You're Not The Boss Of Me, Now...

ReaderFriends, I have something shocking to tell you.

Every once in a while I get a bee in my bonnet, and bristle up pretty easily.**1

Sometimes it's because my hair doesn't work quite right. It's being limp, or crunchy, or too exciting, and living underneath it is more than I can handle. So everything else that day goes wrong, based solely on my folicular conundrum.

Sometimes it's because I was having a fantastic morning at home, getting lots of stuff done (or maybe getting nothing at all done...) and didn't want to leave home and come in to the office. So I pitch a hissy fit, and stomp my feet and knit my brow and fuss about in a general direction.

And sometimes it's just because people suck.

Today, I'm picking Door Number Three.

Which means I've spent an inordinate amount of time imagining how much simpler adult life would be if there were still On Duty Individuals around to put the stoopidheads in timeout. There wouldn't be an empty corner to be found.

**1 You're astounded. I can tell.

Working Hard...

Why is it that, within an office, one of the most popular greetings is "Working hard, or hardly working?"

It's said typically by a nonchalant coworker who meanders by your cubicle, coffee mug in hand, and interrupts something important to ask you their inane question. It's said with aloofness, as though you're being caught red-handed in a fit of nonproductive glee.**1

Typically, when I'm approached with this question, I'm in one of two states:

1.) I'm typing frantically, trying to cobble together intelligent thoughts for an e-mail before they escape me,

or

2.) I'm up to my elbows in paperwork.

In either of these situations, the derailment that comes from that question will cost me at least half an hour of productivity: ten minutes of conversation with my assailant, and an additional twenty to get myself back into the swing of whatever-I-was-doing-before.

Let's consider that:

Say I get paid $16 an hour. (I don't. But it's a nice thought.)

Losing half an hour of productive time is $8.

Out of that $8, obviously the government needs their cut. We'll say $3 out of that is claimed by taxes.

That leaves $5... Which will be the new fee I impose on any wayward peanut galleries that darken my doorway.

I'm gonna be rich.

Nothing If Not Trendy...

This blog is nothing if not In Keeping With The Times.

To that end, I present you:

My First Meme!




Except I totally did this today.


**1 Photo Credit: http://www.grmdocumentmanagement.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/messy-records1.jpg

Be Careful What You Wish For

Public Service Announcement 

to Fellow Human With Self-Imposed Dietary Restrictions

I cut nutritional items out of my diet because I can't process them. I don't get to eat copious amounts of cheese or ice cream because it throws me into a gastric fit. I'm not allowed artificially sweetened foods because they rattle me even more deeply. Those are rules for myself I have to follow because it makes me very, very sick (and stinky) if I break them.

So for you to impose restrictions on yourself - specifically, cutting out all dairy and all gluten and all red meat on a whim - and then to complain about how hard it is to find cheap, tasty food that doesn't send you into fits of "IBS"**1 is a little shortsighted of you. It's also shortsighted to complain about being so hungry all the time. I understand not eating what makes you feel icky. But if you choose a diet for yourself, follow it. Or break it. But don't mope and groan about it to someone whose restrictions are medically based.

Secondly, it's not "luck" that I'm the shape that I am. It's running around the office all day. It's sharing housework with my hardworking Boyfriend of Amazingness. It's supporting my Mum by stepping into the role of Man of the House if it's needed. It's dancing and walking and playing and moving as often as I can and more. It's eating vegetables and drinking water and having a positive attitude**2 and not being generally geriatric.

So for you to sit and complain that you can't move to take care of whatever-needs-taking-care-of really pushes my buttons. You can't get up because you don't want to get up. And you're stiff and sore because you don't make yourself move. NOTE: I've seen you book it when you thought you were going to miss your ride. I know you can move if you want to. You're not fooling anyone.

Thirdly... If you *do* break your self-imposed restrictions because you're Just That Hungry, do it with quality food. You're not doing yourself - or anyone around you, if that IBS kicks in... - any favors by hitting up Mickey D's to "tide you through this hungry bit."

Be careful what you do to your innards, Crazy Person. You just might find that you're the next Skinny Little Someone who can't eat cheese even if you really want to.

And cheese is awesome. So that sucks.

RaYD,

Sunny

**1 I appreciate your creativity in generating these maladies to get yourself out of doing unpleasant tasks. However... I don't need to hear about them. Maybe a doctor does, if it's affecting your ability to perform so seriously.

**2 Seriously, ReaderFriends. It helps. Not to change your shape, but to love it as it is.

Icky Gross

Sunny's List Of Really Gross Things That Skeeze Her Out In The Office

(And Sometimes Other Places Too):

• Toilet Seats
• They should not be warm. When I rush into the bathroom in a fit of emergency, it really wigs me out to be greeted by anything other than a seat so cold that it makes me go "Eek!" and breathe in really fast. Anything warmer than that means someone else's posterior has been close by in the not-distant-enough past, and I'm all but rubbing my rump against theirs.**1
• They should not be wet. Whether from sprinkling tinkles or from over-exuberant flushes that spring up out of the bowl and onto the seat... it's just icky. There isn't enough TP to get the germy feeling off.
• Drains
• There should not be hairs in them. Outside of my own shower (which is gross enough with my ever-shedding mane, thank-you-so-much...), I don't want to see hairs. Which means get them out of restroom sinks, kitchens as a whole and especially the drinking fountain.
• Bugs
• There are some places I expect to see beetles and spiders and house flies. For instance:
• A garden
• My lawn
• My bedroom**2
• There are some places where bugs should not under any circumstances, make themselves comfortable. For instance:
• My snack
• My cleavage
• My office chair
• Keyboards/Calculators/Phones
• They should not be sticky. Food happens... Sneezes happen... Exploding glue sticks happen... But clean off your damned keyes.Especially if someone has to share your workspace and your sticky buttons.
• Coffee Cups
• They should make an attempt at being the color they were when they were made. Now, I'm not saying that a well-loved coffee cup with a stain inside should be tossed out like yesterday's newspaper. But don't dump fresh coffee into something that still has scum in it from your last cuppa. And if you're going to resist the urge to use a scrubbie, at least get a black mug.

With that done... I now return you to your regularly scheduled day.

**1 The same goes for regular chairs, too.

**2 Only when Boyfriend of Amazingness is home to save me, though.