Well, it’s Friday, so it must be “Beth’s Day to Rail Against Her Asshole Boss” Day. On this very topic, I am sooooo pleased to report that last Friday he called me at 5:27 with a completely useless question. So, ooooooh, I might have left here 3 minutes early, don’t tell please.
In stark contrast to me, my boss is all about the punishment; and he loves nothing more than rules. I try to look for the good, and there’s nothing I hate more than rules. (Good thing I get to spend more hours with him in any given day/month/year than my husband, the man I love.)
To further illustrate the differences between us, courtesy of my trusty camera phone:
Have a great weekend.
Well, no real news to report, so I thought I’d let you know a little bit about me. (Ummmm…that partner thing…not so much.)
Read any good books lately?
by Joseph Heller
Incredibly witty and funny, you have a taste for irony in all that you
see. It seems that life has put you in perpetually untenable situations, and your sense
of humor is all that gets you through them. These experiences have also made you an
ardent pacifist, though you present your message with tongue sewn into cheek. You
could coin a phrase that replaces the word "paradox" for millions of
Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.
What kind of dick is my boss? I know you’re all wondering. Chuck could tell you because every single day I call him and ask him if I’ve told him that day how much of a dick my boss is.
Here’s a prime example of his dickness:
Day: Today, Friday, February 13
Time: 5:29 p.m.
Place: My office
Phone rings. It’s his dickness at the other end. He’s calling from the phone switching room to ask me what my fax number is (which he damned well knows because if nothing else, it’s on the freakin phone list that is pinned to the wall right next to the phone I know he is using).
Real motivation: make sure I’m still here.
Yeah, I love you too asshole.
So Chuck took Zoe to sign her up for gymnastics class yesterday. In our parenting history, while Chuck has often driven her to her “things” I’m usually the one that signs her up. Let’s just call me the filler-outer of the forms.
But yesterday Chuck was that.
He had to answer the usual questions: emergency contact, date of birth, address, doctor, blah blah blah, you know…the usual.
But apparently not so usual from him. He couldn’t think of Zoe’s doctor’s name. So instead of leaving it blank he got creative.
Zoe’s new pediatrician: Dr. Bombay.
So in advance of moving my staff up to our new digs on Wednesday night, I took the liberty of moving myself to my fabulous new office. I thought I would share with you what I see from the window right next to my monitor:
As always, click on the image to make it larger.
I love this view. From my other window you can see the Hollywood sign.
Yeah, I know….you wanna be me.
This week at work promises to be a nightmare of a week.
For the last three months, I have been working pretty much non-stop on my new expansion space. Preliminary meetings, drawings, bids, construction, punch lists, and final punch list reviews all culminate with 30 people moving into brand new office space on Wednesday night of this week.
I’ve put in a lot of really long hours, but I will say it has been a labor of love. I know I will be sad come next Tuesday when I no longer have this project to keep me busy.
And my husband knows that.
He knows how hard I’ve worked. He knows how hard this week will be for me. And he’s been 100% supportive.
And today his support level went to the 1000% supportive level when I was called to reception to “pick something up.”
The “something” I had to pick up was a beautiful flower arrangement my old man sent to me with a card that reads, “Happy Monday.”
Yeah, my husband rocks.
All together now, say awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.
To make up for that last debacle of an entry, i offer you this site, courtesy of David Bogner.
Yeah, so I suppose I could have written sooner to tell you all what an absolutely fabulous time I had in Chicago.
I could have told you that no only did my daughter not miss me, but it seemed she could care less that I/we were gone. She did manage to call us Saturday afternoon to find out where the charger for her Gameboy was, but then she was in a huge rush to get off the phone to go out.
But I suck, so go read this and you’ll know my time in Chi-town was spectacular.
Like every other city Chuck visits, he’s ready to move there. I would consider moving to Chicago, but it will cost the old man dearly: a full length sheared beaver coat with matching headband, and a brand spanking new Range Rover. I could/would not ask for a fur coat in sunny So Cal, but dayam, it gets cold in the midwest.
But that is not the point of this entry. I will get to my point eventually.
This Saturday Chuck and I made our usual post-movie trek over to Second Spin to procure tunes. It seems I was in a “greatest hits” kinda mood. I purchased Aretha’s Greatest Hits for $5.99, Gipsy King’s Greatest Hits, and Al Green’s Greatest Hits. The last two were not nearly the steal that Aretha was, but still worthwhile investments. I also got a VHS copy of Notting Hill, one of the best movies ever made on the entire planet, for $5.99. Schweet.
As usual, I was finished with my shopping well before Chuck was. I have come to the conculsion that I am a buyer, not a shopper. I love the victory of a good bargain, but I go in, I find what I want, I buy it, and I leave. I am not a browser or lingerer. Chuck, on the other hand, could spend all afternoon in a used record store and go back for more.
I was finishing up and browsing through the “Just In” area at the front of the store. It was there that I saw this:
(Click on the image to make it larger, but keep in mind that I took the picture with my phone and had to be totally stealth about it.)
Row upon row and stack upon stack of used Clay Aiken CD’s.
I will confess that I just loved last season’s American Idol. I am attempting to suck Chuck in with me this season.
I liked Clay better than Reuben, but not as much as I liked Kimberly Locke. And when she was out of the running I didn’t really care which of the two boys got it. Yeah, I got sucked in. American Idol, my dirty little secret is not so secret anymore.
I heard that Clay Aiken song on the radio. And while it had a snappy chorus, the lyrics were sooooo insipid, that if I were him I’d have been too embarassed to record it. I can’t image that anyone who actually heard the song on the radio would buy the CD, but clearly they did, in a moment of complete…..ummmm…..brain death? But clearly they’ve all come to their senses.
Alrighty then, I’ve just re-read this entry and it’s either wipe it out cuz it’s all over the place and makes no sense, or just post it and be done with it. I guess you know which way I went.