the bitch is in

Maybe it’s just old age, but I have little patience anymore for bullshit. Or maybe (perhaps more likely) I’m just totally burnt out in my job. This young twerpy guy emailed me for help. I did some research because it wasn’t something I knew off the top of my head, answered him, then he proceeds to start an argument and copy everybody he knows on the email thread. He wants to start a pissing contest and I have no time for that crap. If you want anything else from me asshole, just leave me a voicemail.


Then, OK, we’ve changed our password standards. Of course security is important, but you tell me the password has to have 8 or more characters, upper and lowercase letters, special characters, and numbers. No problem. I suggested xMs357#9, and you said OH HELL NO to that. It’s too easy to guess and she emphasized AT LEAST 8 CHARACTERS. In my book, at least 8 means 8 or more. So I suggested 1SkankyHO! and she accepted that one. :) I will never have privilege to use that password but it makes me smile to think about our business partners in India using it. I wonder if they’ll know what it means? That really wasn’t very professional of me….but I’m not really caring much this morning.

My cubicle reflects my work life. Beige, boring, cluttered, disorganized, shuffled, messy, last in first out (usually), stacked up, backed up. My photographer friend brings me photos of butterflies and flowers to cheer me up. I tack them up in the bare places and they help. He hates the bullshit too – I think his is actually worse than mine. He is close enough to retirement to quit and never work again (i.e. he will stop being a whore for this company and do work he wants to do).

zzzzzzzzz



I’m totally uninspired.  I have at least 40 unfinished things to juggle, and none are interesting.  I walk in every morning to mountains of paper, files, and dreariness.  I hate cubicle life.  Maybe I just need lots more plants. 

I keep hoping to fall asleep at my desk one day and one of my vines will creep over and suffocate me while I sleep.  My insurance pays double if I get killed on the job.  I think my philodendrons may be an unrecognized office hazard.