Category Archives: tl;dr?

Well, shit. I’m back.

Since I deactivated my facebook account and only use my tumblr for short text posts and lots of picture reblogging, I think I should rejoin the world of wordpress. Yes?

The REASONS I no longer have facebook are as follows:

– dudes I barely knew in HIGH SCHOOL decide to add me, I accept, then receive messages at 1:20 am like “Are you awake?” and then, mere hours later, “Good morning.”  Add in the fact that he’s friends with someone I actually had to block, and you get a problem.

– people putting things like “OMG life is so hard and terrible and I hate it.  Don’t ask, it’s personal.” Oh yeah? Then why the fuck did you put it on the internet to begin with?!?!



– people posting political rants, anti-president rants, etc. These are usually the same people who either “did not have time” to vote, or spend zero time looking into issues and trying to do something about them.

– my mother making a comment about almost everything I post. Especially if it involves cursing. Shit hell damn fuck, I’m almost 34 years old, okay?

– in the same vein, people thinking “she’s a horrible Christian” if i post something along those lines. I’m pretty sure Jesus isn’t condemning me to hell for saying “dickhead.”

I could go on and on, but I think you get the idea.

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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.


things that bother me, list 3

– when I introduce myself to someone, very clearly pronouncing my name  and they reply, “Nice to meet you, [some other wrong pronunciation of my name].”

– the fact that someone in my company had to have a chart similar to this:

– the fact that the above mentioned dumbass took the chart down after being ridiculed by others in her office. i had to create the above pictured diagram in lieu of an actual photo.

– this whole  “being nervous around people” thing i’ve got going on lately. there can be people i’ve known for YEARS and i still get nervous when i see them. what the hell is that?

– stemming from the nervousness, always thinking people won’t remember me.  i don’t see someone for a while, then see them somewhere random, think they don’t remember me, so i don’t speak. then who looks like the asshole? this cracker right here.

– people who don’t reply to text messages. seriously, just common courtesy of saying “i don’t feel like eating dinner out tonight/with you/ever again” will suffice. most of us aren’t comprised entirely of baby girls; we can take it. 

– clicky shoes that women wear in the office. you may remember me mentioning this previously, but this time it’s almost worse because the lady who sits behind me wears them every. single. day. she also doesn’t celebrate birthdays which is weird to me, and i’m still unclear on the “bless you” thing if she sneezes.

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.


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.


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…

I didn’t tell you how I almost died again.

Ok, kinda almost died.

Ok, had a scare that I might have a life-threatening blood clot in my lung.


I’d been having weird breathing issues for about two weeks.  I don’t have asthma, but my dad and sister do.  My mom has had pneumonia like eight times and we both get bronchitis really easily, so I figured at WORST it’d be walking pneumonia.

Boy, was I in for it.

I got to my doctor’s office and he listened to my chest.  It sounded clear, but he decided to take my oxygen level.

It was 94%.


If I were taking a calculus test, I’d be thrilled at a 94, but when your level is supposed to be around 98% and it’s OXYGEN we’re talking about, it’s not so great.

So, my doctor orders a chest x-ray. STAT, even.

It came out clear.  No pneumonia or anything.

He then says to me,  “I want to order a CAT scan for you.  There’s a chance you could have a blood clot in your lung.  If there IS one,  you’ll have to be admitted to the hospital for two days to go on blood thinners.”

Cue my bowels feeling liquidy and me internally yelling, “Ah shit, man! Shit! Shit! Shit!”

Doc W then went on to say that he was just being cautious and nervous and that I “had everything on the good side” meaning I’m under 35, I don’t smoke, etc.

So I got scheduled for a CAT scan at 2pm across town.  I figured I’d go home, get my cell phone, pack a just-in-case bag, and then go back to the office for a bit.

As soon as I walked in my apartment, my cell phone rang: “The Fresh Cracker, this is JP from name of my doctor’s office.  You need to go to name of  hospital across town right now  and they can work you in for your CAT scan.”

That is when this cracker got a little nervous. I mean, everything was “STAT” and “ASAP” so I was like “WTF” and “OMG”.

So I go to the hospital across town and register for my CAT scan.  And they put a hospital bracelet on me.

I go to the waiting room where I sit for about seven minutes before a super nice chick comes to get me.

She explains everything [including the fact that I must remove my necklace and underwire bra] and I hop on the table.

She then explains that I will be given an IV of iodine for tracking and it will make me have an odd taste in the back of my mouth and feel like I’m wetting myself.

Yeah, right. I figured it was one of those “Warning: contents under pressure.  Cap may blow off causing eye damage” type things. Possible, but unlikely to happen.

Boy, am I glad she warned me.

After she sent the iodine through my IV, I immediately got a nasty taste in my mouth. And felt like I was whizzing all over myself.

Seriously, had I not been warned, I would’ve been all “Um, nurse? I…. I had an accident.”

So, it was all over with, and nice radiologist lady and I were laughing about the pee-feeling. 

I went and sat back in the waiting room for a bit, then they called my name, handed me my films, and told me to go back and see my PCP. [No, not THAT kind of PCP]

I get to Dr. W’s office and check BACK in, handing them my films.

Then I wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

A nurse type lady comes out, calls my name, then says, “Miss Cracker.  I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long.  Dr. W is figuring out what he wants to do and we’ll call you back in a few minutes.”

Right then, I get sweaty palm [jsyk, my palms smell like potatoes when I sweat. dunno why] and start thinking “Shit! I can’t go into the hospital! They charge like five bucks for a BAND AID there and yeah, sure, insurance covers 80% but that means I have to pay 20% and since my office is at the hospital, I know what kind of shitbag hospital it really is and I know of people who’ve gotten CRAP care there.”

and other kinds of “Oh NOEEEEZ!” thoughts.

So I finally get called back and they put me in a room.

Dr. W comes in just a few minutes later and says…

“Your films are clear”

Good gah, I swear I almost lost control of my bowels at that point.

The good doctor goes on to tell me that I apparently had bronchitis with an asthmatic reaction.

Oh. So that’s why I’d been wheezing and struggling for breath.

So he put me on an inhaler and told me to call/come right in if the breathing problems continued.

He even had his office call me the next day to see if I was alright.


Since then, I’ve had to use the old lung-sucker a few times. I would say that this sucks, but that would be too obvious.

Why I am probably already an old spinster -or- perpetually single

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to meet a guy who will put up with me.  There are times when I am like “Oooooh! This weekend, I’m totally going to go out and have a great time!” and then, by the time the weekend comes, I’m more like “Wow. Sitting in my apartment and watching a movie then going to bed sounds like a GREAT idea.”

I’m not easily definable, and it seems like all the guys I know want someone that is.  There are too many aspects of my life that almost don’t make sense when put together:
– i love cemeteries, stories about ghosts, dead people, forensics, anything some people might consider “ghoulish” but show me a worm on the sidewalk and i will probably punch you for grossing me out.

– i listen to loud angry music that says things like fuck shit damn hell, but i also listen to sixpence none the richer and stavesacre and beloved aka bands with a “Christian message”.

– along those same lines, I’m totally a believer, but the things that come out of my mouth [especially when I drive] could possibly make a sailor blush.  a lot of people don’t understand that.

– I think toilet humor is hilarious, but I know some dudes that go so far as to believe that girls don’t even fart, so there’s a strange juxtaposition: if they don’t think I even fart, then how can I possibly joke about turds and stuff with them?

– I am just as happy wearing cutoffs, a tank top and flip-flops as I am wearing pointy-toed shoes, crisp jeans, and a “cute top”. I am neither a tomboy nor a girly-girl.

– I think things like this:

and this:
are unbelievably hilarious

– I could sit and play Galaxia, Dig Dug, and Rally-X until my fingers bled.  Old-school video games are awesome to me… and so are computer games.  I won’t tell you how many rounds of Dynomite or Free Cell I’ve played in the last month.

– This was my favorite Halloween costume of all time, from 2005:

Me as Stuart

My brother has warned me never to let any dude I like see this picture, because it will apparently scare him off.  BUT I want a guy who will see this picture and think I’m the coolest chick alive.

– I’m kind of a geek. and I like geeky guys.  But it seems I’m not ENOUGH of a geek to GET the geeky guys.

– I look like this when I laugh:


(ignore the cleav, plz)

Aaaand there are a whole lot of other things, but none come to mind. I’ll let you know.

Back up off me, Bible-T-shirt girl!

There is a girl at nightwork who is becoming increasingly irritating. I kind of want to call her “bible t-shirt girl” because she wears those Christian t-shirts, but then it might sound like I’m anti-Bible and I’m totally not.

I just don’t need a t-shirt to tell everyone what I believe, I guess.

Okay, she’s Bible T-shirt Girl.

Anywho, BTSG sometimes sits catty-cornered from me [is that another Southernism?] and she can see every move I make.

And she does. She watches me. I know this because, despite being legally blind without vision correction, I have extremely good peripheral vision when wearing my contacts.

We worked a Saturday shift last weekend, and it was catty-corner time. BTSG stared at me constantly, and tried to engage me in conversation every chance she got. I had my headphones on, but apparently she doesn’t get that hint.

I made a big show of turning off my mp3 player every time she spoke to me, but she only kind of got that hint.

She was running her mouth so much that a guy I barely talk to sent me an email that said the following: “Good luck getting her to stop talking.”

Yeah, it was THAT bad.

BTSG starts asking me about my duties at, like it’s any of her business, and I responded. Then she pried some more and I gave her the “you’re pushing it” look.

It got to the point where she kind of understood the headphone thing, so if I had to get up to use the bathroom [which happened often, small bladder and such] I’d basically race back to my desk to put my earbuds in before she could being speaking.

She kind of caught on, and would start talking before I even sat down.


I started employing the “my music is on so I can’t hear you” technique, and kept my eyes glued to my monitor at all times. This almost didn’t work, because BTSG started “Pssss!”-ing at me [seriously, now] to ask me something about a coworker, but I persevered and she stopped.

She DID, however, start grabbing her shoulder, making that “I’m in pain so I’m drawing in breathe loudly, sounding like a snake, so you’ll look at me” noise and staring at me. I duly ignored her and she eventually quit [apparently she fell off a horse a couple weeks ago].

Eventually, after sitting around on her cell phone after we’d all finished working, she left.

A coworker and I were discussing BTSG’s odd behavior and I said, “S, I feel like the mean girl in High School or something.”

S replied, “Um, no. She’s just THAT GIRL.”

Very true.

Coworker/supervisor also regaled me with a story of BTSG talking on her cell phone constantly one shift [we have a pretty strict “stay off the phone when you’re supposed to be working” policy]. CW/S approached BTSG and said, “How do you feel about leaving around 6:30?” (They were scheduled to get off at 7 but CW/S had all her stuff done). BTSG replied, “Well, I really need the hours.”


It’s thirty freaking minutes!

BTSG then proceeded to stay on her cellphone for the remainder of her shift. Because she REALLY needed to get paid for thirty minutes of talking on the phone.

So, last night, I had the small bit of luck to have a partition between BTSG and myself. This almost had an even worse effect, because she constantly stood up to look at me, knock on the top of the partition [it’s low] and ask me questions about something I don’t even do anymore.

Once, when she actually asked help from someone whose job it is to answer her questions, she had the girl come to her desk and they both stood. BTSG gave me the creepiest “I’m standing here looking at you with a half-grin on my face because I want you to pay attention to me and I’m trying to look seductive” look.

Brrrr. I get the chills just thinking about it.

I mean, if BTSG likes girls, I don’t care; I have plenty of lesbian friends. But THEY don’t give me creepy looks and stalk me at work.

But I digress.

Then, of course, trainer girl called me over to get my opinion. I LIKE trainer girl, so I went. For her sake only, not for BTSG’s.

After a small span of non-question-asking bliss, BTSG stood up and knocked on the partition again. WHILE I was in “furiously typing and doing my thing”-mode.

Again, I made it obvious that I had to stop my music and stop working because of her interruption.

“I have this thing in…”

I cut her off. “Can you please ask L or one of the other XXXXs? I’m not XXXXXing; I’m doing XXXXXX.”

Bitch, please.

So I get this “I’m mad but I’m torn because I think you might go off on me if I argue” look from BTSG and she goes to ask trainer girl because L  had to *gasp* go to the bathroom! Like she couldn’t make a five minute phone call to wait for L  to return?

Anyway, as soon as nice trainer girl finished helping her, BTSG goes over to our comment box and grabs a slip of paper. Veeeerrrrry deliberately.

She brings it back to her desk and, from what I could tell, wrote on it forEVer.

I immediately went to CW/S and told her, “I think there will be a written complaint about me in the comment box.”

She knew exactly who I was talking about, because BTSG was so deliberate.

CW/S immediately went to talk to whomever empties the box and explained it to them, probably with a lot of eyerolling.

BTSG left me alone for the rest of the night [thank God!] but when she got ready to leave, she walked, very purposefully, over to the comment box and slipped her comment in. (I wonder if she wrote “Thefreshcracker won’t be my friend or do my job for me.” At least, I hope that’s how it comes across, because I’m not about getting in trouble because of some lameass who has a weird crush on me.)

She turned around and walked back to her desk, watching me.

I simply sat there with a huge grin on my face, peacefully doing my job.

Things that bother me. v2.0

People who don’t use turn signals.
Now, I’m not being very ridiculous with this one.  I don’t know how many times, in my fits of road rage, I’ve shouted, “Nice signal, jackass!”. Like they can even hear me with my windows [and theirs] rolled up.  This non-use of a very purposeful tool bothers me even more when the heinous act is committed by someone with whom I’m riding.  Sometimes, I even pantomime flicking on a turn signal, just because it bothers me THAT BAD when the person driving doesn’t do it and I feel like I have to make up for their mistake.

Worms on the sidewalk
Oh yes, even the dead ones.  Worms on the sidewalk are also part of a different list than “what bothers me” called “things that make me want to vomit.”  I’ve always thought “ew” when stepping over/around them, but now I shiver a little each time I pass one.  It’s all thanks in part to my parents, who revealed to me that the weird smell after a rain in their part of the state is from worms.  I have no idea if they were completely joking or not, but what they said stuck, and now I breathe through my mouth anytime I’m outside post-rain.

The fact that vending machines don’t take cards.
Except the ones on my local college campus, that is.  I mean, I don’t know how many times I’ve REALLY wanted some of those Elfkin shortbread cookies [or whatever, they’re Keebler] or a pack of skittles, and I just don’t have a dollar bill or 80 cents.  Wait, what’s even WORSE is if I don’t have a dollar bill, but I do have 80 cents, but twenty cents of it is in pennies! Maybe that should bother me, too: vending machines don’t take pennies!  Cards would still be more convenient than if I had a huge supplies of quarters, nickels, and dimes, though.  Does anyone remember that commercial a few years ago that shows a girl go up to a vending machine, punch a few numbers on her cell phone, and VOILA! a drink comes out?  When is THAT going to happen?

My handwriting
Seriously.  It’s not even funny anymore.  For nightwork, I have to sometimes send off handwritten requests.  I wonder if they can even read the names I write.  Do they think nightwork is illegally employing first-graders to do their faxes for them?  My hand cramped up after just a few sentences, and I had to go extra slow in an attempt to make my writing legible.  I think I get it from my dad.

Eyebrow piercings
No explanation necessary.

Um, that’s all for now.

I’m going to ask you about your weekend so I can tell you about mine. In detail.

Lady Criesalot just came into my office.  And hovered.  WHILE I was in the process of combining honey and peanut butter to have peanut butter honey toast for lunch. (Long story short, if you want a sandwich at lunch now, you have to buy some four dollar piece of crap from the cafeteria instead of being able to make your own delicious cheese sandwich and I already got the bread before I realized they’d confiscated the sandwich makings.)

Anywho, as I’m fervently mixing up my concoction [complete with furrowed brow], LC is standing directly in front of my desk, asking about my weekend.

Or, as I like to put it, “Baiting me to open up the floodgates of her ultra-detailed and rather boring soliloquy about HER weekend.”

It is almost all I can do not to stop her and say, “Look. I understand that you’re going to miss athlete boy, I really do, but I really don’t want to hear a super-detailed version of what you did this weekend, complete with verbatim dialogue.”

But, she’d probably start whispering, crying, and doing the pouting baby face thing again.

I seriously think I spoke for about twenty seconds about my weekend before she launched into her diatribe.

She seems to have a lot of friends, so I’m wondering why she doesn’t just call them and regale THEM with the details.

Her listening skills also leave something to be desired.  When I say, “I’m not in a super great mood because I worked until ten pm last night and I’m way tired,” but I’m smiling and laughing and generally acting okay, then I don’t mean “OH MY DEAR LORD THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY LIIIIIIIIIFE!”

But she departs my office with, “Well, I hope your day gets better!”

It seems I either need to buy Lady Criesalot a hearing aid, or a crash course in not thinking histrionic behavior is something we all display.

p.s. I ate skittles the other day and one fell out of my hand and landed here:


Since it’s technically in the NO TRASH ZONE [aka just in the knot I made so the bag would stay put, but not necessarily near anything dirty], would it be completely disgusting of me to eat it?

I mean, come on, it’s an ORANGE skittle.  If it were lemon or grape, I’d say leave it.  If it were strawberry, I wouldn’t even be asking because it would already be in my mouth.

But ORANGE.  It ranks up there with lime: not my most favorite, but not easily discarded like lemon or grape.

What to do?

The clusterfuck

You know the company you’re working for is a huge pile of steaming donkey shit when you go out of town, expect to get your paycheck via direct deposit, then check your balance to find out you weren’t paid on the day you were supposed to get paid.

Or at all.


Because the head honchos at my part-time job [my full time job is not a steaming pile of donkey shit, but a veritable village of dinosaur shit and the mayor has Tourette’s*] gave the accounting/HR lady a project and she just DIDN’T DO THEY PAYROLL FOR THE 15TH.

How hard is that? We ALWAYS ALWAYS get paid on the 15th of the month and the last day of the month.


So, now I have to wait until tonight to pick up a check.

Which is the very same scenario that I purposely AVOID by having direct deposit.


To make the cluster an actual cluster, let’s add a dash of getting home at 7am from driving 3 hours and some odd minutes to find that your A/C is running, but blowing out HOT air. Yes, indeedy, it was 85 degrees in my apartment.

There went my nap before work this morning…

I got to work early [after taking the coldest shower i could stand, grabbing my makeup, and sitting out in my car with the A/C cranked to apply mascara] and noticed I needed to change my network password.

I mentioned this later to my boss, telling her I couldn’t access my work email remotely this weekend and that I was dumbfounded and she replied with, “Haha, did you think you were fired?!”

From any other boss, this may seem funny haha, but to me, coming from my bipolar boss, it was more like pukey crap crap.

This is the same boss who, two months ago, told me to write up a very detailed and comprehensive list of all I do here because she was going to ask the powers that be to give me a raise.

I inquired about said raise today [when it all began being talked about, she told me I’d know “within the month”], I was met with “You’ll probably know something in October.”

Ellipses for days.

This was also after she made it a point to tell me that a fellow coworker who just got a job in another department was making like three dollars less an hour than I do.  Even though said coworker JUST told me last week what he made.

Boss, you are a LIAR.

After a while, I get told that we have ELEVEN more things coming in that I have to accomodate. ELEVEN.

When told we don’t have room, boss gets irritated and mouthy.


I retorted that I’d already heard slack from the things we ALREADY have and I’m sure I’d hear more since many of these THINGS try to reserve space a year in advance.

Boss reminded me of our standard answer after telling me we can’t actually tell the TRUTH in this issue [wtf, seriously] then comes up with this gem: “Well, we don’t even know if we’ll have JOBS by next fall.”

Are you kidding me?  Why is our company building a brand-new building [and why have you gone to “four meetings a day” about it with the architects…] if we’re, by some impossible twist of fate, closing?

I leave work for lunch, and call both my mom AND Katie so I can bitch and moan about the raise thing.

I go to McDonald’s [food of dooooom], go through the drive-thru, then head home to eat.

And walk into a stifling hot house that has not cooled off one degree.

Thanks, landlord.  It’s been six hours and it’s in the nineties outside.

I turned my A/C unit completely off to avoid having an astronomical power bill.

Now, watch the maintenance guy call to tell me “The unit was turned off; that’s why it wasn’t cooling.”

I can pretty much bet you ten bucks this will happen.

I’ll keep you posted on the cluster.

*p.s. Our head guy at my full-time job really does have Tourette’s.