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out cold
March 13, 2008
Although we�ve had a slight warming trend going on this week (up to the forties), I�ve felt completely freezing the whole time. What a gyp. Seriously�I�ve had the body warmth of a med school cadaver. Yesterday at about 6:45, I was sitting at the computer when it all got to be too much. I was icy cold, and got hit by a huge wave of drowsiness. So I turned around and crawled onto the big bed, snuggled up to the dog, and passed out. Sometime after that, the feeling of cold outran the feeling of drowsiness, and I woke long enough to dive underneath the covers and thrust my icy toes into the pool of warmth Mr. B had left for me. Then I was out again till 9:35.
I pulled myself awake and staggered to the kitchen at that point, because I still had all the usual chores to get done before bed, and because B was getting very impatient to go out. But once I got everything done, I headed back to bed, electric blanket turned on and my ever-present PPWP (personal puppy warmth provider) snugged up against me.
There�s no doubt I needed the rest, and I feel better for it. But I also feel so frigging cheated. When you only get a couple of hours a day to call your own, having to spend it catching up on your sleep so you can give ALL your waking hours away really, really, really sucks.
Am I the only one who thinks Obama needs to grow a set, if he wants to convince us he�s ready to run with the big dogs? I�m sick of all this whining and crying foul every time Clinton says something. If you can�t grasp that the nature of politics is oppositional, you are in the wrong business. And after listening to what has been said, I do not see why her statements must be taken as the Obama campaign has taken them.
Her remarks (her actual remarks, not what has been filtered through the media and the Outraged-Americans) regarding Obama�s experience and fitness for the job reflect my own opinion she is the more qualified. NOBODY SAID HE HAD NO QUALIFICATIONS. SHE JUST HAS MORE.
I look at the situation as anyone would when reviewing candidates for a job opening. Two résumés on my desk, two prospective hirees. Since offering a lower salary to the less experienced and qualified applicant is not an option in this particular case, I judge on education, qualifications and experience. Sexism and racism cannot be considered in the hiring process. So�whom do I choose? Duh.
And: how can we be sure she wasn�t angling for the VP spot on Obama�s ticket, rather than vice-versa?
Enough politics. What else can I bitch about?
Hey�how about that collection of trash, scum, and pigs-on-two-legs I call my co-workers? Well, all I really have to say there is it has been a hideous week in that office for anyone suffering from olfactory and auditory manifestations of sensory defensive disorder. The hog pen (my pet name for the neighboring set of cubes) had themselves a birthday! So that was an extra-foul day. And aside from that, we had the full range of the usual offensiveness.
Noise�from the open-mouthed chewing, crunching, slurping, tooth sucking, farting, package-rattling, cellphone ringing, and yakkety-fucking-yakking. And I�m talking a level of noise that can penetrate the best earplugs money can buy.
And�come to think of it, there was one other extra-scrumptious tidbit�Just when I thought that that horrid excrescence in the next cube couldn�t get any more annoying�he took up chewing ice. And I get treated to the whole program�listening to him dig his filthy paws round and round in a squeaky styrofoam cup of ice, looking for just the right piece, the finger-sucking after he finally picks one and sticks it in his maw, the open-mouthed crunching and grinding, the constant slurping (necessitated by the fact he can�t chew with his fucking mouth shut), and finally the inevitable�but alas, never fatal�choking on it.
Stench�from all the perfumes, lotions, hairsprays, the aforementioned farting, the plates of powdered eggs and low-grade dog food brought back to desks from the cafeteria, the taco chips, that weird-smelling brown mess they call coffee, �stinky chemical that you can�t pronounce-flavored� �butter-flavored� popcorn and of course, that impossible-to-miss, �somebody puked in the dirty dishwater� aroma, of salsa made with THE DEVIL�S OWN HERB, cilantro.
Assholery�the usual whining, bitching, back-stabbing, lying, work-avoiding, unreasonably demanding, uncooperative bullshit. With a side of High Ghetto Drama from one of my downmarket co-workers.
Sorry, Diary old friend, but once again you have to take the brunt of my bitching and complaining, so that I can maintain a tactful silence in public. Unfortunate but necessary, I�m afraid. This shit�s got to go somewhere, and I can�t afford to have it cluttering up my brain and poisoning me.
After trying, and failing, to convince myself to get a manicure after work today, I went to the library instead. I didn�t find the book I was looking for, naturally, but I did stumble upon two that I�ve been meaning to read, and a trilogy that looked promising, by TR Pearson. It�s finally a lovely day, so I think I�ll make the most of what�s left by sitting out on my porch and reading.
Reading: "Espresso Tales", by Alexander McCall Smith. The second book in the 44 Scotland Street series.
Surfing: Francesco Explains It All . Ces Marciuliano�s blog. He�s the writer of Sally Forth, and a terrific cartoonist and humorist in his own right, as well.
Listening: Arlo Guthrie, �The Best of Arlo Guthrie� I was in the mood to drive around with the windows down and sing City Of New Orleans today. So I did.
At Random: click here
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