Dejà Vu

Dear IT,

Here I am, writing to you again. It's like were old friends, isn't it? Except for the part where I can't stand you because you block every fucking site I try to access. I understand blocking the games, shopping, sites that would keep the employees from wanting to commit suicide on a daily basis--really, I get it, because you guys suck. But I was trying to access the site for a veterinary office---trying to make a appointment to keep Jeremy the Wonder Dog healthy.

You know who blocks veterinary sites? Nazis. Evil, puppy-hating Nazis.

Dear IT Department

Dear IT Department,

I realize it must be difficult to answer your help desk mail when you're busy patrolling my internet activity, but would you PLEASE not block sites that I need? You know, those job related sites that I use to find people work? Yeah, I kinda need those. So, stop assuming that Leather Works is a porn site rather than a retail site---some people WANT to work retail, you bunch of perverts! Let me do my job---and unblock my favorite blogs while you're at it.

Dangerkitty

Random Tuesday--Rant Edition

I'm late (as usual!) to the party, but here's my Random Tuesday, ummmm, randomness. Thanks to Keely at Random Tuesday---without this outlet, my brain would explode.

My office is cold. Not normal cold, but evil-spirits-lurk-here cold. My space heater gets no rest, even in summer. I'm in sunny, warm Los Angeles , so this coldness? Obviously, this is the work of Satan. Just one more reason why I'm convinced I work on the Hellmouth.


Internet access has been limited by Snidley Whiplash again. First it was IM---the little twerp blocked Messenger, AIM, etc., so I've been using gmail chat. This morning I was all set to talk to my hubby when I tried to connect and got this:



Mussolini Jr. is now limiting my email access. Now I get an allowance of 1 megabyte. The best part? I'm not even trying to send anything or open any attachment...I'm just trying to log into my email.


Just got out of a meeting and am supposed to compile stats regarding the program. Apparently we need to justify our existence to the Dark Lord Sauron, i.e. He Who Rules The Hellmouth. Let me see, the economy sucks and people are losing their jobs. Our program finds jobs for people. Hmmm, seems justified to me. So riddle me this, Batman... how does one justify the annual beauty pageant that runs over $100, 000/year? And I do mean with something better than "its a tradition"...


I'm ready to call it a day.

Sunshine and Crap

I'm cranky. So what's new you ask? This isn't just me being a brat for no reason; I'm cranky because it's a beautiful day and I'm stuck inside my office. Aaaand--my appointments have taken it upon themselves to just show up willy-nilly. The last guy showed up an hour early. 60 minutes ahead of schedule. Doesn't he understand the term "fashionably late"? Does he think that I will be impressed with his time management skills and therefore give him better job leads? Nein, frauline! His "initiative" cuts into my blogging time. Besides, the only initiative I'm interested is The Initiative. You know, that covert operation on Buffy that had the chip put in Spike's head? The one with the oh-so-hot/prostitue-vampire-lover Riley? Yeah, that one. My client's inititive? Not so much. If I had my druthers, they would always be at least 20 minutes late. That way, according to the Policies and Procedures, I can reschedule them for another day. And people say I don't think things out! Ptooey.

Grrr...another victims is here. I'll make short work of this one.

Is it summer yet?

I have a headache, probably from my stupid allergies. It isn't enough not to be able to breathe at night, now my head is going to explode. Damn allergies are fucking me over like a two dollar whore. This seriously sucks because since Geek Boy and I no longer have health insurance, I have to use OTC stuff and the "good" stuff is kept at the register so I have to sign for it. I don't mind except for the fact that the CVS lady looks at me like she thinks I'm building a meth lab in the garage. Yeah, that box of Claritin I buy every couple of months goes right to meth, lady. Why on earth would I need it to stop sneezing? Oh yeah, the box of clumping kitty litter, that's for making crack. How else would I get all the little rocks not to fall apart?
It's a good thing that I'm off work tomorrow...I need a break from this place. I've been working here for about 15 years and I don't think morale has ever been so low. Walking though Silly Hall is like being an extra in MJ's (RIP) "Thriller" video. (Which, btw, is my most favorite music video ever.)

That's me in the hat. No, really. Ok, maybe that's just what I feel like. I don't even have access to good music. The L.A. airwaves are a vast desert of suckiness and Herr IT Nazi Guy has the computers on perpetual lockdown. I think he sits around blocking stuff, twirling his Snidley Whiplash moustache.

Long weekend, here I come.

Always Something There to Remind Me

My mom and I have a good relationship, well, we usually do. It's been tough but over the years we've been able to learn how to like each other. Unless there is a full moon. No, Mom doesn't turn into a werewolf but she may as well. It seems like every time the moon changes phases, she goes a little nuts---like today.



I called her in the morning and she was a bit cranky, which was strange considering Mom is a morning person. A few hours later I called her back and began complaining about how the dog has lost weight. Au contraire, ma mère, his weight is exactly the same as when we adopted him. "I don't care what the scale says---he's too skinny. He's lost about 3 pounds." Yes, the person who wears readers on top of her glasses would be able to tell that he's lost 3 pounds. Bloody hell. Apparently my arguing annoyed her because she laid into me about something I did in 2003. That's right, 6 years ago. Wow, talk about holding a grudge. I'm lucky she didn't blame me for the Black Death and the French Revolution. It was like being a kid all over again, with her pissed off at my dad and taking it out on me. She totally employs guerilla tactics, as in she'll yell at me over the phone while I'm at work. She knows I can't lose it at work so she goes for the jugular. Kudos to you, sneaky Madre o' mine.
I don't want to get upset with her because I know she isn't feeling well, but sometimes it's too much. So I won't call her back. I'll let Mama Oz get over her wolfiness, then maybe we can talk.