The Cube Keeps Turning

I met the Peroxide Queen's man today. I'm going to call him the VD King because of his STD. It is still to be determined what he has. I think the results come in tomorrow. She brought him over to my cube today. He was very car salesman like with his handshake, greeting, and sparkling teeth. He looked like he stepped out of 1985, which is funny because the Peroxide Queen is stuck in the 80's (tapered mom jeans and all). Somehow the conversation veered towards where he went to high school and where he was from. Turns out that the VD King went to high school with one of my brother-in-laws. I quickly called my sister to get the dirt. My brother-in-law was very amused to find out where the VD King was today. It totally made me want to register on classmates.com and look up people I went to high school with. Anyway, this made me start thinking about who else this guy went to high school with. If he went with my brother-in-law, then this means he went with my brother-in-law's sister, Cookie. Now, this is interesting because Cookie don't take no shit and never has. I can't wait until we all get together, and I can get her reaction. Actually, Cookie was too cool for high school and probably doesn't remember the VD King. If I get anything good out of her, I'll report back. As for the diseased couple, Mr. Bitchford and I have been invited out to dinner with them. I'm seriously thinking about going, but I'll have to bring my hand sanitizer with me. Don't wanna catch nothin'.

I'm Sending Out an S.O.S.

I need help! A part-time employee of mine let me know that he would be leaving August 1st. This wasn't a huge shock because I knew he really needed full-time work and benefits. We've had an ok working relationship. If I had to sum up his work in one word, it would be mediocre. Sukie thinks he just sucks ass, but that's another story. I got an email from him this afternoon. It had a job description and his resume attached. He wants me to write a letter of recommendation for him. I looked over the job description, and he isn't qualified. Also, he says he has to have the letter by tomorrow morning. WTF, dude? Nice notice. I opened his resume and stopped breathing for a minute. He lied. There were job duties listed for his current job that are not his. They are mine! He didn't actually list a project or anything, but parts of my job description are in his fucking resume. I'm not really sure how to handle this. Any ideas?

As the Cube Turns

Work has gotten really interesting and a tad gross this week. You guys have heard me talk about the Peroxide Queen. She has a cube very close to mine. This is the same woman who went through the really nasty divorce and totally let her ex walk all over her. Well, she's at it again. She's met a new man and has been seeing him for three weeks. Apparently, they had unprotected sex. I do wonder who in the hell, especially at the age of 40, decides it's ok to have unprotected sex with some man you have known three weeks. I would have required some blood work, but that's just how I roll. Soooo, she gets a call from him today. He gives her a VERY detailed description of what his penis is lookin' like, and it doesn't sound pretty. It grossed me out so much that after I heard the words "hot and red on the head" and "scab" that I screamed for her to shut up. It gets even better people. After knowing this man for three weeks and getting the clap or whatever the hell he has given her, he's moving in with her. I shit you not! Stay tuned for more of As the Cube Turns...

Swinging in the Neighborhood

We have new neighbors, and they have brought a portable hot tub with them. Hot damn, you might say. You might even wonder how to get an invite. Well, Mr. Bitchford and I saw them yesterday. I swear to God the song Dreamweaver started playing, and I had a psychedelic vision. The couple looks a lot like Tom and Trina from that new show Swingtown. Yep. The moustache and all have moved right in. While I'm not up for sharing my man's tallywhacker with Trina, and I'm also not into having Tom's moustache tickle me in my tootlebug (I stole that from a friend), I would so watch from the comfort of my bedroom window. So, now we have Taye Diggs, Patrick Duffy, Ice Man, and Tom/Trina. My neighborhood is fucking famous!

Good Ole Pansy-Boys

I just got back from a city council pre-meeting (which is evidently like a meeting before the meeting next week).

I won't bore you with the details of what the meeting was about because that's not really my point.

Side note: I am also ALWAYS the youngest person at city council meetings. Apparently, only old, fat, white men (and a few of their stuck-up, never-worked-a-day-in-my-life society wives) give a shit what happens in this town.

With that preface, allow me to get to my point, which is two-fold:

1) I do not like nor do I trust men who cannot give me a firm handshake. Give me that wet noodle, and you're already on my suspect/black list. Man up. Reach deep down to the balls God gave you and put a little man into it for crying out loud.

2) Old, fat, white men think they rule the fucking world. They think their opinions are the only ones that matter (except the ones they've instilled in their stuck-up, never-worked-a-day-in-my-life society wives, which are of course, the same opinions they have). And, naturally, they're right, and everyone else is an idiot.

Conclusion: When you're one of only three women in a room, and the other two are brainwashed by old, fat, white men who think they rule the world (but are really pansies who can't even shake a hand with the firmness of soggy bread), and you're the only person under the age of 50, IT SUCKS! Fucking good ole boys.

Too bad they never met me. After staying afterwards to discuss the full facts with the Director of the Planning and Transportation Division (who reminds me of Lindsey Graham but patiently answered all my questions and provided me with everything I asked) and collect some research from him, I am armed and ready to form my own damn opinion and fight for it and mobilize the forces if necessary.

Muhahaha...I am the worst nightmare of Southern Good Ole Boys (old, fat, white pansies!) everywhere!

Bathroom Drama...Again

Ok. There is a candy apple red camisole in the bathroom. It's just right there on the sink. It's all laid out like someone washed it and is waiting on it to dry. How the hell do you lose your shirt? Is there a mystery woman walking around with only a suit jacket on? Perhaps she's topless? Maybe there was a spot on the camisole, and she wanted to wash it out? This place is like the Twilight Zone sometimes.

The Driver on Crack

You guys know who I'm talking about. You know the person who hits her brakes when she sees a green light? How 'bout the person who hits the gas when she sees brake lights? What about the person who stops in two lanes of traffic because she can't see where to turn in, and she declares, "They will see me and stop." THIS...is my mother. OMG! She's driving us home from the beach and honestly I don't know if we will make it. I think we have a 50/50 shot of not ramming into someone or something. I attempted to talk to her about it this morning. It started like this, "Mom, you can't drive. You scare the shit out of me." She replies, "Shut the hell up. No one is gettin' my keys. Period." I reply, "Well, I will have to take an anxiety pill to ride with you. If this launches me into a life of drugs, then you are to blame." She replies, "That's your problem. I'm driving!" Oh shit.