As much as I dislike Mondays, I’ve never found them to be nearly as difficult as Tuesdays.
a) because Monday morning coffee is the cat’s pajamas
b) because everyone I work with is so tried that they don’t talk to me
c) because any caught-red-handed slacking can be easily justified with a “sorry, it’s Monday; I don’t know where my brain is”
Tuesdays, however, are just miserable things. It’s like popping out of auto-pilot and feeling the full weight of everything. Plus, the ABC’s of Monday are gone. The coffee is good but not GREAT, people want to talk again and there are no excuses for slacking. Monday has a certain edge to it that makes everyone else semi-miserable and since I’m usually Gloomy Gertrude, I benefit from their silent agony; I really do, I’m just going to come right out and say it.
I certainly don’t root for anyone’s misery, I’m just completely burned by this Monday-Friday routine. I like routine things on my own terms, not on payroll terms. Working in an office, truly is like Office Space. When I was young, it was hilarious. As an adult, it is far too realistic. Peter truly is the blue-collar hero.
I’m ready for my Colorado cabin and occupational typewriter with a bottle of whiskey now. I’ve had enough of this 40 hour a week crap.
I didn’t feel like a total loser for doing this until I realized I spent the past half-hour putting this together and duplicating it on Grooveshark (for no one) on a Saturday night. I see no reason in not following through with it at this point.
In light of my recent 80’s music binge, I’ve put together a short playlist of 80’s music and 80’s inspired music.
You can listen to it here.
Enjoy your Saturday night with or without this.
Today is one of those days where I play “There’s a murderer in the warehouse!”.
This is where I run through the storage racks where we store our overstock and pretend I’m hiding from “a murderer in the warehouse”.
Although, I have to say, it’s not quite as fun as “There’s a murderer on the staircase!” which speaks for itself. I’d like to thank my dad for my strange fascination with running from a killer for allowing me to watch horror movies during crucial years of development. I’d also like to thank my anti-social tendencies for allowing me to play imaginary games by myself at twenty-seven.
It’s moments like this that make me hate my position in life.
You may be dazzled by the Comic Sans font, but I assure you, this is no party – this is a group march straight to hell. Not only does this happen at least twice a month, but after the standard “Happy Birthday to You”, there is a sliver of awkward silence followed by some god-awful G-rated joke that everyone pretends is comedy gold.
Then, the CEO, in all of his PG edge-pushing glory makes a joke about something on the birthday card (each one a special photoshop of someone’s face in a picture that represents an inside joke maybe three people get but everyone acts as if they’re in on), and everyone’s face turns brown as they laugh at something cataclysmic even to the pulse of something as beige as office-humor.
I’d be lying if I said my happiness couldn’t be bought with cake. But trust me, there is none to be had. Plus, with Bob throwing his insulin needles in the garbage, it’s probably best not to take any chances in a place with such fine minds.
I Googled “Big Gulp” and have decided to pick the worst 5 pictures (in no specific order) from the first 10 rows.
Any time I’m bored, this will happen on WordPress — with a different word or phrase every time, of course. There’s nothing special about it other than the fact that it’s entertaining.
I feel bland and colorless today. I ate my peanut butter and jelly sandwich in to the shape of Utah. I’ve never been to Utah, I really have no interest in ever going there, but when I looked at the remainder of my sandwich, it was Utah. Even my sandwich is bored today. aaaaauuuggggghhhhhhh