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Bitching
Payroll Girl is keeping an "Internal Cleansing Progress Chart". Basically, this is a poo diary. She writes down each time she goes number two and describes it. The chart came with the internal cleansing capsules she bought at the whole foods store.
Our Estimator irritates me so much I want to kill him. Slowly. While he screams in pain. The odd thing is, I don't know why I want to kill him. He hasn't done anything especially annoying today. I just can't be in the same room with him without wanting to shove a knife in his chest. Everyone else in the office feels the same way, so it can't just be me.
The receptionist the boss foisted upon those of us in accounting is the dumbest thing on two legs. She's very sweet and overly nice, especially at eight in the morning when I walk through the door with the biggest scowl on my face. However, she has a memory the size of a pea, and logic has never been her friend. She says she's going to school to be a pharmacist. I want to morph into Simon Cowell and tell her that she should come up with a backup plan because she'll never be counting my pills or reciting medication interactions to me at Wal-Greens. It's just not going to happen. She can't even pass a remedial English course, much less an advanced Chemistry class. And she bugs. Good lord does she bug. She fires the most ridiculous questions at me as soon as I walk in the door each morning. It makes my eye twitch. Just before she left today, she called my desk phone to ask me what the closest cross street was to our location. What? You drive to work every morning and you can't tell someone what intersection you drive through? That's inexcusable. The worst part? We're stuck with her the entire summer. She's working full-time every single frickin' day. Forty hours filled with the dumbest questions known to man. Just the thought of it makes me ill.
I'm making my mother a knitted and felted purse for Mother's Day. I bought the yarn for it yesterday and nearly passed out at the register when I saw the total price was nearly fifty dollars. I thought knitting your own things was supposed to be less expensive.
Speaking of mothers, Jason's mother called me this morning to ask how my parents are, which threw me for a loop since the question was a bit out-of-the-blue. She said she thought of them after seeing all the news coverage of the shootings in Virginia. My parents don't live in Virginia. They live in West Virginia. People in New Mexico don't know the difference, just like people in West Virginia think New Mexico is part of the country Mexico. You'd think a retired school teacher would know better, but apparently the standards for educators in this state have been lowered considerably.
Our Estimator irritates me so much I want to kill him. Slowly. While he screams in pain. The odd thing is, I don't know why I want to kill him. He hasn't done anything especially annoying today. I just can't be in the same room with him without wanting to shove a knife in his chest. Everyone else in the office feels the same way, so it can't just be me.
The receptionist the boss foisted upon those of us in accounting is the dumbest thing on two legs. She's very sweet and overly nice, especially at eight in the morning when I walk through the door with the biggest scowl on my face. However, she has a memory the size of a pea, and logic has never been her friend. She says she's going to school to be a pharmacist. I want to morph into Simon Cowell and tell her that she should come up with a backup plan because she'll never be counting my pills or reciting medication interactions to me at Wal-Greens. It's just not going to happen. She can't even pass a remedial English course, much less an advanced Chemistry class. And she bugs. Good lord does she bug. She fires the most ridiculous questions at me as soon as I walk in the door each morning. It makes my eye twitch. Just before she left today, she called my desk phone to ask me what the closest cross street was to our location. What? You drive to work every morning and you can't tell someone what intersection you drive through? That's inexcusable. The worst part? We're stuck with her the entire summer. She's working full-time every single frickin' day. Forty hours filled with the dumbest questions known to man. Just the thought of it makes me ill.
I'm making my mother a knitted and felted purse for Mother's Day. I bought the yarn for it yesterday and nearly passed out at the register when I saw the total price was nearly fifty dollars. I thought knitting your own things was supposed to be less expensive.
Speaking of mothers, Jason's mother called me this morning to ask how my parents are, which threw me for a loop since the question was a bit out-of-the-blue. She said she thought of them after seeing all the news coverage of the shootings in Virginia. My parents don't live in Virginia. They live in West Virginia. People in New Mexico don't know the difference, just like people in West Virginia think New Mexico is part of the country Mexico. You'd think a retired school teacher would know better, but apparently the standards for educators in this state have been lowered considerably.
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Once you start going to the yarn store and buying NICE yarn it gets expensive! But the yarn is so wonderful.