The return of the pink.

Well, here I am, back at Blogger.

I don't like those stupid halo scan comments. Some people can't open them, and I'm not quite ready to fork over any money to Diaryland, so I'm using my blogger page for now.

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Sometimes I think the people I work with are going to make my head explode.

And by explode, I don't mean they're all sitting around with liquid chemicals that are going to turn my Gatorade into a bomb, I mean they're going to drive me fucking crazy.

Aside from the fact that they're all grown adults who don't know how to:

change a roll of toilet paper

change a roll of paper towels

clean up the dishes they mess up

clean up their disgusting food mess that's all over the counter

leave me the fuck alone when I'm trying to read on my lunch break

stop talking to me like I give a shit that her insane dad sent a 14-page letter to everyone in her family telling them how batshit crazy she is (care to venture a guess on who this is?)

stop nit-picking every stupid thing of every stupid day, but then let $145,000 bank errors occur without knowing it until the retarded RECEPTIONIST (c'est moi) reconciles the bank statement,

they're also a bunch of useless suck-ups. Yesterday was Mr. Big Shot's birthday, and the line of people to shove their nose up his ass and wish him a happy birthday was around the block. As soon as our phone system turned on, it was ringing off the hook from people calling. There are people who haven't called in nine or ten months, but made sure that they called him today to stay on his good side.

It was like the opening scene in "The Godfather", with everyone waiting to see him and kiss his ring.

I am not a kiss-ass. I didn't run in to scream "Happy birthday!! You're the best boss ever, please don't fire me, have I told you how great you look today, and have you lost weight? This is the best job ever!!!" Instead, I said "good morning", like I do every day when I pass him in the kitchen. Then Trophy Wife came in and started telling me about how hungover she was from the birthday dinner the night before, and I made some dumb joke about celebrating his birthday.

And frankly, that was way more involvement than I wanted to have.

But when Celestia asked me if I wished him a happy birthday, her eyes almost bugged out her head when she found out that I didn't. I mean, I didn't even wish my own [real] father happy birthday, why would I do it for someone who just learned my name in the last year (even though I've been here 5+ years)? I show up for work every day, and I don't steal from the company. That's good enough, in his eyes.

I've also been bored to tears the last week or two. There are about two weeks a month where I have absolutely NOTHING to do, and all my bosses know this, but none of them are willing to hand off tasks to me to fill up my day. This week, I've played 195 games of FreeCell. Actually, I've played many more, but I decided at one point to start playing in order to see how many games I can play while I'm at work doing nothing.

I don't like not having anything to do. I can only read emails and my gossip sites so much before I go blind with boredom.

Even though I have nothing to do most days except answer the phone, I still got a 9% salary increase, so I guess I can't complain too much (yeah, I can. 9% of not-very-much is still not-very-much).

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*Knitting update*

After many hours, and watching the video of the girl doing it (not that "it", you freaks) on knittinghelp over and over and over for an hour, I figured out how to do double cast-on!

Now I don't have to jab my own eyes out with the needles, because if I didn't learn something, I would have. Before this weekend is over, I will have made progress, people.

I must!

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Hmmm.

My fingers just started peeling randomly yesterday.

Skin just suddenly coming off is normal, right?