his company credit card. And I know because I do his expense reports. Bitching about how badly our jobs suck does NOT a business lunch make!
But in the past two weeks, he has spent money on me -- not once, not twice, not thrice -- but... frouce? Fronce? Frice? Okay, four times.
Event the First: We went to lunch to gossip, he paid in cash and threw away the receipt! Holy crap! Who are you, and where did you bury PhD Boss' body?
Event the Second: I created a really awesome PowerPoint for him to use when he teaches some class. A lot of the people at work do speaking engagements for money, so it's not considered moonlighting exactly. It was fun for me, and it was no skin off my butt, so I didn't mind helping him. And he wrote me a fifty dollar check! I didn't ask -- we didn't discuss. Just fifty smackers, outta the blue! (I have been searching for the pod but haven't found it, yet.)
Event the Third: He brought me a Starbucks Peppermint Mocha because he knows I like them. Now granted, it was a small, but he just DID IT. I am starting to worry that he has a crush on me. Or is trying to butter me up to work for free. Neither will come to fruition.
Event the Fourth: He brought me a bag of various chocolates. For no reason. Now, granted, they may well have been leftover from Halloween. But they were unopened, and the point is that he thought of me. He went -- Hmmm. Chocolate. Wenchie likes chocolate. I shall bring her this chocolate. It's an act of God, I tell ya!
He is really panicking about what's going to happen -- or more accurately, NOT happen -- when I'm gone. Perhaps the sudden generosity is some weird symptom of that?
Anyhoo, my symptom is that, the closer I get to leaving, the less I'm watching what I say. And if you know me, you know just how dangerous that is. For example, last week, I donated some wrapping paper to the children's charity that PhD's girlfriend, Jen, works for. They are wrapping gifts for the various needy kids that they work with. I asked what they needed; Jen said wrapping paper; so I bought some.
Later that day...
PhD: Did you see Jen today?
PW: No. Why? Does she look hott?
PhD: [looks away from me and tries to process what I've said but can't] She had nice things to say about you at lunch.
PW: Why? Do I look hott?
PhD: ... ... I... I have no idea how to respond to that.
PW: YES! I am getting so good at this!
And then I laughed for ten minutes while he ignored my hysteria and just kept reading me his presentation.
I'm almost sad that I will be leaving before finally driving him to permanant insanity.
Posted at 08:02 PM | Comments (0)December 09, 2010
Into the Woods
Just as I finish up one Anthropologie post, another catalogue arrives in my mailbox! It's like Christmas Day every month! You know, this critique of the Anthropologie catalogue may have to become a semi-regular thing because they just never cease to bemuse and/or upset me.
For example, we've got another fairy-tale-themed photo shoot going on here. Goldilocks is lost in the woods and not at all dressed for the ocassion, is she?
How am I supposed to see the product they're selling through all that fog? Seems more like they're selling me my ideal vacation spot than some out-of-focus clothing. Are those... cargo capris?
This is much better. I love this photo.
Someone just stopped by Mr. Tumnus' house for a quickie!
I can understand that someone like Mr. Tumnus is bound to have a shoe fetish, but couldn't she have worn some sensible hiking boots and just brought her sex-shoes with her in a hand-painted, eco-friendly tote?
She deserves to get eaten by a wolf. Who goes traipsing through the woods in three-hundred dollar, leather, platform clogs?
I mean besides Heather.
I want to live here. Can't you just see me in a cozy, grass-roofed cabin, nestled in the deeps woods, secluded from society, but with great cell reception and high-speed internet?
I would wander around my property with wind-swept hair, wearing mismatched clothes completely inappropriate for being in nature, re-enacting creepy Brothers Grimm scenes, fantasizing about being ravished by a centaur...
Sorry, where was I? Oh, yes. Here's one thing Billi won't be getting for Christmas:
A four-hundred dollar birdhouse. Do you believe that shit? I don't even like birds! Husband could make any one of these for thirty bucks, and it'd be just as cute. And then I'd keep in inside because hell if I'm going to encourage those avian-flu-carriers to live on my property!
And speaking of winged things, we're now flying over the line from trite to ghastly. She appears to have to upper body of an adult female, which her legs remain those of a toddler. No wonder she looks so forlorn.
Her mode of transportation just makes no sense. Genetically-enhanced butterflies? Does Anthropologie sell boots that look like this? Because seriously, I would not put it past them to--
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK! What the fuck??? What kind of weird-ass shit is THIS?! I don't even know where to begin! The boots over ribbed over-the-knee stockings over... a union suit? Doing AN ANTLER DANCE! The Antler Dance of the Broken Spirit, apparently.
Do yourself a favor, my dearest darlings. DO NOT, under ANY circumstances, Google "deer furries." You will never sleep again.
Hmmm. Perhaps I've been judging these other-worldly women too harshly. Maybe it's the Googling of the "deer furries" that has them gripped with such palpable sorrow?
Or perhaps it's the ugly chicken salt 'n' pepper shakers in their laps, which I originally thought were rings and almost purchased for Heather.
Heather, who would never come over again if I did this to my living room, like I really, really want to.
Even though it would destroy the resale value of my home. C'mon! Wouldn't it be awesome?!
Can't you just see me? Loungin' in my caftan, leggings and suede boots (my normal around-the-house attire for cleaning the toilets and grooming the dogs)... Oh, how I want this lifestyle! This lifestyle, and this coat:
Wooden buttons! Embroidered shawl collar! I love this coat so much that even the visage of the creepy butterfly-tamer hovering above it can't taint it for me.
* * * * *
[Public Service Announcement: All my photos contain hyperlinks, so if you've read all the way through and not clicked on just one of them, you are dead to me. It's a lot of damn work, people!]
Posted at 05:29 AM | Comments (6)December 06, 2010
Another Piece of the Puzzle
I can't believe I forgot to tell you this! Twenty-one and a half more days to go at this stupid-ass job, and the drama just never relents. Now, it could be a small thing, this latest development, but knowing this place, it's probably not a coincidence.
A friend of mine told me that she saw someone veeeeeeeeeeeeery high up in the organization having lunch with Sylvia, a victim of the recent lay-offs, who had worked here for quite a few years. (By the way, Sylvia wasn't one of the shockers on the list of lay-offs because girl is just plain lazy.)
I found this lunch-pairing interesting because, although High-Up and Sylvia were always friendly, they certainly didn't lunch together while Sylvia worked here. It's always possible that they were "just catching up," but knowing what I know, and having the basic cognizant skill of pattern-recognition, I think it may be more than that.
Here's my theory:
Sylvia is being held in reserve for the job that is supposed to be mine. The powers that be are going to rewrite it to suit her abilities (or lack thereof) and then just hand it over to her.
Here's my reasoning:
1. On October 11, when I asked HR Troll #1 about the job, I may have caught her off guard, causing her to accidentally spill their plan when she told me that the job "may be rewritten" and then maybe there's "someone perfect for it" who may just be "transitioned" into the position.
2. Sylvia has not been back to HR to take advantage of any of the resume-writing or job-searching resources available to those who got laid off. Could be because she doesn't feel she needs it. Or, it could be because she knows there's already a job -- MY job -- waiting for her.
3. Sylvia is beloved because she really is a genuinely kind and gracious person. Not a go-getter, but a super-nice lady.
4. She's a single mom. And not only that, her ex is a singer in a band, so you know he's not forking up the child support.
5. She is a person of color.
6. She had The Big C last year. No, not cholera. Cancer. It's a little ridiculous, really. It's like some amateur is writing a novel and making extra-extra-sure that the reader sympathizes with Sylvia.
7. I have still not heard back from WM. I emailed him before Thanksgiving about getting together to chat, and I haven't heard back. Frankly, I think he's avoiding me. Out of embarassment.
Now I could be just showing my paranoia, but I believe I have reason to be concerned. And if you've been reading my whinings and snarkings for any period of time, then you've put the puzzle pieces together, too.
Posted at 06:11 AM | Comments (0)