Cats believe in retribution. And they’re not screwing around. They know all of your weaknesses and they will use them against you.
- Forget to the clean the litter box?
They shit right next to it.
- Put sticky tape on the arm of your wicker chair in an effort to save it?
They study every inch of the wicker wet dream that’s not covered and rip it to shreds.
- Forget to give them the canned wet food at the same time every day – that you were dumb enough to introduce into their dry food diet – to solve their puking problem?
God, I love those little brats.
At least, I always know where they are coming from. And that is a luxury.
Especially at work.
Look, I think I am fairly decent person.
- I only harbor a disdain for some of my family.
- Most of the stuff I return to Target hasn’t been opened and used for a month.
- Sometimes I don’t pretend that I am not home when annoying strangers wake me up at ungodly hours to shove pamphlets
recyclingin my hands.
- And I would never wish bad things on anyone. No, really. Not even my mother. And she’s a card-carrying ass and proud of it.
But sometimes, just sometimes…
I really want to slap people. Really hard. Then, ice my hand down, do some hand stretches.
And then, slap them again.
Question: Why is work Douchebag Central?
Every single hard core douchebag I know is at my job.
Remember, those awesome committees at work that were going to solve all of the world’s problems like…
- Bad cunnilingus. [Look, I just don’t want a human head in my vagina.]
- Politicians posting their junk on the interwebs. [Not that some of the pictures weren’t impressive. Yes, if you are crazy enough to post your penis on the web, I will Google it. What are you doing with your laptop? Reading Tolstoy and crafting sonnets.]
- And those idiots who can’t drive in one lane, so they ride in the middle of TWO?! Go straight? Turn left? [These dumbfounding life questions always lead to a quagmire of indecision.]
And yet, the committee seemed so decisive. For months, it was – Yay, committees! We rock!
Collective thinking is creative thinking! Weeeeee!
There is no “I” in team. There is just “team” in team. We are one!
[Insert incessant cumming here.]
Then, the client told them that they vehemently hated their product.
The day before the Labor Day holiday.
Technically, the client told them months ago, but the committees were so busy cumming they didn’t hear.
Cum has that effect.
Ring. Ring. Rinnng. [I hate that work-people have my phone number.]
Especially when I am pretend-working at home. And by that, I mean gardening.
It’s my boss [who has turned into an all-encompassing, insipid, tyrannical troll. It’s been a lovely summer. How about you?]
“We have an amazing opportunity for you,” she chirps on a conference call.
“Opportunity” is corporate code for “you are about to be royally fucked with a smile.”
“You can save the contract, save the whole project,” she squeals like a pig.
[Oh, eat me.]
Then, she explains (even though me, the client, Santa Claus and Barbie have been telling the committee that their project sucks for THREE MONTHS) they have come to the realization that it actually sucks and that I get to fix it by myself over the holiday weekend.
See? There really is an “I” in team.
I do all of the work. We take all of the credit.
I am having surgery in January so I kinda need health insurance. Otherwise, the contract being dissolved sounds like some kind of wonderful.
Sweet, uncomplicated freedom.
Is it okay if I lick him? Just a teeny tiny lick…
Maybe on the cheek. Right next to his very delicious-looking teeth, which I could inhale like candy corn.
Question: Have you ever met someone whose teeth are so shiny and perfect and plentiful that it looks like they are vomiting teeth?
Okay, that sounded gross. But Holy O-Ru-J [Oprah, RuPaul, Judge Judy] and all things fabulous.
He sure is pretty. Even his teeth are pretty. And pretty isn’t even my thing…
I kinda like a dude that looks weathered like an old work boot. And balding [sans a combover]. With a little belly and glasses. Little bellies are the cutest.
But I can make exceptions. Right?
It’s a crush. Innocent.
The last thing I had a crush on was an Italian olive stuffed with an almond
which almost made me orgasm.
And the only place I put it was my mouth.
“So that’s a Trenta iced decaf with 4 Splenda and Preve,” Caramel said scribbling on my humongous plastic cup, confirming my order.
[Preve? What the hell is that? Screw you, Starbucks, for using obscure words that have absolutely nothing to do with coffee. Pretentious bastards. I heart you.]
“Sure,” I say. [And can I pour it on your body?] I mean I would have agreed to anything.
Preve. Naughty touching. Standing in a line and staring at him. [You know? The basics.]
Question: If you are looking at someone with your mouth slightly open, is that creepy?
Fine. I already know the answer. But I don’t care. My Starbucks addiction to their iced decaf and staring at a 26-year-old got me through the summer.
[It’s called focus, people!]
And yes, I feel dirty for typing that. But only a little.
Life is good
when I leave work.
Otherwise, work consumes all of my energy. And then, I just want to crash when I get home.
Managing stress well? Not.
And I’ve got to do better, but it’s just hard to keep up.
Blink. And the day is gone.
Blink. And everything I love has fallen by the wayside.
“She loved it. The Commissioner [of Bureaucratic Nonsense] loved your work. You saved us. You’re our savior,” my boss chirped, refreshed and perky from her holiday weekend.
“Right,” I said, not-even-remotely-in-the-mood-for-this-BS, “Just a reminder. I am off this Friday. And just about every Friday ‘til the end of the year.”
“Ohhhh,” she tilts her head to ponder, “We’re so busy now. Can you call in or answer emails?”
I answered her faster than New York Mayoral candidate Anthony Weiner can post another dick pic online.
“Let me be clear. Absolutely not. That is why I am on vacation.” I say in my most direct bitch-I-will-slap-your-tanned-ass-across-the-room-and-out-the-window tone.
Question: When your boss’s mouth is hanging slightly open and she is struggling for a reply, does that mean your yearly review will be smeared with fecal matter and done in red ink?
Yup. I already know the answer.
She is like my cats. She always remembers when you don’t feed her