Mr. Stapler is incapable of sympathy. It isn't that he isn't a nice person. It's just like a language that he does not speak .
For instance: my back hurts like hell. It does, every once in a while. Especially when I sit on my butt for a week with no exercise at all, like this past week when I had The Miserable Cold.
I was supposed to go to his house tonight, 40 miles away - a long long drive with back pain.
I whined to him: "I just feel so old."
His response: "Well, you have to start taking better care of yourself when you get old."
Not "Oh, honey, I'm sorry your back hurts, and you're not that old, you are the sweet young rosebud of my dreams." Nope. Just advice mixed with what really seems like a bunch of insults rolled into one: you don't take care of yourself, you're stupid for not taking care of yourself, and you are pretty damn old.
I don't think he means it that way. Maybe.
25 February 2006
Online Shopping
There are more things on heaven and earth, Horatio, than a clueless white suburban girl like me has ever dreamed of.
Behold: The Pimp Cup
Behold: The Pimp Cup
23 February 2006
Circling the drain
Can one person make a difference? Hell yeah. I noticed it today.
It wasn't the presence of one person that made the difference - it was the absence. My co-worker, who shall henceforth be known as "The Festering Pool of Negativity" transferred out of our department and suddenlyn things are soooo much better.
She has been gone a few weeks but today it really hit me - this place is different. No one is at anyone's throat. No one is gossiping about each other. No one is backstabbing. We are all talking. We don't mind spending time together. Work doesn't suck the way it used to.
It's weird, because I actually kind of like The Festering Pool. I don't mind having lunch with her. We both have a sarcastic, bordering-on-mean sense of humor. But I think where I do it for effect, she lives and breathes the meanness. And day in, day out, 40 hours a week, it is just too hard to work with someone like The Festering Pool.
When she transferred out, she was soooo happy. The new department was so different, so superior, she couldn't believe how long she had lasted in our Pit of Hell. She was so glad to be gone.
But you can guess what happened after a little while in her new department, can't you? Somehow it took on the characteristics of The Festering Pool and became her very own. Apparently now it sucks over there, too.
As they say, no matter where you go, there you are.
It wasn't the presence of one person that made the difference - it was the absence. My co-worker, who shall henceforth be known as "The Festering Pool of Negativity" transferred out of our department and suddenlyn things are soooo much better.
She has been gone a few weeks but today it really hit me - this place is different. No one is at anyone's throat. No one is gossiping about each other. No one is backstabbing. We are all talking. We don't mind spending time together. Work doesn't suck the way it used to.
It's weird, because I actually kind of like The Festering Pool. I don't mind having lunch with her. We both have a sarcastic, bordering-on-mean sense of humor. But I think where I do it for effect, she lives and breathes the meanness. And day in, day out, 40 hours a week, it is just too hard to work with someone like The Festering Pool.
When she transferred out, she was soooo happy. The new department was so different, so superior, she couldn't believe how long she had lasted in our Pit of Hell. She was so glad to be gone.
But you can guess what happened after a little while in her new department, can't you? Somehow it took on the characteristics of The Festering Pool and became her very own. Apparently now it sucks over there, too.
As they say, no matter where you go, there you are.
22 February 2006
Addict
In addition to the Zithromax (so that good cats ask for it by name) I got the okay from the Doc in the Box to use Afrin.
Afrin! If you are one of those people who is blessed with normal sinus function, you don't know the lure of Lady Afrin. Because if you have a chronically messed-up schnozz, as do I, Afrin makes you feel normal.
A squirt up the ol' snotbox (as my dad calls it, poet that he is) and suddenly your sinuses are so clear you can smell the Tide at the laundromat three blocks away. It is a true miracle, a blessed amazing thing. It is like having an all-new nose.
But like all things that are too good to be true, it is.
Because if you use it too long Afrin begins to turn on you, and then your savior becomes your master - you end up in a never ending cycle of terrible snotbox congestion.
"Three days," intoned the pharmacist, glaring at me over the counter. He knew a potential addict when he saw one.
My old boyfriend Mojo's mom had a serious long-term Afrin addiction. I mean for years. She may still have it - it isn't something you want to bring up in polite conversation.
Back when there was only four-hour Afrin, she would wake up in the middle of the night to do her hits. If she made it four hours and ten minutes before she did her hit, she would feel proud of herself. She had an Afrin bottle within reach at all times.
So I am enjoying my three days of Perfect Snotbox Clarity. Then I go back to my normal semi-plugged self.
Some things are just too good to be of this world. I wonder if there is Afrin in heaven, where the Flying Spaghetti Monster lives? I hope so.
Afrin! If you are one of those people who is blessed with normal sinus function, you don't know the lure of Lady Afrin. Because if you have a chronically messed-up schnozz, as do I, Afrin makes you feel normal.
A squirt up the ol' snotbox (as my dad calls it, poet that he is) and suddenly your sinuses are so clear you can smell the Tide at the laundromat three blocks away. It is a true miracle, a blessed amazing thing. It is like having an all-new nose.
But like all things that are too good to be true, it is.
Because if you use it too long Afrin begins to turn on you, and then your savior becomes your master - you end up in a never ending cycle of terrible snotbox congestion.
"Three days," intoned the pharmacist, glaring at me over the counter. He knew a potential addict when he saw one.
My old boyfriend Mojo's mom had a serious long-term Afrin addiction. I mean for years. She may still have it - it isn't something you want to bring up in polite conversation.
Back when there was only four-hour Afrin, she would wake up in the middle of the night to do her hits. If she made it four hours and ten minutes before she did her hit, she would feel proud of herself. She had an Afrin bottle within reach at all times.
So I am enjoying my three days of Perfect Snotbox Clarity. Then I go back to my normal semi-plugged self.
Some things are just too good to be of this world. I wonder if there is Afrin in heaven, where the Flying Spaghetti Monster lives? I hope so.
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