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.

Cookie Monster

I have a new food obsession. Berger Cookies. I met these morsels of orgasmic cookie delight at a SCI cookout over the weekend. I thought they were homemade cookies. Thick, moist, yummy shortbread cookies slathered in chocolate fudge, they lack the perfect uniform look of store-bought cookies, hence the notion of homemade goodies.

As Nedra and I raved over them, someone at the table said they were burger cookies. I blame the Mike’s Hard Lemonade for my blank stare and my parrot-like repetition of “burger cookies, huh?” Finally we (ok, I) got that the cookies had nothing to do with hamburgers and came from an actual bakery. Everyone else at the table seemed to know all about these cookies and that they are a Baltimore specialty.

As soon as I got home, I started Googling. There I found the correct spelling of Berger Cookies and their history. Started in the 1800’s by the Berger brothers from Germany, Berger cookies have quite the following. They can only be found in Baltimore, but Bergercookies.com allows those away from B’more to fulfill the Berger munchies.
At this writing, it has been less than 24 hrs. since my Bergasm, but I am on my way to Mapquest to find the bakery.

Run, hottie, RUN!

There are many reasons that I love living in D.C.: the energy, diversity, culture, shopping and clubbing. But the one thing that makes me love DC and be ever grateful that I moved here is this: Male joggers!

Nothing makes DC traffic enjoyable quite like a half-dressed hottie, sweat glistening off his sculpted upper body as he does the jog-in-place thing waiting for the light to change. So far Georgetown and Connecticut Ave. have provided the best scenery for my commute. While no traffic accidents have been caused by my ogling, I have been the recipient of a few honkings and have been known to stick my head out the window for a better look.

It always saddens me when the weather changes and the joggers layering on the clothing. But as some consider robins prancing in a yard (and the eventual crapping on your car) or flowers blooming as a sign that spring cometh, the first half-dressed hottie sighting means winter is over for me!

The Dip

For those of you at the PBDS 601 therapy session held at Mariela's, here's the recipe for The Dip. If you missed The Dip, you missed a beautiful thing!
This recipe is for a 4qt. casserole dish, so tweak the ingredients accordingly if you want more or less.


3 pkgs. of cream cheese-8oz each
1 jar salsa (Newman's Own Tequila Lime salsa is my fave)
2 bunches of green onions
1 bunch of cilantro
4 cups of shredded cheese

Soften the cream cheese. (Microwave works best, but be careful not to melt it). In a bowl or the casserole dish, mix a few tablespoons of salsa with the cream cheese. Spread cream cheese/salsa mix in casserole dish, covering completely.

Pour remaining salsa on top of cream cheese. Add more salsa if you like. (I only use one jar b/c the lid of the 2nd jar of salsa would not come off! Seriously, 30 mins. of squeezing, twisting, sweating, cursing and gentle whacking on the counter did not work. Stupid jar)

Finely chop green onions. Spread over salsa.
Finely chop the cilantro. Mix 3/4 of the cilantro with the green onions.
Spread shredded cheese on top of greens.
Sprinkle remaining cilantro on top of cheese. I did it in a line across the top.
That's it!

You can add anything else to the dip. Fresh tomatoes have a tendency to make the dip watery, so be careful with that. You will need the Tostito's Gold chips as this is a thick dip.

Enjoy!

ok, maybe not...

So here I am, eating my words. (mmmm...needs salt)

I am blogging of my own free will. After getting the feedback from my fellow 601 inmates, I started thinking about blogging outside of class requirements. Knowing that blog upkeep wasn't something that was on my To-Do list but could now be on my Fun List appealed to me.

This has been the first time I have been able to write for an audience just for the sake of writing. Until now, all my writing had either been academic or for a newspaper; my verbal voice was still there, but slightly hindered.

Here I don't really have any rules to follow. I can write freely without worrying about a grade. I like that. I am still paranoid about some slacker hijacking my work and passing it off as his, but I'm sure I'd catch the brain-dead sycophant that tried. Do you really want to piss off a Colombian who has easy access to a machete, slacker?

I can't promise how often I will post, but quality over quantity!

Last Blog

awww...my last blog. Doesn't feel like a semester has passed, but it has. Sitting in a classroom for 6 hours every Sunday isn't the most thrilling thing in the world, but is has been a nice constant in my life. I've felt frustrated many times (iMovie projects and quiche shortages), but I have enjoyed getting to know all of you. Thanks for making a stressful semester enjoyable!

Show Time!

going to do a photo blog tonight. Here are some backstage pics from the belly dance show.

Show and Tell:How To

You must admire my restraint. We've been in class too many weeks to mention and this is my first bellydance show and tell!

Rachel Brice is a tribal belly dancer. Tribal is a fusion dance of traditional bellydance and dances from Africa, Asia and just about everywhere else. It's a little more goth and dark than regular belly dance.

All that to say, this DVD, Tribal Fusion - Yoga Isolations & Drills for Bellydance, teaches Yoga moves to stretch your body and then focuses on techniques, such as hip drops and chest lifts. You won't be a great belly dancer after watching this, but you will be able to make your chest do this cool "pop." If you've ever pass me on the Beltway, you'll more than likely see me practicing that move. Truckers looooove me!

Show and Tell: Classification

I have more than what I shared in class because inevitably, when I get home from class I see something that would have been perfect for show and tell. Here are two books from Beverly West and Nancy Peske. "Bibliotherapy: The Girl's Guide to Books for Every Phase of Our Lives" and "Cinematherapy: Cinematherapy : The Girl's Guide to Movies for Every Mood" have both introduced me to authors and movies I have never heard of or never thought of reading. Beverly and Nancy alone are responsible for intorducing me to Dorothy Parker. Bev and Nan have take this idea of theraphy via entertainment and produced an entire of series of books.