Sep. 7th, 2017 07:06 pm
superbadgirl: (Default)

These things are no joke. They've decided our office is the perfect spot. *shudder*

I stayed 45 minutes late at work today. I really try not to do it, but I scheduled an appt 45 minutes prior to my leave time and so naturally the person had every single possible question under the sun to ask. The worst part is: I don't think they are going to qualify for any help. I feel bad making people jump through hoops and then say no. But I can't say no unless they jump through hoops.

By a Thread

Aug. 9th, 2017 07:30 pm
superbadgirl: (Default)
By a Thread

Dear Colleague,

Look, you have a history of running off your counterparts. A long, storied history of this. So, when the remainder of the staff are asked to pitch in and help you out for the billionth time while you continue to not really work, you cannot expect us to do so with sympathy or excitement and you shouldn't pout at our lack of enthusiasm. How's about you not be a royal pain to work with so the next new hire will stick around, hey? How's about you stop taking personal phone calls that last an hour? How's about you do your job and not stretch those fifteen minute breaks to half-hour breaks? How's about you leave your personal drama at the door?

Ugh, why does the union protect people like thisssss?


PS, the last person you ran off recently had two people fighting to hire her. She'll be fine, but none of us appreciate you being basically rewarded with employment in a job you barely do.
superbadgirl: (Default)
Window Moth

One of the big bosses and HR will be down tomorrow to meet with boss. When my friend was basically forced to quit for her own sanity, she leveled some pretty severe claims against her counterpart. Sadly, most if not all of them are true. Sadly, I have no doubt this person will remain employed. Meanwhile, friend is driving a cab while she finds a new job.


Nov. 8th, 2016 06:32 pm
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Today at work, someone exited their cubicle and headed to someone else's. She got about two steps and let out a very loud screech, then darted back to her cube. "Snake!" she cried out. "There's a snake in here."

Expecting at the very least a gigantic boa constrictor, I rounded my cube and sure enough. There was a snake. Two more succumbed to shrieks. I got a cup and a piece of paper. The snake, you see, was about five inches long. A mere baby! It was pretty cute, actually. Not a very exciting adventure, really, but I couldn't resist saying, "I have had it with these motherfucking snakes in this motherfucking office!" as I removed the snake from the premises.

I can honestly say of all the wildlife around, a snake invasion was pretty low on the list of probables.

In an attempt to avoid all things election (no offense, Trump voters, but I don't get you), I have what I swore I wouldn't watch this early on: a holiday movie.
superbadgirl: (Default)
Sometimes, when a client walks in and you're stuck in a little room with them listening to quite the tale you wish you could have a hidden recorder so you could capture just how surreal the conversation is and share it with others. I had one of those this week, a story so out there it seems very unlikely to be true.

The really heartbreaking ones are the ones who have zero idea that they're mentally off and by all outward appearances seem on the level.

The other really heartbreaking ones are ones you knew were going to end up being victims of heartless assholes. See: the sweet old man who came in about a year ago for assistance because he was literally sending every penny he had to his wonderful, kind, sweet, young wife in the Philippines. His wonderful, kind, sweet young wife he met after his spouse of 50+ years passed away and he took a mission trip to help overcome his loneliness...

Yeah. Fast forward a year later and he didn't really take my hints that perhaps to save money he stop sending his new wife every penny. He was in the office again looking for help, just sobbing about her - he'd worked and paid to get her a visa, she was here less than two months and said she wanted to go home. So he flew her home, went with her until she also told him she hated him and to get out of the house that his money fixed up all nice and pretty for her.

I swear to you - those who take advantage of and abuse the vulnerable (aged, children, disabled) are some of the worst of humanity and I hope karma gets them in the end.

Anyway. Longest week in a while - we've had months of quiet, but that seems to be over. Funny how vacation weeks fly by! I feel like I'm still slightly behind the eight ball with work stuff, but I'm not stressing. I learned long ago that you can only do what you can do, and stressing about it only makes it seem even more overwhelming. I will get my rhythm back. But now it's Saturday and I laze like this fella:


His name is Bernie. He's aged, fat and was left tied up at the front of the shelter during off hours, which I think is illegal. Poor old guy is just the sweetest thing you will ever meet. Love, love, loves tummy rubs, even if he's so chubby it's hard to right himself once he's all done with them. Walks consist of a few short steps and then mini siestas. Bless him. I wish now I hadn't moved bedrooms upstairs or had found a single story home - I can see myself wanting to adopt the old dogs to give them a nice home to spend their last years.
superbadgirl: (Default)
I wish I were independently wealthy, because I really, really, really didn't want to go to work this morning. It wasn't so bad once I got there, but you know what apparently hit the fan while I was out. I'm glad I wasn't there for it. It was apparently ugly and grown-ass people were acting like pre-schoolers at full moon time.

Anyway, I used my return to work as an excuse to bake. Behold, blueberry pie baked doughnuts:
IMG_8768 (2)

IMG_8769 (2)

^The look Pickle gives anyone who doesn't think the doughnuts look marvelously tasty.
superbadgirl: (Default)
You know how in fiction, eye and hair color, sometimes skin (usually only if it's not white, of course) seem to be go-to descriptors? Well, in the real world, they can't always be counted on to leave lasting impressions.

Yesterday, a coworker had a conversation with a guy who'd come in the previous day and spoken with someone. Coworker says to me, he says, "He said he talked to a woman with long black hair." I said, "Maybe A?" as she in fact, does have long black hair. Then I looked at the name of the person and I remembered he and his wife distinctly, because they were 1) crazy, 2) toothless and 3) smelled so terribly of cigarette smoke that after being stuck in a small room with them for fifteen minutes, I felt nauseated.

"Oh," I said, "I'm the one they spoke to, and no I did not tell them they'd have their benefits today; I told them someone would speak with them today."

Folks, this is my hair currently (still working out the kinks of the cut - it gets floofy in places I don't want it to, but this happens with a new stylist and a new cut sometimes):

Cut, because who cares? )

Later yesterday, I asked if anyone would mind trading eyeballs, as mine were bothering me a lot and even though I liked the color of them well enough, I'd just as soon get rid of them. Coworker chimed in, "They are a pretty blue!"

My eyes are a common greenish hazel. So. Yeah. Long story short: in real life, eye and hair color aren't usually that big on people's lists as memorable; some do, of course, and it's gonna depend on the characters and relationships very heavily.
superbadgirl: (Default)
I feel sluggish today.


We've got a new person in the training group. She's a gum smacker. Like, the woman is lucky I have been headachey all day, or I might have leapt across the table and slapped the back of her head until she either swallowed or spit out that damned gum.

Another woman's feet smell awful.

The final one eats crunchy things all day.

I'd wish for training to be over already, but then I have to actually do the job and I'm starting to feel unqualified again. EEEEEP.
superbadgirl: (Default)
I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay

The commute home this afternoon was extremely frustrating. For some reason there were a lot of people driving 50-55 mph, until they came to the passing lanes, when they suddenly discovered 65 mph. Then, back down to 50. Fucking fuckers. Why do people do that? I pass this roadhouse every week, and in a fit of pique, I pulled over to let the slowpokes get a bit ahead. It was that or road rage.

Tell me Oney's piercing blue eyes don't speak to you.

Next week, I'm in the home office Tuesday, then orientation in the state capitol (I don't work for the state government...but I also do; it's weird, but hey, I have to follow a boatload of ridiculous rules*, so I'm not going to feel bad at being able to get a government rate at hotels, etc.) on Wednesday and training Thurs/Friday. I'm hoping I can get out early on Tuesday, because Wednesday will have me on the road for four hours. Ugh. I'm already on a first name basis with one of the hotel clerks and am starting to suffer hotel skin. I'm hoping I can book one of the office cars - people who have the furthest to go can bump others. It'd keep some of the miles off my car if I can do that for at least some of these trips.

*Every time I talk to someone, I have to ask them if they're registered to vote. Even if it's clearly marked in their file that the question was asked last time, and they are, in fact, registered. Do I have to tell you how stupid I think that is? Federal government says it must be done. Every. Single. Time.
superbadgirl: (Default)
HiP started a fire in her office this morning. Well, technically, she didn't do it - electrical - but she had this forty year old space heater she was using (yes, I know what month it is and what hemisphere I'm in; she might not). What this means is that power to her office and J's has been cut, making mine the only usable space in the department today. J has to do payroll, so I have no clue what I'll do while she does that.

Also, the smell is horrendous. I know what I'll do! Reorder my migraine medication.

Have a song.

I have no idea why I love it so.

Teh Stupid

Jan. 31st, 2008 10:08 am
superbadgirl: (Default)
I have an adjustment to make on an insurance billing, due to overwhelming stupidity by insurance company. In order to do adjust the payment, I have to submit a form they provide, explaining why I am remitting a different amount than billed. It's in downloadable PDF form. They ask for it to be emailed. Yeah. It's a protected document. I can't really email them back anything but a blank form.

Anyone else see a problem with this?



Apr. 4th, 2007 10:35 am
superbadgirl: (Default)
Last year, I showed up mid-morning to help prep the meal for the Tent City residents at the cathedral (something that staff here at the bishop's office do every year on Good Friday) and spent the better part of the afternoon bored out of my skull, waiting. This year I was going to show up early because I've got a mid-morning appointment downtown, but just got word that no one needs to show up until 1:00 PM, which is fantastic.

I can sleep in, get downtown and roll into the cathedral sometime in the afternoon, and that's SO much better than getting my sorry butt out of bed. All I want to do lately is sleep, sleep, sleep and then sleep some more.

I'd rather be sleeping right now, actually.
superbadgirl: (alec wtf)
Ugh. As much as I kvetch about the Board of Directors meetings, I hate the Church Architecture meetings even more. It took them two hours this afternoon to recommend what had already BEEN recommended two months ago.

And then at the bus stop, some weird twitchy little guy saw a bus go by that said "to trm" on it and he proceeded to ask me what that meant.

Him: What's to trm mean?
Me: To terminal.
Him: What does that mean?
Me: It means that bus is no longer in service.
Him: Well, where does it go?
Me: I don't really know.
Him: It has to go somewhere, right?
Me: Well, yeah, but I don't know any more than I've told you: that the bus is no longer in service.
Him: But where does it GO?
Me: OMG, step back or I'm going to harm you.
superbadgirl: (Default)
So, I hedged a bit with the vacation time. I told my boss I didn't know if I'd return on the 13th (tomorrow) or the 17th. On my email and voicemail I gave the 17th as my return date, but I really do have lots of stuff I should probably do.

But now I'm sitting here and I really, really have no desire to get back to the routine again. It's nice to be able to get stuff done and just lounge around all day without having to do it because of illness. Now I'm still torn about whether I should get back to work tomorrow or just say screw it and not go back until Monday.


In other news, I'm thinking about cutting 60 pages of a SG-1 fic, which would bring me all the way back to page 9. Something about the whole deal just isn't working for me, but I very much like the premise and want to finish the blasted thing. I don't know if I'm brave enough to cut that many words, though. 60 pages is a heck of a lot of text.
superbadgirl: (Default)
I went down to the office to collect the pager and let S. know I was around and was going to be doing some which I meant a routine clean up of recycle areas, around the building and whatever, but by which he thought I meant I was volunteering to clean up vacated apartments.

OY. 4.5 hours later, I finished up. 4.5 hours on an empty stomach, by the way. And all you guys out there? Please aim when you use the toilet. I cannot even tell you how disturbing it is to find pee stains all over the walls. *shudders* The worst thing about it all was that when I came down to return a key, the accountant was in the office and she told me I had banked 5.25 hours of comp time already, making my slaving away today rather stupid and pointless. And exhausting.
superbadgirl: (Default)
Jeeez, it's a ghost town here. There are five of us. I'm the only one on this floor. I figured it would be like this - they said we could take today off but would have to use our vacation time. Right, not going to do that since I'm going on vacation later this week...but I just knew that it would be deader than dead here. Luckily I do have a couple things to do, or I might want to find a sharp implement to poke in my eye right quick.

I had my hair up in a clip this morning, but halfway here it totally just fell out. I have too much friggin' hair for a regular clip but not quite enough for those mongo ones. Anyway, that's how I feel today. Undone.

Had bizarre dreams last night (again), but can't remember them. I remember waking and thinking I should remember them. That never works.
superbadgirl: (don't think so)
I didn't switch to my sneakers when I went for a quick walk at lunch, which resulted in my foot slipping in an annoying fashion for over a mile. These Docs are clunky. I tripped and stubbed the big toe on my right foot. It still throbs.

I am so leaving early today. I'm already bored and it's only 1:30. Oy.

Confession: I didn't watch the dance off, but I did watch the original Dancing with the Stars and I'm very glad John O'Hurley won this time around. He should have won before, but people were all agog for the nekkid hot chick and didn't really look at the dancing. ;)
superbadgirl: (Default)
Yeah, so it occurred to me after I'd already done all the work that I had credit vs. debit completely backwards in my head. Back to square one. Again, because this is the same piece of work I accidentally deleted before and was just now getting around to doing again.



superbadgirl: (Default)

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