One day...

One day I'll find a job that I can stay with until I'm ready to retire. I will, I know it. I won't be some strange vagabond chick for hire, gallivanting around endearing myself to my co-workers then leaving in a blaze of glory for that greener grass across the fence.

Right now, I'm in some serious need of a job where the rules and policies are clear and concise and everyone agrees to abide by them. A place where hard work is rewarded, crappy work is punished, and everyone at least pretends to haul their own (especially if the higher ups are around). I can't deal with the prima donnas who are worried about nothing but making themselves look good, and have no qualms at all thrusting the knife in the minute your back is turned.

Until I find that magical job, I promise myself I will stop believing I'm responsible for everything that is going on. I will do what I need to do, let everyone else worry about themselves and their responsibilities, and just keep my head down and my mouth shut. Well, at least for the rest of the day...

I ain't yo homie

Uh oh, it's that time again. The time when I realize that I am, in fact, no one's close friend, except Hubs. It starts the same way. I have some extra time at work, I hop on myspace or facebook and *BLAM* I see it. All my "friends" are having superawesomecool lives out there, and I AM NOT A PART OF IT!! I am, in fact, just a sad sack of ickyness that spends her entire life either working or sleeping; rinse, wash, repeat. This line of thinking will almost certainly lead to thought of why I'm overweight, which is an express lane to the mire of "NOBODY LOVES ME" which will, in fact, be followed by a rousing chorus of I should just go eat worms.

Sheesh. Perhaps I will skip all the prelimonary steps and just go home, get drunk, and cry myself to sleep watching the Lifetime channel and wondering why all the women on there get beat up, raped, and addicted to drugs.

Hey blue van guy

Dear blue van guy,

Thank you for driving for 3 miles with your right turn signal on, then abruptly turning left. I'm sure it was amusing for all of us who were spending our morning trying to figure out where the heck you were going. It truly was an inspired concept art piece, a thought-provocing diatribe to the exestentialism of life and the meaninglessness of the non-verbal cues we all send out into the atmosphere. Or, wait, maybe it's just bad driving. Hrm.

Randomness from the Welcome Desk

"Peaches, come here. You know, you're being really hurtful to me"

You know what's really hurtful to me, lady whom I don't know? That you're calling your rather large (roughly 11 year old from what I can see) son peaches. That, lady, is pain.

You know what else is painful? Manpris. You know, guys who wear pants and roll them to the length of capris, their their tufts of crinkly leg hair jauntily poking out under the cuff. Please, stop the madness guys. Manpris are wrong!

In memorandum of my bathroom

Oh bathroom, how I miss thee! I remember those times, when I would jump outta bed and straight into the shower, surrounded by my loverly shower-type things, no worries as to whether the children would be occupying the space because this was my shower baby! Oh yeah!

But, alas, Hubs started a little DIY work on my shower 12 months ago, and I have begun to fear that ne'er shall I see you in one piece again.

So, let's all take a moment of silence for my bathroom. May ye rest in peace whilst ye be in pieces.

Take this job and shove it

I used to love my job. I still love the kids and I still love books, but working for the public school system has turned me into a raving lunatic. It has become a nightly ritual for hubs to look across the dinner table at me and say "Just quit."

"I Ca~an't!" I wail, thinking of the steady paycheck and the priceless ability to be with the kids whenever they are out of school.

I give all I have to my job. I work from the minute I step in the building to the minute I walk out the door; always smiling. The kids flock to me, because they know I care about them and want to hear what they have to say. And, well, I'm one groovy g33ky goddess. Truly.

But the bureaucratic bullshit that happens inside the "ol' schoolhouse" is truly something I can't stomach. Why can't I be a better ass kisser? It's truly the only way to get ahead.