Archive for June, 2005

Published by PaintingChef on 30 Jun 2005

When the gods give you the finger, they don’t mess around.

Dear Fertility Gods—

Okay, look. Now I understand that you hate me, really I do. And that’s cool, we can deal with that with some drugs and lots and lots of sex. No worries, it’ll be fun and I have an excuse to be a little crazy. Kick ass.

BUT…for the love of GOD…do NOT lull me into a false sense of security when you are, in fact, planning to take a giant club and beat me about the neck and shoulders with it a few days later.

See, I was crazy psycho Clomid wife for the five days. Cool, thanks for the help with the blog entries and all. Apparently when I morph into the devil, I’m a little funny. But then I was peeing on the sticks and waiting for the ripening of the girl parts and such.

So when you strike me down with another round of cramps, PMS, and the ensuing events a mere 18 FUCKING DAYS LATER when last time it took you 84 days to bring all that around again…

Well, let’s just say it doesn’t make for a happy day. Because NOW I have to revert BACK to crazy psycho Clomid wife before all the villages I destroyed have had a chance to rebuild.

You suck.

Published by PaintingChef on 29 Jun 2005

This is so much cheaper than therapy.

Okay, I tried to keep this under control but I think the only way I can get in a decent mood again is to let all this shit out, sorry. I am seriously breaking my rule about not talking about work TWICE today. Here we motherfucking go…

1. Look dickweed. Whenever you ask me a dumbass question and I look at you and don’t say anything for a full five seconds, it is NOT because I’m thinking of how to properly word my answer. It is because I am taking those precious seconds to suppress the nearly overwhelming urge I am having at that exact moment to rip off your arms and beat you to a pulp with them. No joke.

2. I actually functioned in my job capacity BEFORE you decided to take over this particular office. And I was good at it. So all this shit you are changing just because you got a wild hair up your ass (although how it made it past the telephone pole you keep permanently lodged up there is a mystery to everyone) is completely unnecessary.

3. QUIT FUCKING ASKING ME WHEN I’M GOING TO BE PREGNANT!!!!! Seriously, just stop it. You are messing with SERIOUS hormones here you stupid fuck. And I assure you, you’ll KNOW because I will be wearing a big shit-eating grin. Plus, I’ll probably tell you.

4. Look, people hate you. Like, they might kill you in your sleep hate you. So quit complaining that “office morale” is low and figure out why. Before your ass showed up this was a fairly pleasant place to work. But now…yeah…not so much.

5. Hey. Shithead. You talk too much. And when you send me an email about something, I swear to fucking GOD it is not necessary to call down to me 2 seconds after you hit send to ask me if I got it. I sit in front of my computer ALL DAY. I got your email. Both of them.

6. This “FYI” shit you start every conversation with…don’t. If you are telling me something, I can pretty much guess that you are telling me FOR MY INFORMATION.

7. Go home, get laid. Please, you’ll enjoy it I swear. And you will be doing us ALL a favor.

8. When someone is out of work because his wife was diagnosed with breast cancer, it is SO NOT OKAY to call him at the HOSPITAL and ask when he is going to be back at work. That makes you pretty much the worst human being who ever lived.

9. Please respect my space. If you are talking to me I would prefer you not stand where I can a) see your face lift scars or b) count your pores. You look like Frankenstein you fucking freak.

10. I have nothing else. But I cannot tell you all how much better I feel. I am so seriously sorry that you had to suffer through this rant. DAMN!

Published by PaintingChef on 29 Jun 2005

A drastic change of mood…sorry.

Holy SHIT! Someone knock some sense into my fucking head. I’ve actually got a pretty good deal as far as this whole employment thing is concerned. Off on Mondays, leave at 2 on Fridays and I talk to you kick ass bitches all day with the occasional break to get a little bit of work done.

So WHY WHY WHY have I just spent the past hour perusing the internet job listings??

Well, probably because my boss is the spawn of Satan and that nasty white shit that accumulates in the corner of your mouth when you’re thirsty. OH…and he might be a close relative of my arch nemesis.

I am soooo breaking my rules here and writing about my job but I literally CANNOT think of anything else to talk about because I am so consumed with hatred for my boss right now.

Alright…I need a break. Also, to get pregnant FAST so that I could have a definitive number of days left here in hell…I mean work.

Published by PaintingChef on 28 Jun 2005

Random Giggles

Some people are like Slinkies…

Not really good for anything

But they still bring a smile to your face

when you push them down a flight of stairs.

Published by PaintingChef on 28 Jun 2005

A sad tale of loss and the birth of my comic book alter ego.

I had a dream, it was a fabulous dream. Of a lovely red couch. I want a red couch for my yellow living room in the worst way. I want people to walk into my house and expect me to say “Would you like fries with that?” (It should also be noted that I have a bright ass blue kitchen AND a lime green laundry room…white walls give me horrific nightmares.)

And I found one! WITH a loveseat. Now all I need is a “big chair” and an ottoman but not one that is all matchy matchy because that’s not what the Hamburgler would like in his abode. So I found my red couch and it was good and lo, it was not expensive.

I went to visit my red couch and mark my territory with a middle of the day dry hump and then I ran home so excited to tell Patrick about the promised land that I nearly piddled my pants. And he said… “Um…yeah, well, we’ll go see about it in a few days”

A. Few. Days. But BABY! I’ve already make sexual overtures to the couch. We’ve been INTIMATE. We must go now now now!!! Without delay! (Because any form of DeLay is bad bad news signifying the end of the world…but I digress)

Well, obviously I’m nowhere NEAR as in charge of this whole marriage thing as I have deluded myself into thinking.

But anyway…so we waited and we waited and I had visions of other people loving on MY couch and taking it home and I cried “Couch! How could you do this to me, we had a MOMENT before the furniture Nazi kicked me out of the store.” Fast forward to Monday evening, the day of the big pointless sale at furniture place which shall remain nameless Ashley.

I am so excited. I am skipping and jumping and happy happy joy joy. This is all happening, mind you, in four billion trillion percent humidity in the middle of rush hour traffic but still…I am happiness and light. My couch boyfriend is waiting for me right up at the front of the store. But something is different. WHAT is that foreign piece of paper of MY couch? Oh holy shit, oh no. This is SOOO not happening to me.

S-O-L-D O-U-T.

Well, I immediately grew another head and devoured the chippy saleslady whole who confirmed that yes, indeed, my lover had gone home to another and they were not going to be using cloning technology to grow me another one in a nearby lab anytime soon. I then turned my wrath towards Patrick who had used those precious few seconds to arm himself with a nearby lamp and dining room furniture set. Tricky bastard, I’ve got to keep a closer eye on that one.

So we headed back through the traffic and the humidity, Patrick was apologizing because apparently I had failed to stress that we didn’t have to wait until the big pointless sale to rescue my couch boyfriend from the orphanage.

And I SWEAR to you that asshole in the suburban assault vehicle who tried to kill me the other day passed us and MY COUCH was IN HIS FUCKING HUMMER. I can now become a comic book heroine in a kicky suit because I have acquired an arch-nemesis.

Cool.

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