Flying Solo
Aggie Boss is gone this week, leaving me in charge of our current account. I’ve been left alone on an account before, but it was at a point where all the decisions had already been made. Not the case here.
Raising The Roof
Today in my department was annual review day, which coincidentally is known as RAI$E DAY. At least that’s how it is known in my cubicle.
I entered The Partner’s office for my review first thing this morning. I brought my big cup of coffee and hoped that it wasn’t too obvious that I was trying not to think about the sex I did not have last night. Many people have told me I can’t lie worth a shit because my eyes give me away. Stupid STUPID eyes. I’d poke them if hadn’t already done a Clockwork Orange number on them.
What Do You Mean Being Tired And Pissy Won’t Get Me Laid?
How is it possible that one’s life can be bursting at the seams and yet also as boring as a box of paper clips? As much as it pains me to go six months without sex (it may embarrass me, but it sure as hell seems to infuriate my readers), there is more to blame for this than my general surliness and continued sex-boycott against idiots (”boycock”? oh god, this isn’t good. when the stupid word games go into overdrive that means I’m fucked. or not fucked. which is double lame and therefore double not fucked.)
Ding Dong The Witch Is Gone
It’s official. Good Witch/Evil Bitch is moving to another department. One that is allll the way on the other side of the building, far beyond the reach of my hissing.
BOOTY SHAKE! Cha cha cha cha CHA cha cha cha cha CHA yada yada yaDA
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No Longer Torn?
Today at work something changed. Everything changed.
The Goddess Of Irony And My Boss Must Be In Cahoots
On Thursday afternoon The Partner came by my desk and said that our department may be getting a new client. They would be here on Friday and I should make myself available in case they want to meet everyone who would be working on their account. No problem. I tidied up all my files, pulled out some industry magazines to lie on top of the many coffee rings on my desk, and reminded myself not to wear the shirt with the tiny mustard stain right on the boob.
Who’s On Track?
Today one of my coworkers told me she’s four weeks pregnant. She’s my age.
In theory I know that twenty-seven is a perfectly reasonable age to have a baby, but I look at myself and think, oh holy FUCK there’s no way I’m mature enough to have a child. Don’t let the bank account and vibrator collection fool you, I am a twelve year-old tottering around in heels.
It’s Not A Case Of The Mondays, It’s a Bad Case of Idiot
How can I have been at the office for only three hours before wanting to unleash some serious bitchslapping on someone? How can a person look so smart and be so wrong?
Am I totally showing how naive I still am about Corporate America? Aw fuck. Please tell me I don’t have much left to learn, because I’m not sure how much more of this I can stand before going ape-shit.
Every Monday we have a staff meeting at 9:00. Every Monday by 9:45 I am so pissed off that it would be better for all of mankind if I went home for the rest of the day. Or at least for my lunch hour.
You Mean Sometimes Hard Work Does Pay Off?
This morning we received our end-of-the-year bonuses. I was barely able to speak for the rest of the day. I had been expecting a 30% increase from last year’s bonus, which was not exactly lunch money. Although I was hoping for a 50% increase, I wasn’t letting myself get excited over the thought.
When I opened the company holiday card with my bonus check inside, I damn near dropped the fucking thing. It was over three times last year’s bonus. NO FUCKING WAY.
It’s On.
I was at work for only three hours before my head was about to explode from the restraint it took not to throw my boss Good Witch/Evil Bitch into the depths of hell, which in my mind would resemble being trapped inside a cubicle with the walls closing in a la Indiana Jones.
Warning: bitchfest.
Infamous Last Words
Monday’s mantra: I will not talk back to my boss I will not talk back to my boss I will not talk back to my boss
Tuesday’s mantra: I will not talk smack to my boss I will not talk smack to my boss I will not talk smack to my boss
Wednesday’s mantra: I will not smack my boss I will not smack my boss I will not smack my boss
Today’s mantra: I will not bitch-slap my boss I will not bitch-slap my boss I will not bitch-slap my boss
Tomorrow’s mantra: I totally bitch-slapped my boss, and damn it felt good.
163 lbs., alcohol units 2 4, bowls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch 3, calories acknowledged 7
Since the previous post I wrote in the format of Bridget Jones was so popular and the movie has been in my DVD player for the last two weeks, I figured it was time for another dose of British-flavored lurve.
9:14 a.m. Arrive at office.
9:15 a.m. Wonder if have been seen, i.e. if too late to run back out and call in sick from car in parking lot.
9:47 a.m. Pants are tight. Bollocks. According to scale at gym, have gained ten pounds in last two months. Would blame boss for making me abuse love of comfort food, but ass still looks better than hers despite ten extra pounds concentrated in mid-section. Karma must be starting at my boss’s ass. Rejoice.
