Boo-f'ing-Hoo.

Welp, I'm in the process of finding a new job. Since I'm not supposed to speak negatively about my employer in interviews, here goes:

Firstly, I live 35 miles from work, but it somehow takes me one to one and a half hours to travel (each way). Combine that with gas and tolls, my situation has narrowly improved over working in NYC. Asked the bossman to change my hours (8:30-4:30, the earliest shift) so as to miss the bulk of the traffic. No go.

-BUT, they hired a new girl, and guess what hours she has?

Plus, it's a struggle to take a day off in a small company (6 total employees). I bought Yankee tickets for my hubby's B'Day. Asked 3 months in advance and was shot down because the receptionist has the day off. Are you kidding me with that shit?! What I do here has absolutely nothing to do with the phones, so WTF?!

-BUT, another employee works 9 hour days so he can take every other Wednesday off.

I went to my manager, explained my position and stated I will be looking for other employment. That was last Friday, and they haven't canned me- so we'll see who wins this race. But since then, she's been asking me to do all the shit jobs so the receptionist can catch up on invoicing. No one else has been asked to chip in, just me.

Yes, I know it could be worse. My boss could be threatening to take away my Saturday night shift at Denny's if I don't bang his toothless cousin while he watches.

But I can't wait to quit this place.

Farewell Bob Loblaw, We Hardly Knew Ye...

...is the slugger for this post over at Pajiba. It's amusing to read comments lamenting Arrested Development and vexing about the Olympics in the same sentence.

Of course, I watched the AR finale. Despite the fact that I LOVE the Olympics. But Opening Ceramony v. Ending of Funniest Sitcom on TV is no contest.

I must agree with Mr. Freilich that the episodes were geared toward the regular viewers. But you know what? Fuck everyone else! A bunch of Johnny-come-latelies don't deserve the inside track.

And as far as Bryant Gumble is concerned- how does the saying go- Opinions are like assholes, everybody's got one. He just happens to have a platform for his asshole.

But, whatev. I let my husband know that for the next two weeks, the only thing on our TV will be the winter games. So he, like the rest of the viewing public, has a choice. Either sit on the couch and watch, or not. That's all. It's junk food for the brain. To try to make more of it -is ridonkulous.

Happy Valentines, everyone!

The Ironing is Delicious

Over at The Superficial, they are reporting that Paris Hilton is on the short list to play, get this, Mother Teresa. The Indian director, having just come down with the last drop of rain, was impressed that she wouldn't pose naked in Playboy.

While, over at IDontLikeYouInThatWay, they've dug up some dirt that she is threatening to renege on her $235,000 reporting gig because her dressing room will not contain a jacuzzi.

Just like Mother Teresa at the 1993 Kennedy Center Awards. She was so drunk on the red carpet- she kept saying, "Hi-OH!" after every question Johnny Carson answered. And he slapped the microphone out of her hand and stormed off. Remember that shit?

And the award for best Soul, Spoken Word or Barbershop Quartet album goes to....

Yeah, I watched last night. Only because a dear friend of mine plays guitar for John Legend. Admittedly, I got a little misty. You couldn't see him (until the very end, I think) but that guitar sounded smooth as silk, baby!

So, is Madonna a cyborg or what? No one nearing fifty can look that good. Except maybe Tina Turner. Whom I'm not entirely convinced isn't a cyborg either.

I tuned in a little while longer for the Mary J./Bono duet. Sufficed to say it didn't dissapoint- their respecive voices still sound amazing. And so did Stevie Wonder! "Don't you get any spit in my harmonica, girl." Cheeky....

But when Kanye West won, I said click. If all award shows are self-congratulatory exercises in masturbation, the Grammys are a double-ended kong dong with a side of pump-gallon Astroglide.

Northern Transplant

Just added another blog to my links- check out A Whole Plate Of Crazy. This is a high school friend who recently left Manhattan for more genteel pastures...or so she thought.

The Return of DogGirl

So, DogGirl* rings me up on Monday. I was home sick (cough) and didn't answer. Her message was really sweet, inviting me and my husband to dinner tomorrow night.

Went to call her back, she left her office number, so I called my brother asking the details. Figure I should at least attempt to make nice, right?

Brother calls me back today, "You don't want to go to that dinner?"

"Why not?"

"It's to rope in potential clients," She recently accepted a position (ahem) at Morgan Stanley, "I told her that you wouldn't want to invest."

"Wait a minute? She's an investment broker?!"

"Yeah, and when I told her no, and she was like, why not? I was like, she just saw you drinking vodka from the bottle on her stoop not a year ago. I don't think she'll trust you with her money."

Good point, brother, good point. Not only that- How savvy of a broker can she be if she doesn't even have the perspicacity to know what I'll do to her if she fucks up my paper?!

*Those not familliar with DogGirl- she was my brother's fiance. Now they're just living together and not seeing anyone else... Yeah, I know.