monster sarcasm rally

Oh bla dee, oh bla da... Work goes on

So, my top-secret super-fancy-pants promotion got quashed. However, it has now been replaced by a top-secret role change that is 3/4 super-fancy-pants promotion and 1/4 career-killing demotion, complete with pay raise (hopefully) and impressive title.

The promotion side is partially because I earned it, but mostly to placate me into taking the demotion side. The demotion side is because nobody's as good at clicking 'create PDF' as I am, apparently.

My boss has approved it. The new head of the company has (verbally) approved it. It's now caught in the giant tangled ball of red tape that we laughingly call HR. It doesn't actually matter whether the head of the company approves it, because nothing happens without the go-ahead from HR. I expect to hear back from them within the next 6-8 years or so.

Slight tangent here, but I read this article the other day. Two key fact to take away:

1. Men still make more than women do, by a significant margin.
2. One of the only professional-level jobs where women outnumber men (by 2:1) is human resource manager.

Conclusion: the people making the decision to pay women less than men are women. Oh let's see... Not smart enough to get a real job? Not even in marketing? Well, I guess there's always HR... But hey, on the bright side, you get to decide how much everybody else earns...

How Santa Claus ruined summer

Velco Dog threw up last weekend. At first I wasn't too concerned. But it carried on. Soon he couldn't keep anything down.

Called my vet, but they were booked up for that evening. They could fit us in that morning, but I didn't think it was critical enough to leave work. Stupid me...

I took him to a clinic near my house that evening. They said it's probably cancer. Take him to the emergency clinic right now. That'll be $100, please.

Don't you think it's more likely that he swallowed a toy, I asked. They didn't.

I took him to the emergency clinic, where it costs $500 to confirm that what you've got is indeed a dog, but at least they're open all night. After running a bunch of pointless, stupid tests all night ($1700 up front, please and thanks) they eventually confirmed that he had swallowed a 'foreign body'.

I transferred him to my vet, because of course it was morning by this point. They took him in to surgery right away. Many hours later the vet called to say she had succeeded in removing the foreign body. She said it was red, looked like it might be a towel or something.

That'll be Santa Claus, I said. Sure enough, it was. I got it back (in a zip-lock baggy). There was so much internal damage that she had to remove a third of his small intestine to save his life.

Now I'm $5,000 poorer, Velcro Dog's got a foot-long row of staples up his belly, and our house is a stuffed-animal-free zone.

Things I [heart]

1. Getting stuck on the escalator behind some random jackasses who refuse to stand aside only to miss the subway by 3 nanoseconds.
2. Jackasses who think they're entitled to more than the rest of us get, and who seriously think we'll support them in their fight.
3. Jackasses who are too far up themselves to go to work, but still have time to do this:

He may not want me back

I dropped off the Velcro dog at the vet this morning so they could do the snippy snip. A woman took his lead and led him into the back room.

So far so good.

She put his Pooh Bear in a cage. Um... That was less good.

Then she tried to make him get into the cage. No way. Nuh uh. Not a chance in hell. WHERE'S MY MUMMY?

He screamed and cried like he was being murdered. He categorically refused to go anywhere near the cage. It took two women to hold him back from running out the door.

They ended up sedating him just so they could put him in the cage.

So very cool

On Saturday night I went to a housewarming party at a friend's place. It was filled with lots of wild-crazy-fun people dressed outlandishly. I took a couple of my housemates along for the ride. Although I knew only one other person, he was the host, so this gave my housemates the impression that I know wild-crazy-fun people who dress outlandishly and have exciting parties. Which of course ups my cool factor substantially...

Sadly, the illusion will fail when they see that this is far from a regular occurrence with me.

Oh, and also boosting my cool factor... Several of the outlandishly dressed, unspeakably cool people asked to take my picture because they thought my zombie shirt was cool.

My gosh, I will probably never seem so exciting as I did on Saturday night. Ah well.

Darnit — a fairy tale of mixed metaphors

And now because I can't tell you the real story the way it actually happened... A fairy tale.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Once upon a time there was a little girl. Let's call her — oh, I don't know — Sars. Sars was a slave. She worked alongside all the other slaves in the kingdom of Eh Bee See.

Sars had an SEP field (which some might call a Cloak of Invisibility), which was both a blessing and a curse. Because of the SEP field, Sars was able to go unnoticed when the random beatings were handed out. Of course, it also meant that she was passed over whenever the king decided to bestow small gifts on his slaves.

Then one day the king came to her and told her that the strange scar on her forehead was actually a sign that she was the true heir to the throne of the province of Ruskana Lateeks. The province was living in anarchy, awaiting the beginning of her rule.

When Sars was just a baby her mother had sent her away to her aunt and uncle who were slaves. They protected her and raised her as their own, never giving her any hint of her royal background.

Meet me in the courtyard tomorrow morning just after breakfast, the king said. I will take you away to your new home, where you can live the life you were meant to live. You still have to be a slave for one more night, though, until I defeat the beast that guards the gates of your new castle.

In the meantime, tell nobody about our meeting, for you never know when the beast's allies may be listening. Be brave for one more night, good Sars. I shall see you anon. Fear not; I'll explain all the plot holes tomorrow.

At breakfast the next morning Sars could hardly contain her excitement. Soon she would no longer be a slave! She would have her very own castle! She would rule over a whole province! She might even get bags of gold! She could use as many exclamation marks as she liked!

And then a strange man arrived. He spoke to all the slaves at a big meeting in the courtyard. He said he was sent by the high king, who sat upon the throne at Cair Paravel in the kingdom of Ex Why Zed, of which Eh Bee See was merely a colony. He declared himself the new king of Eh Bee See, for he had battled the old king and he had won. He held the head of the old king aloft to prove his point.

Sars pulled her SEP field tightly around herself and returned to scrubbing floors, the dream of becoming queen of Ruskana Lateeks dissolving in the clear light of day.

How to make a mess

I sneezed just as I drank a mouthful of tea.

Not a pretty picture, I tell you.

Mimi's daily calendar

6:30 - 7:00 Most people arrive at office
7:30 Daily meeting; screw that
9:30 Arrive at work
9:45 Call friend; complain about how hard work is
10:00 Call brother; borrow money
10:30 Coffee break
11:00 Watch Oprah
11:30 Argue with boss
11:45 Woo hoo — lunchtime!
14:00 Back from lunch; now what?
14:30 I'm bored — time for a smoke.
15:00 Back at desk; oh look, time to head home

____________________________

Mimi makes a point of telling people that she needs to leave at three because she HAS to pick her son up from school. This is somewhat counteracted however, by the fact that she sits in her office with the door open and makes arrangements to meet people at the bar at five past three. I guess it must be her son she meets up with...

Missed one

A few days ago, I called my car insurance company to cancel my policy. You know how at the end of every customer service call they are always required to ask you if there's anything else they can help you with, regardless of how obvious it is? This one ended on a slightly different note. She ended the call with: Thank you. Is there anything else you need to help us with today?

Life soup

Oops. Guess who didn't pay her Typepad bill for a while...

Some snippets of life from the past few weeks:

• VelcroDog has decided to stay, which means he has to start the doggy visa process right now-ish for the move to London.
• The Blue Jedi, alas, he is gone*.
• One of the chuckleheads at work was handing out free fruit-juice popcicles one day. I took an orange one. At least, I thought it was orange. One lick informed me of my error. Pineapple. My lips were numb for several hours.
• The dude I work for/with/whatever shall henceforth be known as Kara. No, not that Kara.
• Speaking of Star Trek, Sylar makes a hell of a sexy Spock.
• VelcroDog performs the sacred rite of the dinner dance, but not at dinner time. At pretty much all times except while I am making his dinner... While I'm making his dinner he sits patiently by and watches. Beandog would be horrified, or at least perplexed.
• I am so done with this MBA. I mean, I'm not, but I am. You know?

And now an office tale from this morning...

Last week the company president (henceforth: Gaius Baltar) pulled me off what I was doing and had me do a project for him. I spent a day scrubbing, sorting, aligning, and analysing 200 rows of data, and turned my report in at the end of the week.

On Monday I was told I'd been given the wrong file. The file I was supposed to have been sent contained 600 rows, not 200. So I scrapped my work and started fresh. I did up a report and sent it to Baltar on Wednesday night. This morning Bridget told me to call him. Now.

Baltar picked up the phone and demanded to know if I thought this was good work. Do you really think you're good at your job? Let me ask you something: are you actually proud of this? He spat the questions at me, more hissing than yelling. This is a man who enjoys making people cry. His non-work hobbies include stealing chocolate from small children, kicking puppies, and expensive women.

Oh dear. Did I screw the whole thing up? Make a typo? Put too much effort into a little thing? Put not enough effort in? What?

Um... Well, I was until about 10 seconds ago. Now I'm worried.

He laughed and said, I am so funny. I crack myself up. I should be a stand-up comic. Ya, shades of David Brent. He went on to say the report was great. He loved it. It's excellent. From now on, do the same thing every month.

Ya, Kara ain't too pleased about that part.

*He's not dead. He just lives with his new forever home now.