Drummer Tool

The IT department at my place of gainful employment is sending me over the edge with their uselessness. The ringleader of the group is a woefully out-of-shape and extremely bitter forty-something guy who loves being the leader of the twenty-something guys in the department. Mr. Misery spends so much time complaining about being asked to do things within his job description that I’m not sure why he’s even here. No one is forcing him to stay. I’ve never understood why people languish in job misery and insist on making everyone around them miserable. This isn’t a work-release program or community service. You can leave if you’re miserable. The only thing I can figure is that his technical expertise is in the area of blame-storming. Everything that goes wrong is because of (anyone not in the IT dept)’s incompetence He’s got nothing good to say about anything or anyone and the twenty-somethings have absorbed his shitty attitude and laziness.

Mr. Misery loves having loud arguments over the phone with his wife. I can’t believe anyone berates his/her spouse that way with an audience of coworkers within earshot. I seriously cringe when I hear his nasty tone and the things he says out loud. I can only surmise that he has a really unattractive wife and/or that he’s in a celibate marriage. Along with Mr. Misery’s incessant verbal diarrhea about all things not related to work, he has another irritating habit – thumb drumming. He plays thumb drums on his desk when he’s not typing and, since he’s not working on anything, he thumb-drums the entire day away. Oh, and I should also add that he uses his feet to play the bass drum and high hat…all in 4/4 time…nothing else. Not even jazzing it up with a little 5/4 time to keep it interesting.

I have 1847 songs on my iPod at the moment and none of them are able to cancel out the shitty thumb drumming going on next to me. As I type this, Mr. Misery Bonham is playing a drum solo on his desk while bitching about another coworker. The guy is a serious multi-tasker. I’m going to ask him if he can help me arrange the icons on my desktop. Maybe this will send him over the edge and he’ll quit the band for good.

I Share Because I Care. Really.

Today I had the experience that every woman looks forward to each year - the annual visit to the crotchologist. Who doesn’t love the awkward questions about your crotch’s history, the extended dance remix breast exam, and getting pried like open a clam at a raw bar for the always-fun cervical scraping? Oh, and all under the soothing glare of stadium lighting focused solely your no-no places. Fortunately, my visit to the crotchologist was uneventful, as usual, and for all the right reasons. I’m sure you’re all thrilled that I’ve shared this information with you. You can sleep better now. I have to admit that living so close to Washington Blvd had me worried that I’d caught something by proxy though.

While driving to my appointment today, I started thinking about crotches and STDs and all the things that can go wrong without even experiencing any symptoms. My stream of consciousness thoughts about cooter cooties were momentarily interrupted so I could roll down my window to holla at my favorite Washington Blvd hooker as I drove by. I’ll get back to the STD thing, but I have to digress for a moment…

You Axed, I Answered.

J$: favorite local food? and favorite pie?

I am a very simple girl when it comes to food. I’ll actually eat the same thing every day and not really think much about it. If I actually leave the house for food, J.Patrick’s makes the best BLTs ever and any variety of pizza I’ve gotten from Zella’s is mouthgasmic. As for pie? It’s a tie between apple pie and key lime pie. Don’t make me make Sophie’s Choice.

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Lady Friend: Why haven’t you taken out the garbage and emptied out the litter boxes like you said you were going to?

Excellent question. Next?

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Rohith: So, are you a closet democrat?

Once upon a time, I used to be a closeted Republican. I am registered as a Republican, but I have never been a straight-down-the-party-line voter. I guess this makes me kind of a bisexual voter. I have voted Democrat in some elections. Some of my good friends are Democrats. I’ve even dated Democrats before.

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marys second: I cut off my pinkie toe and sent it to you as proof of my love. Why won’t you return my calls? When work sucks and you daydream of a different life, which simply has to be better, what job do you have? And, can I have my toe back since you obviously didn’t appreciate it? I broke a knick knack and need to fill the empty spot on the shelf.

Umm, I have yet to receive any pinkie toe and that’s cause for concern. Did you overnight it? Did you at least get delivery confirmation? When I’m daydreaming about another job, I’m sometimes a woman of leisure/professional philanthropist…other times I’m a tug boat captain (seriously)…sometimes I’m a monk living the contemplative life in west Ireland. As for your toe? If it ever gets here, I’ll send it back immediately. Then again…if it’s rotten enough, I may use it for bait when I go crabbing.

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Bikebreath: Hip Hop and Gang Culture are popular. Rich people go around dressed like bums. The rate of people seeking to model themselves from moral and upstanding members of society is way down.

It is now, that every minorities whim is accepted. A plane full of people can’t get peanuts because 1% of children in the US and Britain are allergic*. What happened to adapting to the majority and if you can’t find another way? (That’s not my question to you…hold on, please).

Gays are attacking a culture that once had religious morals that governed the society. Now that “old” culture is in ebb, rather it is made fun of, while “doing what feels good” takes priority. This can only result in an instable society, yet it’s as if a person is wrong to try and live by the old cultural ways.

I have two questions:

First I think it is fair to let others know I have hoped to qualify my questions with a personal email to you to assure you this is not an attack on you.

1) As a Lesbian and a Conservative how do you dance on this fence of conflict with proposals of the Gay community demanding a share of society that they claim to want in on, while it’s real agenda, I believe, is to push out the old morals and standards that keep the structure sound? 2) What is the password to you bank account?

Here we go:

1) (Disclaimer - I am using the word “gay” to refer to all GLBT people). I don’t believe there is a gay agenda because having a gay agenda would mean all gay people are in agreement regarding religion, politics, class, education, green house gas emissions, etc. If there is a gay agenda, I’ve never seen it. I’ve mentioned in others posts that I think a big problem with the gay community is that we don’t really make a lot of room for diversity within our own community, as much as we think we do by having one parade once a year. It’s a “With Us” or “Against Us” attitude. The divisiveness between gay men and women alone speaks volumes about the true lack of diversity in the community.

We (The Gays) are a very snobby, elitist group and we’ve spent a lot of time mocking str8 conventions like marriage, religion, etc. and snickering at the less fortunate str8 people who just don’t understand how smart and special we are. How in the hell is society supposed to take us seriously when we are falling over each other to point out how special we are within our specialness. “Well, you may be a lesbian Democrat, but I am a Jewish gold star lesbian vegan Democrat.” I think what many of my gay brothers and sisters don’t want to acknowledge is that the joke is on us. People are snickering behind our backs over our special way of telling everyone how special we are and how we compete for specialness within our specialness. Why should we expect society to accept us when we don’t even accept each other? If you’re gay, try mentioning the words “conservative” or “Catholic” in reference to yourself and see how quickly other gay people ask you if you’re sure you’re not just experimenting or perhaps just bisexual.

I think what’s happening is that so many of us (The Gays) are getting older. The party is over. We either bored with hooking up or we’ve hooked up with everyone and there are no new people left. Some of us are gaining weight while others are losing hair or both. Some of us are acquiring even more cats (if that’s possible) and making donations to non-profits. Others actually have something to lose now like their health, homes, and 401(k)s. Now we demand the convention we mocked. What we won’t admit is that we still mock it and are suspect of anyone mentioning things like “God” or “Faith” or “Guns” or “Southern” because those people just haven’t evolved.

It’s interesting because quite a number of my gay friends, who very much enjoyed whoring around and shoving everything up their noses back in the 1990’s, are the ones making the most noise about wanting gay marriage and needing to get out from under the oppressive Bush Regime. I still love them just the same, but I really wonder where all this gay marriage panic was during eight years of Clinton and Gore. Maybe it was out on the golf courses helping O.J. look for the real killer.

What we’ve got here is lots of rainbow-colored moral relativism coming out of the closet.

2) What bank account? All of my money is in my mattress. I don’t trust the gummint with my hard-earned dollars.

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ACW: 1) Could you give us the background on the name Anger Hangover? 2) You’re in Hell and you have to choose between eternity with Hillary supporters or eternity with rats. Which do you choose?

1) Thank you for asking, ACW. I’d be happy to answer that. There really is no mystery or story behind the name Anger Hangover. An anger hangover, for me, is the feeling that’s left on the other side of just being worn the fuck out by everyone and everything all at once. Truth be told, I’m just a big fan of assonance.

2) This question is tricky because I feel like you are basically asking me if I’d rather have syphilis or gonorrhea for all eternity. First of all, if I’m in Hell I’ll be there with all of The Gays, so it would be like a never-ending Gay Pride block party. This scenario would be fine for all eternity as long as they never turn on the ugly lights and as long as they serve something other than Miller Lite on draft. Then again, if I’m trapped in Hell with Hillary supporters, it would be somewhat like a Gay Pride walk-of-shame event because I’d likely run into some ex-girlfriends and their new girlfriends who are there with their ex-girlfriends who are on their way to Hell’s Farmers Market. Rats are extremely vile, but I do have a strange appreciation for their ability to thrive on society’s excrement. I may regret saying this, but I think I’ll have to choose rats because I’m pretty sure they won’t be whining about universal health care and gun control.

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Brad Wesley: If I owned a bar, and I wanted to clean it up, how much would it cost to get you to come work for me?

$5000.00 up front, $500.00 a night cash. You pay all medical expenses.

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Mike T: Found your blog a while back, your posts about the rats had me in stitches. I like reading blogs from folks back home. Hope this doesn’t come off sounding creepy but… What is your safeword?

My safeword is “HillaryCare”.

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DMV: Okay so, we’ve known each other for many, many years and I have been dying to know the answers to these questions for all this time:

1) If you could be any character in any movie what would that character be, what movie would it be and why.

2) What does it take to get you and LF to come down for a visit?!?!

3) I know you’re a plain Jane when it comes to food; however, if you and LF ever do come down for a visit, I want to make sure I prepare only the best. So, what is your favorite Italian dish? (besides me of course…)

1) Great question! I don’t think anyone has every asked me this. Well, there definitely isn’t just one character because it would be too hard trying to pick only one. If I had to pick a bad guy, I’d have to go with Darth Vader because he’s just the ultimate bad ass. On the good guy side, I’d think it would be awesome to be Cate Blanchett’s Elizabeth because of her grace, charm, and brilliance. Oh, and also because of the costumes! It’s a given that I’d want to be any character (male or female) who gets to make out with Penelope Cruz or Salma Hayek - preferably with both of them at the same time.

2) You guys have to show us your t*ts!!   I’ll show you mine:    ( * )( * )

3) I did not know there was any other Italian dish other than you! Hmmm. I do love me some pasta puttanesca.

Ax Away

Today’s post, which is inspired by ACW, is a very special post because I’m leaving it up to you, my 2.5 readers out there, to ask me any questions you want. I don’t think I’ve done this before and, depending on how this goes, I don’t know if I’ll do it again. If your question doesn’t get answered, it’s probably because you asked me something like, “What’s your date of birth, SSN, and mother’s maiden name?” So go ahead. Ax away. Don’t be shy.

Looking Out for Me

Sometimes I can’t even process how fortunate I am to have friends who understand me so completely that they are able to anticipate my needs. If I didn’t have Mr. WPT in my life, I would have never known about this.

Greening of the Office

Ah, Earth Day. The High Holiday of Free Range Soy Products and Hybrid Vehicles.

I would have been perfectly happy celebrating Earth Day like I do any other day - by filling up my gas tank and shopping at Wal-Mart and leaving it at that. My employer had other ideas though. When I got to the office yesterday and sat down in the penalty box at my desk, I noticed that the Earth Day office elves had placed plastic slinkys on all of the desks. The slinky has a world map on painted on it and also sports a teeny little ‘Made in China’ sticker. Hmmm. Earth Day? Plastic? Made in China? I have to admit it’s kind of cute, but I’m afraid of supporting Burma by association or getting lead poisoning if I touch it with my bare hands.

We also received an e-mail announcement that we are switching from styrofoam cups to some kind of environmentally correct wipes-its-own-ass magickal paper cups that can be used for hot and cold drinks while saving tree frogs in the process. The effect this had was that everyone, including people who normally drink out of ceramic mugs everyday, had to try out the cups to see if they really worked. By the end of the day, the break room looked like a Horatio-worthy environmental crime scene with magickal paper cups, plastic coffee stirrers, and little plastic Coffee-mate containers spilling over the sides of trashcan. I’m pretty sure Al Gore felt a disturbance in the force around 5:00 p.m. EST.

My employer wants us to make suggestions about things we could do to make the office greener. I was thinking we could do some Earth Day team building exercises like holding our breath as much as possible and thereby reducing our green house gas emissions. Rather than doing trust falls, maybe we could hold off on flushing the toilets and then play a game of “Guess Which Coworker Had Corn for Dinner”. But the thing about corn - was it last night or last month? Who knows.

If I could have any “Suggestions for a Greener Office” wish come true, it would be having the useless IT department reduce their green house gas emissions by not talking so much. Their incessant chatter about nothing related to work, combined with their fifteen smoke breaks a day, is the reason why polar bears are running out of ice and trees are blooming too soon. I am about to leave my carbon footprint up their collective doughy ass. I’ll be sure to wear an eco-friendly, fair trade shoe though.

Gimme Something to B’lieve In

It’s been a busy couple of weeks and I’ve had my ass handed to me on many levels, but I won’t bore you with the navel-gazing details here. I simply have not had the mental energy to put up my usual mediocre/C- posts, so I’d like to apologize to my 2.5 readers out there for being such a slacker.

The truth is, I think I’m slipping into a bit of a depression because Rock of Love 2 is officially over. Sunday night, a week ago, I was prostrate on the living room floor and completely inconsolable after Bret picked his rock of love. I was hoping he wouldn’t find love because that would mean the season would never end! When I realized there wouldn’t be a new episode of Rock of Love 2, I started sweating like Ambre during final elimination in Mexico.

During the reunion Rock of Love 2 show last night, I had a flash of inspiration. I think they should have a Rock of Love 3 and I think they should call it Rock of Love3(some). I’d like to see chicks with big hair compete to be Bret and Ambre’s girlfriend. It would be an interesting twist that I don’t think I’ve seen on any basic cable reality shows. Then again, I could be wrong about that since I just got cable a couple of years. I’ve missed out on a lot of reality TV, but I’m more than making up for it lately.

Anyway…back to threesomes…

The thing about threesomes is someone’s usually left holding the lube. And if you’re not the one left holding the lube, there always that nagging feeling like maybe you’re being secretly critiqued on your floor exercises by the Romanian judge. Perhaps worse than being secretly judged is being micromanaged by the lube holder. Nag nag nag nag nag. If you were all that, you wouldn’t be on the sidelines. Critics are just frustrated artists.

Odd numbers are always a bit tricky in group sex situations. With even numbers, people can pair up then switch up and no one feels left out. With that third person or fifth person, etc., someone inevitably feels like that red-headed* kid picked last for kickball, except with the added insult of having your bits and junk flapping in the wind. Of course, I’ve gathered all of this from friends who have friends who know people who’ve had friends who’ve been in group sex situations in various denominations. I wouldn’t know anything about this kind of naked mathematical craziness. Recently.

So yeah…Rock of Love 2 is over and I’m feeling empty. I’m trying to fill the void with Miss Rap Supreme and Viva Hollywood, but it’s just not the same. I feel like a fraud. I feel like the person left holding the lube.

*I have much love for the burning bushes and fire crotches out there, so relax.

Bottle Rocket Blues

When we were little kids, my younger brother and I seemed to have unlimited access to fireworks and kerosene. You could say we lead a mostly unsupervised childhood. It was the 1970s - before playing outside was considered dangerous and before parents had ADHD on which to place all blame for their children behaving badly.

Because I was the only girl, I always got the bitch Star Wars action figures. By bitch action figures, I mean Yoda, Princess Leia, C-3PO, Walrus Man, Ewoks, etc. My brother was the only boy and he got Han Solo, Darth Vader, Boba Fett, stormtroopers, and all the related ships that went along with them. Neither one of us wanted Luke Skywalker though because, even as elementary school kids, we knew he was a total nelly bottom.

The relationship my brother and I had as kids was contentious at best. His passive-aggressive way of displaying his anger toward me started with him secretly switching the heads of my action figures and super-gluing them to the wrong bodies. Just imagine Yoda’s head super-glued to Princess Leia’s body and vice versa. I used to keep my action figures in my retired Star Wars lunch box. I say “retired” because my brother had gotten all Crips versus Bloods on it with his magic marker graffiti. I couldn’t take my tagged  lunch box to school anymore because I couldn’t handle the shame and embarrassment of walking though the cafeteria with it all carved up like that. When I’d come home from school, I never knew what kind of scene was waiting for me in my lunch box. It was like a Jack-in-the-box that never popped open. It’s traumatic for me to think about, even to this day.

When I pretended like it didn’t bother me that Yoda’s head was forever fused to Princess Leia’s body, it pissed my brother off even more. He would kidnap my action figures and take them up to the basketball court in the park. In the 1970s, there were no such thing as Amber Alerts - not even for prized Star Wars action figures. Once in the park, my brother would duct tape bottle rockets together and then duct tape my mutant action figures to the bottle rocket bundles. Then he’d launch the bottle rocket bundles out of one of those yellow Tonka Toy dump-trucks. The result was usually anti-climactic because the mutant action figure rockets were heavily weighted on one end and wouldn’t go very far. They’d usually hit the ground after twenty feet with the rockets still blasting the bastardized bodies until they fizzled out. Rather than have Hoth Princess Leia and generic C-3PO, I had Burn Unit Princess Leia and Burn Unit C-3PO. After several attempted launches into White Trash orbit, I was left with Torso Princess Leia and Stump C-3PO. What was I going to do? I was the big sister and I was supposed to set the example and be above such things. Besides, whenever I did tell my parents what my brother was doing to my action figures, they asked me what I did to upset him. And so it goes.

The action figures are long gone and I’m not sure what happened to the Tonka Toy dump-truck, although I’m fairly certain it met with an unfortunate M-80 accident at the same basketball court. I’m pretty sure if I went to the basketball court today, I’d still see the scorch marks on the asphalt and detect the unmistakable chemical smell of charred Hasbro remains.

I think I’ll have to save the stories about kerosene for another day.

Awkward NC-17 Moments

Do you ever have sex dreams about your friends and/or coworkers? I’ve been having them lately and it’s really awkward. Since I rarely sleep, I rarely have dreams. When I do have dreams, they’re usually pretty generic. If they happen to be porno dreams, they usually involve nameless, faceless people. Lately I’ve been having porno dreams about some of my friends and this is quite disturbing. I am not naming which one of you girls and boys I’ve gotten to know in the Biblical sense in my dreams, but if I blush the next time you see me, it’s a safe bet that you were in at least one of my porntastic dreams and are forever stored in a grainy, X-rated VHS loop in my mind.

One time I had a sex dream about a cubicle neighbor and the dream was so hot that I couldn’t even look at her for weeks. Awkward. Fortunately, this particular cubicle neighbor was very funny and super sexy in real life. All of the boys and girls in our department had a bit of a crush on her. The porno dream I had most recently involved an old friend. (Old as in years we’ve been friends, not the friend’s age). When I told Lady Friend about the dream and the person who starred in it, she laughed out loud. This is much more effective than a cold shower.

I do have some general observations of my dreams that I’d like to share here: I’m really impressed with some of you. I had no idea that you had the potential to be so hot! And what a bonus that some of you possess the flexibility of Romanian gymnasts and also speak other languages. Seriously! I’ve woken up in a daze on several occasions wondering how I was ever going to face you again because you somehow manage to make me forget my own safeword.

The rest of you? I have to say I’m really disappointed. I thought you knew me better than that. You should know that romance is for people lacking bitterness and resentment. Please don’t ask me how I feel or where I see things going between us. And please don’t tell me your hopes and dreams when we are doing impure and unnatural things to each other in my porno dreams. This is a major distraction for me and I am not a strong multi-tasker. Besides, if you knew me as well as you say you do, you’d know your mouth ain’t for talkin’.

I feel it’s important to mention that I am as just as lacking in skills and abilities in my sex dreams as I am in real life. What I lack in these areas I do make up for with undivided attention and honest-to-goodness enthusiasm. A- for effort. D- for execution. I guess this makes me an all-around C student, even in my porno dreams. Oh well…no porn star left behind, I guess.

Weekend Relaxation Technique

After a stressful week, going to the range and giving my guns a workout is quite relaxing. It’s also extremely important to maintain my skills because not doing so would make me an irresponsible gun owner (and who wants to be one of those douche bags?). The range was packed and a total sausage-fest, but LF and I each had our own lane and spent an uninterrupted hour there. I’m happy to report that my trigger finger still works, but I can hardly move the right side of my upper body today from shooting the shotgun. I looks like I have a giant hickey on my shoulder from where the butt of the shotgun was braced against it. I definitely fit in here in Pigtown with my random hickey. I wish it was warm enough to wear a wife-beater tank top so I could stagger up and down Washington Blvd showing it off.

Get out the pinking shears because here are a few more items for the scrapbook: