Category Archives: now you’re just being unreasonable

Oh my….

nothing like waiting all week to get some billable work, then finding out you won’t get it until Friday morning.

Then finding out it isn’t the draft you thought it was and it’s incomplete.

Then finding out the sponsor is being assy.

Then finding out the document is not the usual 60 – 150 pages you’re used to, but rather 281 pages of death.

Oy.

But, let’s look on the bright side: the writer is nice and very smart, my scheduling chick knows I’m working hard, and I STILL love my job.

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Have I ever told you…

that the house I grew up in was haunted? Now, you might be picturing a ramshackle, run down piece of crap house, but ours was nothing like that.  It was a cute brick ranch in a middle-class neighborhood with a very above-average yard (my parents have the greenest thumbs of anyone on the planet).  We had hair touching, and phantom tv noises, and “who the hell was I playing with?” moments and parents falling out of the attic but feeling pushed moments.

My parents have since moved to a larger house in a town about 10 miles away, and every time I visit I go by our old house.  It is apparently empty now, and I desperately want to find the woman who bought it to ask her if anything ever touched her hair or otherwise scared the crap out of her.

that sometimes I do lots and lots of random shit at odd hours? For example, it is now 3:03 am, Eastern time, and I am blogging. Two hours ago I was taking a camera phone photo of myself and my room as proof of the aftermath of ebaying.  I tore shit apart in my entire apartment looking for one USB cord that is seriously about 10 years old, all so I could sell my old digital camera.  I did a total super-cussin’ victory dance that included thanking Jesus [for real], fist pumping, jumping around and doing some weird cheerleader-type stunt with the help of my bed.

One night about a year ago, I decided to move my entire living room around, also at about 3am.  After thirty minutes of sweating and cussing, I realized I hated it and went to bed very angry.  I moved it back about a week later, completely crestfallen.

Cleaning the bathroom and driving also make this list.  Maybe those don’t necessarily qualify as “random shit” but most people I know do not take a two to three hour nap just so they can drive at 4am and avoid traffic, or decide that their bathtub HAS to be sparkling after a night out til 2.

that almost nothing grosses me out? (This does NOT count worms on the sidewalk) If you look closely, you’ll see I have the categories “farts” and “snot and boogers” in this blog.  My family has no qualms about discussing bowel movements and nasal output.  I’m lucky that many of my friends feel this way as well.  It isn’t uncommon for my friend Katie and I to email or text each other:  “Dude, I just took the greatest shit of my life.  It filled the bowl,” or “My butt just exploded.”  The latter is often after we hit up our favorite sushi joint.  Go figure.

My brother-in-law and I discuss farts on a regular basis and I have often been the victim of his crop dusting skills. And he is an EXPERT.

that my ideal house is one that may resemble a castle, will probably creep people out a little when they come over, and will also probably be dust-filled? Ok, so we can probably attribute the dustiness to my hatred of dusting. Seriously. I have not dusted my apartment in YEARS, except for the last time this guy I’m kind of seeing came over.  And that was just a dusting of the bookshelves around my Mexican money and skeleton key collection.  However, dust does lend a certain creep factor to things and although I am by no means some goth girl, I LOVE creepy.

I think antiques and dark wallpaper and damask fabric are beautiful things and I am all over trying to have a house that features this.  Bonuses would include: gargoyle statues, an atrium with tinted windows so it always seems gloomy out, and a library with large windows flanked by heavy, heavy drapery.

Boo!

Things adults should never say = things I have heard adults say

“Let’s see if there’s a Bucky’s around.  I could go for a latte.”A grown man  Any person alive should not refer to Starbucks as “Bucky’s.” Ever.

“Dere’s go.” – A former coworker would say this CONSTANTLY instead of “There we go”.  Someone has spent a little too much time around her grandkids.

“my ‘rents” – Are you seriously too lazy to fully say the word “parents”? Plus, ” ‘rents ” just sounds stupid.

“cool beans” – I’m sorry, I just have a personal hatred for anyone who uses this term.  Where are these beans and why are they so cool?

“chillax” – Are you on your way to the frat house to “bro down” with your homeboys before the kegger tonight?

“liberry”, “valentime’s day”, or “birfday” – if you are over the age of five, you should probably have your dental fricatives down pat.  I’m looking at YOU, ex-bosslady.

Anything that is said in a baby-voice or a squeal – there is a FORTY YEAR OLD woman in my office who speaks this way on a daily basis. It makes me want to rip my eardrums to shreds with my scissors.

Bluh.

I feel like Nick Burns and my knee sounds like velcro

Ok, so I’m not an IT professional.  But sometimes, lately ALL the time, I totally feel like Nick Burns.  I get the lamest questions thrown at me, usually by people with “seniority”. 

Does it take THAT much effort to click the little blue circle surrounding a question mark that is present in ALL your MS Office applications?

Yes, apparently it is.  I’ve even gone so far as to tell someone “Well, I just Googled it,” when they thank me.  It escapes them that I’ve basically  just told them to do the same thing.

And why, WHYYYYYYYYY do people do things that they think are super helpful without telling me first?  Those things usually tend to be the exact opposite: completely inane, utterly useless, and making my job even more tedious.

Even non-IT questions are starting to get to me.  I want to scream, “We have a process in place.  It is documented.  REFER TO THE TEXT.”  Well, since RFTM wouldn’t quite work here.

Chumps.

Also: when I descend the staircase here, my knee sounds EXACTLY like someone is ripping open some velcro.  I mean EXACTLY.  Sometimes the people sitting downstairs look up at me like “WTF?”

As I ASCEND the same stairs, my knee sounds like a little kid snapping.

I would not lie to you.

According to my doctor, the cartilage under my knee is worn down and my thigh muscles are uneven.  Or something.

CRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRK!

Seriously, DHL.

Recently, I placed an order on urbanoutfitters.com and have been anxiously awaiting its arrival.

I went to check the shipping status, and this is what I found:

So apparently if you live in NC and order from a company with a shipping facility in SC, the package has to go back South to Georgia, skip two states [including yours] and go up to Virginia before coming back South to your town, which is in the Southeastern part of the state.

Dear urbanoutfitters.com:

Next time, send it US Mail, mkay?

Oh crap!

Dammit dammit dammit!

I just realized that the damn food-stealer (see previous post) could possibly become the damn beer-stealer after tomorrow evening.

See, we work across the street from a mixed-use center. You know, you can live, dine and shop there type place.

This mixed-use place has free music on Friday nights, coolers welcome. This is great, because I can go buy my glorious imported Belgian ale [it’s called Lambic. try some.] and drink it on the lawn instead of paying five bucks for a cup of warm Bud Light or something [nothing against all domestics, but there is some NASTY shit out there].

Today, I made a major mistake: I told the damn food-stealer about this glorious beverage and that I was probably going to get a couple of bottles to bring to the music thing.

I can see it now:

“Hi Freshcracker. Ooooh that looks good! Can I have a sip?” OR “What are you drinkeeeen?” (Yes, she says her gerunds like Kelly Kapowski)

GULP GULP GULP.

I think, starting early early tomorrow morning, I’m going to have the beginnings of a pretend cold.  One with a fake very sore throat included. My feigned symptoms will probably reach their not-for-real peak between 6pm and 7pm, which is prime time for the damn food-stealer to start her mooching.

*cough*

The damn food-stealer

There is a girl with whom I work who is ostensibly very nice, but she has a dark, dark inner self that I have come to recognize as the bane of my existence: she is a damn food-stealer.

It started out when my cubicle was near hers, and she’d mosey over to chat.

I hate myself for phrasing that last sentence like that.

Anyway, she and I became fairly good work pals right away and I think I know why: not only would I listen to her detailed conversations -including verbatim dialog, much like Lady Criesalot– I also overlooked her tendency to use “like”, “you know” and “or whateverrrrr” at least four times each during the course of a sentence or two, but I like to keep tasty snacks in my desk drawer so I don’t freak out and eat an entire buffet during lunch.

The damn food-stealer began taking advantage of my snack stash.

First, it was “Oooh that looks good! Can I have some?”

This, of course, should’ve been a major red flag, but at the time I was the new girl so it was merely a pale pink piece of fuzz in my peripheral.  Although I absolutely detest the thought of ever asking to sample someone else’s food [I assume if they want to share, they’ll tell me] I decided to give the girl the benefit of the doubt and let her hand go snaking into my bag of granola bar bits.

That is where this Cracker made her major mistake: I opened the floodgates for all damn food-stealers and accidentally branded myself a girl-who-doesn’t-mind-sharing-food.

WRONG.

I moved cubicles due to a coworker leaving and the new space being a prime spot to sit near my other team members, and, as I was moving across the room,  I assumed the damn food-stealer would find other desks to scavenge, but I was wrong.

Just the other day, we were on a major project deadline [data cutoff, semi-annual report due, and preparation for my coworker to be gone for a week] so I didn’t leave to get lunch. At all. Not even takeout.

I decided I could tide myself over with goldfish crackers until dinner and opened my food drawer to retrieve them.

It must’ve been like a dog whistle and the damn food-stealer some kind of terrier with as quickly as she spanned the room and stood before my chair.

My blood began to boil as I saw her skinny little hand go reaching into the bag of what was my only meal until 7pm or so.

“Girl, why’re you always stealing my foood?”  I said this in a joking, more-Southern-than-I-actually-sound way, but on the inside I really meant it.

“Because I know you don’t care,” she replied.

cue the crickets.

I was about to say, “Are you sure about that?” but I only got “Are y-” out before I was called to answer a question or take care of something.

Dammit.

Next time, I’m bringing in nothing but wasabi peas, McDonald’s [the damn food-stealer is kind of a health nut] and the flaming hot salsa from my local burrito joint [I happen to know that the damn food-stealer refuses to eat there on the grounds that she will have the hershey’s about three minutes after eating].

I can’t wait until the damn food-stealer changes departments so I can snack and work undisturbed.

The very thought makes me drool…

Attention internet jerks and spam-folk.

By googling “myspace cracker” and landing on my blog you will in no way, shape, or form get tips on how to crack other peoples’ myspace passwords, etc.

Don’t you have better ways to use your time than trying to hack into the myspace of some ho from your middle school so you can post mean messages to all your enemies?

I KNOW, I KNOW: THE INTERNET IS SERIOUS BUSINESS!

However, if you google “zelda pet sematary”, “sister pet sematary”, or “scariest woman”, well, welcome to the goldmine.

Dead girl walking.

I am running on <4 hours of sleep.

I have puffy-eye and my coworkers have been saying “you look exhausted” or “you look like you’re in a bad mood.”

yes for the first, no for the second.

although i WAS in a semi-bad mood when i got a ranting comment on my “smiling sex offenders” entry

then i did some research and found out that the commenter well, you know.

if you don’t like this blog, don’t read it.

or, don’t fuck 14 year olds.

your choice.

MISS Pronunciation

I’ve recently discovered that I am the QUEEN of pronouncing things incorrectly.

Luckily, I’ve only said one for real [okay, maybe two] and all the others I’ve either mispronounced in my head, or wondered out loud to people what the actual pronunciation should be.

Aficionado. Proper pronunciation: “ah-fish-ee-uhn-AH-doe“. My pronunciation: “ah-fish-ee-AHN-doe“.
This is the one I said out loud. I was young and in college and a shame to English majors everywhere.

Egregious. Proper pronunciation: “e-GREE-jus“. My pronunciation: “e-GREG-ee-ous
This one comes from an Anne Rice book that I thoroughly enjoyed, save for her overuse of this word. I kept mentally mispronouncing it and second-guessing; then I resigned myself to the use of a dictionary and found out how wrong I was.

Prosciutto. Proper pronunciation: “pruh-SHOO-toe“. My pronunciation: “pruh-SCOO-tee-oh“. This came up when cool Amanda and I were eating Italian food and I was perusing the menu aloud. This prompted much laughter when she later realized I wasn’t kidding with my pronunciation. It also prompted much singing of Phil Collins’s “Susudio”.

Ciabatta. Proper pronunciation: “cha-BAH-tuh“. My pronunciation: “see-ya-BAH-tuh“. Luckily, I asked someone before pronouncing this out loud. Of course, I had to tell Amanda about it, which made the “pro-SCOO-tee-oh” thing even better.

and one final one that is a surprise for cool Amanda: Tiramisu.

All throughout college I mentally read it as “tier-ah-ME-soo“. It wasn’t until I met a girl who pronounced it “tier-ah-muh-SOO” that I knew the correct pronunciation. Even then, it took me a while, because I was convinced she was an idiot and was saying it wrong.

My bad.