Tinkle, Tinkle Little Twat

It’s official. I work for another psycho boss. What is it about the insurance game that breeds such freaks of nature?

Today in our morning meeting, The Huddle, our esteemed leader, (we’ll call him Goat Boy since he’s a Capricorn) lectured the females of the office (which is the entire office, he’s the only dick in the place) on the proper way to pee. You see, our office has two bathrooms: one that the unwashed masses that are our customers use and one that his holiness uses. By his benevolence our derrieres are allowed access to this holy of holies…The Bathroom Next to the Kitchen.

But apparently there is a problem with the way we (and I am directly quoting Goat Boy) “urinate.”
In our “urinating,” either our hovering technique is off the mark or some of us lift the seat to make liquid transactions. (Why and how they lift the seat is beyond me.) Regardless of how we position our vaginas on while on the throne, wet spots are being left behind. And not the fun kind of wet spots either.

If we do dribble while we piddle, we are to clean the seat thoroughly. Goat Boy made it sound like a Hazmat suit was needed and perhaps sanding off a layer of toilet seat.

While this was not explicitly stated, it was subtly inferred that those of us on the bottom of the corporate step stool might lose The Bathroom Next to the Kitchen privileges altogether. No word on whether or not we would be forced to use the 7-11 for all future transactions.

I have yet to see these wet spot
Now I have my own theory on the moisture matter. The paper towels to dry hands are on top of the tank. Could it be that droplets of water from freshly washed hands fling off and land on the seat???? Oooh, the humanity! THINK OF THE CHLORINE TOUCHING HIS SAINTED ASS!!!

He told us to respect The Bathroom Next to the Kitchen as if it were our own. Does that mean I can leave my thongs on the floor and my bra on the doorknob? Or bring in my economy size box of tampons and leave them on the shelf?


Seriously though, we sat through a 10-minute conversation of our MALE boss instructing the FEMALE employees how to properly URINATE!!!!! Ithink this counts as a violation of something.

Goat Boy, I get that you’re a clean freak and all, but at any point did it ever occur to you that such a conversation might be ever so slightly inappropriate?!?!? (Not to mention that last time I was that uncomfortable was the Jr./Sr. Banquet in college when I wore two full body girdles to fit into my dress. I almost passed out, but my boobs looked incredible! Don’t get me started on my cleavage that night…thing of beauty I tell you, but I digress)


And if cleanliness and good hygiene are such a priority with you, why the fuck haven’t you gotten an exterminator to come in and spray for those little ants that are all over that office and, oh yeah, the ROACHES that consult us for all their insurance needs? It’s not like we haven’t mentioned this to you. Twice.

So to all my friends out there, I make this passionate plea….help me get out of this insane asylum!!! I’m being serious; if anyone knows anyone who can help me out with my job situation, hook me up. There’s no telling what we’ll discuss next at work. Proper tampon insertion?

The Drywall Dungeon

How do you get out of a drywall dungeon? I’m in a job I barely tolerate with a boss whose mere breathing makes me start twitching.
I’ve applied to jobs that I want, but never seem to get. I don’t think I’m pursuing the wrong thing, yet I must not be doing something right otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this whiney shit.

I long to be in an environment that fosters creativity, not one that attempts to suck it from your soul.
I want to be where my passion lies. I live a double life; boring csr that feigns an interest (and fails miserably at that) in insurance sales by day; a not-so-boring aspiring writer/editor bohemian with witty, yet warped, way with words.

I don’t believe in karma (despite a former fuck buddy’s attempts otherwise), and even if I did I haven’t done anything that bad. Does belittling the sexual prowess of a former lover count? He really was awful in bed. I had a duty to other women; he had to know how bad he was before he humped again.

Back to my point, I feel like I am on the verge of something. Not greatness, b/c I don’t think I’ll be famous and that not something I care to pursue, but I am close. I’m on some crappy little road with fresh road kill on the side and up ahead is an exit sign guiding me to my dreams.

At this moment I’m not giving up, but I wonder how long I can keep this up? How long can I be my own little Jekyll and Hyde?

I’m not without creative influences and outlets. Working on the school paper redesign refreshes me in so many ways, just because it’s not insurance. It is sad how much enjoyment I get out of analyzing headline fonts. The paper will no doubt bring its own brand of stress, but at least it will feed my mind. Here in this bland, heartless place the only thing that really gets fed is my bank account and even that is not much.

I’ve been job-hunting for 4 years. I remember sitting at the news editor desk at the Champion, my undergrad newspaper, thinking that I would snatch up a job in no time. I just had to pass my bio lab and I would be on my way to journalistic success. I thought I was the shit.

Fast forward four years, and I’m still trying to snatch up that job. Now, just the thought of looking for journo-job makes my teeth ache. The whole job process pretty much sucks. I want a job to just fall in my lap. But the thought of not looking makes me antsy. But just standing around doing nothing won’t get me a job either.

Sarcasm and bitchiness are virtues I have. Patience, not so much.

I don’t expect much from this posting. I’m not the only one in this situation. I’m complaining and whining. But this is my outlet. Feel free to let me know what a baby I am.