Jeez. I feel it’s necessary for me to say that coincidentally I will be undergoing the annual poke-n-prod tomorrow. My doctor helps me stay compliant by refusing to refill birth control unless I come in. So I faithfully go every year.
I promise not to tell you all about it tomorrow. 
But I’m pretty sure there WON’T be cysts involved. Apparently we are a cysty bunch.
I am fortunate in that I don’t have to worry about birth control. I had my tubes cut, cauterized and pushed away from each other about three months after the birth of my son.
OK so earlier in the week **swampy **gave us an excellent example of what not to do after getting fired. Today’s lesson, kids, is what not to do when you don’t get hired for a position you’ve interviewed for.
My company is hiring to fill my position after I leave. One of the not-hired interviewees mailed back the company brochures/material with a note pointing out typos/errors in the material (things like not spelling out an acronym the first time it was used). Yes, it is useful info, but this is NOT what you do when you don’t get a job! This, children, is what we call chutzpah. It is usually not an endearing quality.
Made us all laugh/roll our eyes though, which isn’t a bad thing. There’s a silver lining in everything!
Jeepers, disappear for three days and suddenly the MMP is spanning pages and pages. I haven’t read it all, because I’m in a hurry. I just wanted to stop in and tell this Horrifying Story. It’s really, really, REALLY scary, so I’m gonna put the climax in a box. A spoiler box, for all you <snerkers> out there.
So I was sitting in my cubicle Monday morning, just midning my own business, browsing a few web sites, sliding in to make a post about shoes in the MMP, when it happens. The lights dim, the air gets cold, and the smell of rotten eggs and ozone permeates the air. The door to my office opens, and there is the sound of rats scrabbling over bones in a graveyard. And I hear a Voice. It is the Voice of Evil. It is the Voice of Doom. It is the Voice That Sets Meetings and then cancels them. It is the Voice of my boss. And the Voice said:
WELBY! WELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLBY! Your luck has run out, you poor bastard. You get to do. . . . The INVENTORY! Mu ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha herk cough sniffle. Darn dusty office. Have it on my desk by Friday.
And so, I’ve been missing since Monday.
Ah! I see! You’ve been given “the opportunity to excel”. Lucky you…
No problem. The van should be there sometime between October 30 and November 15. Will someone be home?
All the touch-up painting is done and the tarps removed from the furniture. All the crushed paint chips have been vaccumed from the carpet. Now all I have to do is get rid of the old sofa!
I’m going to Huntsville for the 2nd game of the SPHL playoffs! The first game is here Friday night, then we’ll leave Saturday morning for the second game in H’ville. I’m excited! Hockey playoffs!!! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!
Random moment for ya: I just processed an order for someone with the last name DeMoney. All I can hear is Harvey Korman saying “De Mo-nay”.*****
It’s weird inside my head, I know.
***** Link for the young and/or comedy-ignorant.
Okay…work friends are planning on going for ice cream. Do I:
a. Beg off, and explain that I feel fat, and have them think I am a total bitca, even though as of this morning I am 1.4 pounds above where I want to be?
b. Go, enjoy the ice cream, and rationalize it as the beginning of a weekend of good eating, because Mom is probably coming to visit?
Right now I am leaning towards a, without the explanation, but b sounds sooooooo good.
Susan
Susan, I definitely say B, but I may not be the best person to ask because I have a big ass and don’t weigh myself unless it’s absolutely necessary. 
1.4 lbs. is often the approximate weight of my dinner.
I’m hooooooome!! Yay.
Today was Casino-Team-Building-Day and I wasn’t interested. In fact, I don’t like work-associated socializing at all. My coworkers are nice enough, but I have no desire to have a non-work relationship with them. So about an hour after they all went to the “casino” - part of the club/training complex across the base - I just left. My branch head told me to go ahead and leave early, so I took an hour. And once I post this and check on my mail accounts, I’m going to change in to grubbies and attack the soon-to-be-freshly-painted room.
susan - I, for one, never say no to ice cream, and I have the physique to prove it. Take that as you will.
Off to paint now…
c. decline graciously and state simply you just don’t feel like ice cream this afternoon.
d) tell them it isn’t interesting unless it’s deep fried.
Waiting for bread to rise, and tidying. I think I’ll make a strawberry biscuit dough galette/pizza/open faced pie and take it in to work when I go to pick up my paycheck this evening. I should also sweep, clear the table (a major accomplishment) and maybe make some tortillas if I feel up to it. And clean out the fridge, thus ridding ourselves of all the veggies we were definitely going to eat, and didn’t. Hmm, and make some stew.
Busy day. The first time I typed that, it came out as ‘Busty day’, which I don’t think was what I intended.
But it would be appreciated.
Hi everyone!
Something happened on Monday I was going to tell you all about. But that was a long time ago and I forget what it was. It was funny though, I remember that.
What I do remember about Monday was I was a-gonna pick up one of my co-workers and beat another one to death with her. A “Two Birds” kinda thing. But that didn’t happen.
Tuesday we got some snow. It was surprising. Not that we got snow since They (the local weather forecasters) we warning us about the White Death!!! for a coupla days. But they way is sneaked in. See, when I got up for work on Tuesday I peeked out my bedroom window. There weren’t two flakes of snow out there to rub together. By the time I left for work it was a Winter Wonderland! And crazy people were driving around in it. That was not good. But it was all melted off by yesterday afternoon.
Speaking of Crazy People, this guy brought his dog in for a nail trim. Only, he had this problem. See, he wanted to breed his dog. (Why? Dunno. The dog was a big Staffordshire-ish looking thing, but not all that spectacular.) Only, and here’s the problem, the dog was already “fixed”. The guy asked four different people if there was, you know, a “special” medical procedure or surgery or something that would let him breed his dog.
Uhhhhhh… no?
I even explained to him where puppies come from and all the special bits both dog would need for a successful puppy-making. It still didn’t sink in.
I slept all funny last night. Not “ha ha” funny or anything, just on my tummy. (Usually I sleep on my side. Just so’s you know.) But when my alarm went off this morning I was sleeping on my tummy. Which wasn’t the problem. The problem was my head was on my fist. Actually it was more my jaw. Not that my head was on my jaw, but my fist was under my jaw which, like most people, I have attached to the bottom part of my head. Anyroad that meant I slept with my jaw all twisted up for who knows how long last night. (Not me. I was asleep, so I couldn’t time it.) Now my face hurts. It’s quite sad.
Yer pal,
-Rue.
Rue! Hello old pally-wally! So glad you stopped in. I’m sorry your face is all hurty. I hope it gets to feeling better soon.
Is it Friday yet? Ye gods, this week is dragging ass.
Ice cream sounds yummy, but I have been an incredibly good girl and haven’t had any ALL MONTH LONG. I likes my ice cream, dammit, so this is quite an accomplishment.
Nothing else exciting (or mundane) to report at the moment.
RUUUUUUUEEEEEEE!!!
Say, rue, does your face hurt???
Well, somebody was gonna say it.
If only my sister posted about a hurty face instead of Rue. I’d have to ask her if it was becuz someone hit her with an ugly stick. We’re mean to each other like that. Doesn’t matter that we could pass as twins. When someone asks what my sister looks like, I tell them to imagine a girlie version of me with more hair and a thicker moustache.
The best was when we were growing up. She’d always tell me “If I had a dog as ugly as you, I’d shave it’s ass and teach it to walk backwards.”
Well, when poor departed Sadie the VunderDog was still young, she grew an abcess on the back of her thigh, and it had to be excised. Guess what? The vet shaved her ass. Of course, when the dog was home and not so grumpy, I put sunglasses over her tail, took a picture, and mailed it to you know who.
Ok, everybody. The *burning * question for the day (week, actually) is:
(Are you ready?)
Should I get my hair cut?
See, I have to go to a wedding in two days, and my hair hasn’t been cut in a while. It doesn’t look terrible right now (it doesn’t look great, either, so you should factor that into your response), and I’m afraid that if I go get it cut they might cut it too short or otherwise mess it up (which happens a lot). So I can’t decide.
Rue, honey, stop beating up on yourself. It’s not really your fault that you couldn’t restore that man’s dog’s…um…dogliness. I know you feel badly, but you don’t need to punch yourself in the jaw while you sleep.
Or is this mis-placed aggression against your co-workers?
Awwww, sibling love!
Still waiting on the bread. It’s on third rise, so whenever it gets finished I can bake it. Got the fridge cleaned out, most of the dishes washed, and any minute now I’ll start some stew. As soon as the meat defrosts.
Gee, isn’t this exciting?