Water, Water Everywhere And Not A Drop To Drink

I think we all here at Tapdancing in the Dark know that while I am quick to criticize, I am also quick to eat some humble pie.

Or any type of pie, for that matter.

mmmmm. Pie.
I digress…

So despite my recent rantings and ravings about my overall job satisfaction (or lack thereof), I must admit that perhaps maybe I spoke a bit too soon...

I know.
You’re shocked.
I am too.

You see, this whole time I truly believed that the company had an overall disregard for its employees happiness (and access to healthcare) (and ability to retire). Of course, there were a number of examples to support this conclusion, which I will not get into here for the sake of my blood pressure, but needless to say, a mildly disgruntled employee I was.

But then I got this email from the HR Department, and I have to say, I've really put my foot in my mouth complaining about how callously we employees were being treated.

Take a look-see:

Hello everyone,
Over the weekend both of the water fountains were fixed. We have had several requests to look into why they were not working, and we responded. Enjoy the water! Evidently there are filters that need to be changed as they get clogged.
Thanks,
[HR]

Wow.
Humble pie, serving of one, please.

I mean, here I was, going on and on about how abused we employees were, and then the company goes and does something as groundbreaking and progressive as allowing us access to clean water.

FOR FREE, people!

I mean, it’s one thing to provide vending machines that supply bottled water for the first 15 days of the month (or until it runs out) at the low, low price of $1.25 per bottle. After all, we are all so generously paid, the concept of shelling out more than $35 a month is a small price to pay to stay hydrated with water that doesn’t taste like you’re sucking on a lead pipe.
(That’s what she said.)

And it’s another thing to provide us with no-cost water that is seasoned with a healthy helping of E. Coli, because what do you expect for free? Plus, everybody could use a little more excitement in their lives, and what’s more exciting than playing a game of Russian Roulette with your drinking water?

Well, maybe a monkey knife fight.
NOTHING is more exciting that a good monkey knife fight.

But providing us with water that is both safe AND free?
…I’m at a loss for words.

No.
Really.
WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE the feelings that are welling up in me at this moment…

And it only took several requests for them to look into this! Only, like, three people had to get seriously dehydrated before they took a look at the water fountain filters. How's THAT for a quick response?
I mean, you can’t really blame them; who could have possibly anticipated that filters in the water fountains would get clogged? Who has ever heard of a filter that needs to be replaced? They should seriously write to the filter manufacturer and get their money back. AND THEN contact the Better Business Bureau because this manufacturer is clearly out to swindle the public.

Regardless, it is THIS type of problem solving that makes me proud to be an employee at this company.

It almost makes me sad to think that I’m leaving in 5 days.

…ALMOST.

Today:

Also...

I'm Not Above Eating a Coworker

You know how a person, when stuck in a survival-type situation (like they get separated from their guide on an Amazonian hike or their plane crashes into the side of a mountain and they have to survive for a ridiculous amount of time by eating people and wearing seat covers), can be amazingly strong? Like, they just put their nose to the grindstone and keep going and it doesn’t really matter that a jaguar ate half of their leg, they’re just positive they’re going to get out of this, so they keep pressing forward until they reach civilization?

But then later, when they recall the tale, they get all weepy and can’t believe that they really survived? Like, all that repressed emotion that was useless and therefore suppressed during the emergency comes bubbling to the surface?

Well work, to me, has kind of gotten to this point, in that work was something to be survived, and now that the end is near, all of the emotions that would have compromised my ability to survive are now free to be expressed. Also, in that I would have no qualms eating a coworker if it came down to it.

But these emotions…they’re really out of control.

As in, if I pass you in the ladies’ room or get stuck with you in the elevator, there is a 4 out of 5 chance I’m either saying something derogatory to you or seeing you meet some horrible death that involves any combination of fire ants, helicopter blades, Medieval-times catapults, ninja throwing stars (obviously), or pianos hanging out of two-story windows.

In my head, of course, because can you seriously imagine how that would go down in real life?

Coworker: Good morning. Did you enjoy your day off?
Me: Not as much as I’m about to enjoy THIS, motha-fuckah.

And then I whip out the ninja stars and throw them octopus style, and they’re all Why? Why would you do this to me?, and I’m all THAT’S for forgetting to put the project ID number on the folder, ass-face. And by the way, that top makes you look fat.

And then I would walk out of the elevator and exit the building into a glorious sunset, never to return again.

But instead, I just say “yes, thanks.” And as soon as they turn their backs, I give them a dirty look, because the last time I threw my ninja stars, things ended badly for me, and I’m not going back, man.

And it doesn’t help that I get these RIDICULOUS emails from coworkers with way too much time on their hands, who mistakenly believe that I truly appreciated the ingenuity of their crocheted cornucopia last month (with individually crocheted pumpkins and eggplants 'n shit), when really, I was only saying I liked it to point out the fact that I really felt to the contrary, like when somebody gets an awful haircut, and when you see it, the first thing out of your mouth is “wow, I like your haircut,” when they actually look like a retarded poodle because really, what else are you going to say? The damage has already been done…

So I got this email today:

From: [stupid coworker]
Subject: You are invited to a private unveiling

Crocheted penguin and reindeer in my office.
Stop by any time :-)

Which means that – oh my god – I’ve been officially placed on the “People who think my crocheted shit is totally awesome” list.

And I SO want to take those little crocheted penguins and reindeers and shove them down her throat, but instead, I’ll have to go all the way down to the first floor and “ooh” and “aah” at them, because when you work in an office, this is what you do: You pretend that you have things in common with people who have absolutely nothing in common with you to the point that they are practically a different species in order to keep the peace.

And an unfortunate side effect of keeping the peace is not being able to roundhouse kick certain individuals in the face.

Which is why His Lordship Chuck Norris, a man, nay, a LEGEND who is celebrated for a number redeeming personality traits, is not known for keeping the peace.

Because in the real world, roundhouse kicks to the face are the answer to everything.

So this is essentially what has been going on in my head since my first internship at my first corporate job all those years ago. Except I didn’t really know I felt so strongly about it, save for the occasional bouts of corporate sabotage and daydreams of throttling a meeting planner or two.

Which just goes to show that the mind is an amazing thing.

But that whole “not above eating a coworker” thing?
Yeah, I knew that from day one.

Pass me the salt, bitches.

A Christmas MIRACLE

Oh my god, you guys.

So I woke up today to a monsoon. No joke, a freaking monsoon, with the wind and the rain and the flooding and the dogs not so much wanting to go outside so that I had to literally poke milo outside with my umbrella.

It was one of those days where you want to call out sick and walk around in your bathrobe and imitate the scene from Risky Business where Tom Cruise slides across the floor, before he went all gay and crazy and got himself a beard out of that poor Dawsons Creek chick with the unfortunate wardrobe and engineered himself a baby named after a style of indian dress, and started believing that unhappiness is the result of alien ghosts inhabiting your body or whatever those Scientologist wackos believe.

And on a day like today, if you were to ask me, "Lily, what would make your day better?" I'd say well, it'd be great if it could stop raining so hard so I wouldn't have to worry about the sump pump failing and our basement flodding, and if I could somehow lose about 4 pounds so that these dress pants could apppear a little more "business casual" and a little less "office skank" (insomuch that I'm forced to wear them with a thong, which is a crime in itself), that would be stellar.

And then the Baby Jesus, in all His mercy, shone His face upon me. And the birds sang and a rainbow appeared, and what did I encounter, after a hellish commute that lasted more than an hour, other than the office parking lot, flooded with 4 feet of water, rendering entry impossible without the assistance of some sort of flotation device.

And I looked upon it.
And it was good.

So I said to myself, "Self, today is clearly your lucky day." And then Crystal and I went out for breakfast at Panera, because nothing says impromptu day off like a delicious pastry and hot coffee.

In other words, why am I sitting on a computer on my day off?

Peace out, yo.

A Big, Fat Nothing

I’m not funny today.
I’m dealing with a retarded new coworker with a shiny, brand-new PharmD degree, not a single ounce of job training, real-world experience, or useful skills, and a total lack of the good sense god gave a doorknob.

(and trust me, if I wasn’t bustin’ out of this joint in 8 workdays and 2 workhours, I wouldn’t writing this, but guess what mother-effers? I AM. So you will TAKE this load of crap that I am giving you and YOU WILL LIKE IT)

/explosive, rage-filled rant.

So rather than fulfill my urge to give the finger to about 80% of the office and take a crap on at least 3 different cars in the parking lot, I was going to provide you with this funny email that was forwarded to me.

Trust me. It was hysterical.

But OF COURSE, it had to be in a PDF format, and for the love of Christ, I can't figure out how to transfer the PDF into something that will be accepted by google Blogger.

So would you believe I actually wrote the entire thing out on Microsoft Word?
Yep.
The whole thing.
Because THAT is how much I love you guys.

But of course, the single time I WANT MS Word to ask me if I want to "save the document" before X-ing out of it, the prompt is nowhere to be found.

So there goes about 35 minutes of my time, right out the window.

And now I've got an empty blog, a lack of inspiration, and a stupid coworker who for some reason keeps asking me if I've had lunch.
Like, every day, she walks back from wherever she's taken her lunchbreak, and the first thing out of her mouth is, "Have you eaten lunch?"

.....Why are you asking me this?
What are you, the lunch police?!?
Last time I checked, I'm a college-educated adult who is capable of deciding for herself whether or not she is going to eat lunch.

STOP TALKING TO ME.

So there you go.
I've managed to waste an entire blog talking about nothing except for the fact that I have nothing to talk about.

Sorry guys. I'm a big disapointment today.

And yes, just in case you were wondering, I've eaten lunch.

Shit is FESTIVE

Brian and I went all, “Deck the Halls” this weekend, which typically consists of the following:

Taking Jericho (but not Milo, who shall henceforward be referred to as “Milo The Bedwetter” and no, I don’t really feel like talking about it) to go pick out a Christmas tree at probably the most expensive Christmas tree farm in a 50 mile radius. Unfortunately, it’s also the CLOSEST Christmas tree farm in a 50 mile radius, and with me, laziness usually wins out over cheap-skatedness (yes I make up my own words. I was going to say “inner Jew,” but I thought that would be offensive, so next time, try not to complain about the fact that I just used a nonsensical word, because it’s probably standing in place of a moderately offensive one. You’re welcome). And spending an hour picking out the nicest tree in the whole fucking place, only to realize that the tree has already been taken by another family (since when can you call dibs on trees? Next year, I’m claiming that bitch in OCTOBER), and the whole process starts over again. And then Jericho takes ANOTHER dump, because the last three dumps weren’t enough to clean him out, plus, the owner of the tree farm is right over there staring at us, so, awesome, and does anybody have a bag? Because you’d think that three plastic bags would cover you in the whole “cleaning up crap from a single dog,” department, but clearly we underestimated the tenacity of Jericho’s bowels.

Taking the tree home, dragging it into the house, and fiddling with it for half an hour while we try to get it absolutely straight in the stand, all the while screaming at the animals who are circling it like sharks and taking bets about who is going to knock it over first and yanking pine branches out of Milo’s locked jaws.

Watching Brian yell and curse while he meticulously places the 5,000 strands of lights that he deems necessary to give said tree the maximum amount of Christmas “cheer” (otherwise known as a $500 electricity bill and a “light pollution” fine from the township), typically with a beer in hand, and playing the “you missed a spot” game, which happens to be one of my most-favorite and Brian’s least-favorite games, at which point he gives me “the look” (like, if you point out ONE MORE AREA that needs extra lights, I’m going to pee in your shampoo bottle, hahahaha, I’m kidding, but seriously, shut your freaking pie-hole), at which point I mosey off to harvest my Farm-vizzle pumpkins because, after all, I know how to prioritize.

Going through our 18 boxes of hand-me-down Christmas decorations, with me desperately trying to throw out the ugly ones (from his side of the family, and the ones that his Ex had any sort of sentimental attachment to, natch), and him desperately trying to save them from the trash, because he’s a closet hoarder, and I’m not going to say that he likes ugly Christmas decorations, but let’s just say that one of the few benefits of being raised by a gay father is having extremely good taste when it comes to decorating, and I’m sorry, but I don’t do porcelain Santas with “fuzzy” beards, and Disney figurines? Are you freaking KIDDING ME?!?! Get that shit out of my house.

Cleaning up the puke from Milo ingesting and regurgitating 18 pounds of Christmas tree branches and needles, and then losing my mind after realizing that the single Christmas CD that we own has been playing on repeat for the past 6 hours and the songs are permanently burned into my brain.

Passing out, exhausted, with an appropriately festive house, a dog that has pine-needle gas, and a husband whose back will be now out of whack for the next two days thanks to all that time spent on the ground sawing and applying lights to a tree that is going to be thrown out in three weeks.

So yeah, that was our weekend.
It was magical, in a "National Lampoons" kinda way.

Up next? The Baking of the Christmas Cookie, which is guarenteed to be full of wonder and excitement...

...and generous use of our fire extinguisher.

Bonus Saturday Post: My Pets Have A Rough Life

This morning, after waking up, stretching, going out to take a massive dump each, eating a leisurely breakfast, and taking turns humping each other, Jericho and Milo went to the dog park.

They tore ass around the park for a good 30 minutes (Milo knocked a person down and Jericho rolled in something), and then came home, spent, to rest in front of the fire.

Meanwhile, I caught the fat cat tending to her lady bits in the middle of the kitchen floor.

And I'm including this picture, taken after the wedding before we had moved the sectional back into the house, when Milo and Skittles had to *gasp* share the same piece of furniture.

These animals are clearly abused. Someone should take them away from me.

...Somebody?

....ANYBODY?!?