Special Spotlight: The Office Nazi

Some days you are the mower, and some days you are the lawn. This week I was the particularly stubborn weed that could not be killed. I had many things thrown at me. Mostly it was just annoying things, like doing the desk shuffle at work. I had my regular work, and then I had to uproot a years worth of crap I had built into my space just so I could move it 10 feet away. I am not complaining about my new cubby hole. I am actually happier in my partially secluded area. I can see actual sun light again. I am also out of the Office Nazi's view.

Who is the Office Nazi? He is a special sort of person who watches the clock too see how late you are, and then mentally notes it so he can bring it up when he feels you need to be chastised. He won't say anything at the time, but he will certainly give you a dirty look. He is also the guy that tells you no when you need personal time off. Unless someone is dead, you don't need a vacation. Thank god for sick days. I have officially renamed them "Mental Health Days", thanks to his special brand of annoying. I guess I will be up the creek if I ever really do get sick.

Everyone has that incredibly annoying person in their office. I am lucky to have 3. They really work as a team to peel your skin back, and poke and prod at every nerve you have ever had, or ever will have. The Office Nazi is special though. He is ALWAYS there. He listens to your phone conversations, and comments on them, personal or not. He reprimands you for the dirty kitchen, even if he knows you didn't make the mess. Its not like he can tell the boss to clean up after himself.

The Office Nazi loves to listen to himself talk, and loves it even more if he can pop quiz you and you get it wrong. He has a special sparkle in his eye when he is explaining something to you that you may already know, yet he is going to tell you anyway. His systems are permanent. DO NOT try to change them. Your idea may be better, but he doesn't care. Got gossip? He is the first to blabber mouth anything to your boss and your supervisor. To the Office Nazi, women are inferior, and not allowed in the boy's club ever.

But he does have his sore spots that you can defend yourself with. His kryptonite is a PMSing female. He leaves you alone if you are in a very bad mood. Also, you can go over his head when you need something and he has refused. Your ideas sound so much better coming from the bosses lips. He doesn't have very many sore spots, but they are there. All you have to do is know how to apply pressure.

I pity our Office Nazi. He is always at work, doing not much of anything, and gets paid very little to do it. When our boss dies, so will his job. Yet, he won't go. I think he realizes that if he has to really go, his possibility of going elsewhere in out industry is pretty slim. I hope for his sake, he has a good retirement savings built up.

I hate to be spiteful to any co worker, whether they are my superior or not. It makes coming to work harder. But the Office Nazi has me responding in biting tones, and rolling my eyes like I did as a teenager to my mom. He pushes some of my buttons so hard, I think they are broken now. I don't bristle at him for listening to my phone conversations any longer. If he wants to hear how my dog went to the bathroom on the floor instead of outside, then so be it. I like to have conversations about my "monthly gift" so he can get an ear full. If he feels the need to listen to my every conversation, then he can take the good with the bad. I know, it isn't right, but it feels so good to be bad sometimes!

The No Good Very Bad Day Puppy Edition

I am neglecting my blog. Sorry about that, it isn’t that I haven’t had wicked awesome ideas for posts, because I have. So many in fact, the idea factory is a little clogged. I am just really missing having my own computer at home, when I have solid down time. Steve is nice enough to let me borrow one of his two computers, but it isn’t the same. So me day, I will be computing with the best of them at home. (By computing, I mean interneting.)

What a fun filled week/end I had!  Last Thursday my sister made it to 28 years old, which was awesome. My gift was an uberly cool girly bike with a sweet basket in front. She was so very excited to see it. She squealed and jumped up and down, clapping her hands. It was NOT what a grown 28 year old woman should do, but I let her have her fun. (Just kidding Chrissy , jump away!) But when her husband came home and saw what I got her, he was slightly sad. Because, he too had purchased her a bicycle with a basket, and a horn. She didn’t jump or clap for his present. I felt bad.

Crystal decided to keep both, since that meant she could drag along an additional adult rider. So we all took turns trying out the new bike. It was bigger and beefier than the one I got her. I had fun playing with it, until I made my way back down the driveway to the garage. My dog had been chasing me. He kept behind me for the most part. He is a 9 month old dachshund, and not the brightest crayon in the box. As I slow myself down to make sure I don’t crash into anything, my dog speeds up to run right in front of me. Of course the second I yell at him to move he slows down and when I scream that if he doesn’t move, I will run over him, he stops. Dead . In. His. Tracks. I can’t do anything because he is already under the front tire of the bike, yelping.  

Poor Hans

Immediately I hopped off to assess my smooshed dog. I expected blood, and other gross things. I mean, I RAN OVER MY DOG with a HUGE bike!! (I know it isn’t the same as a car, but I am built like a Mack truck. Add a bike, and we might as well be a Ford Fiesta in comparison to my dog’s size.) I picked him up, and checked him over. Thank goodness, nothing broken or bleeding. Crystal insisted his paw was broken, but it wasn’t. He was milking it for all it was worth. I still felt bad. So he got lots of sugars. Yet, I couldn’t help but think, “My dog is dumber than a stump!”

This is the same dog that didn’t even whimper when he stuck his face in an ant pile when he was a puppy. He came and sat next to me, and he looked like he had a sudden acne attack. He didn’t even bat an eye! He received a vinegar bath and a small bit of baby Benadryl that I was told would knock him out. This picture was just after the meds. He is awake, and I think 30 minutes later he was down on the ground chasing his cousin. 

Oh Puppy.

I love my dog. He is a brat, and thinks my nephew is a dog and nips at him when they play. He chews stuff up, and refuses to be potty trained fully.  To add insult to injury, he released his “stink sack” in the process of being run over, so he had to have a bath. Also, he piddled a little on the cow hide rug in my sister’s house when my brother in law went to pick up him up. Hans was banned to stay outside during future visits.  Hayden told me as we were walking outside, “Hans had a bad day today.” 

He sure did buddy.

Excuses, Excuses

Sunday we had a wonderful “Balentimes” dinner with my parents and my sister and her family. Hayden was the star of course, but a close second was my mom’s pork dinner. There is NOTHING in this world like mom’s cooking. No restaurant could compare. I can only hope that some day, my kids will say that about my food. We all left mom and dads with overly full tummies, and promptly went home and passed out at 8:30 pm. Tryptophan? That ain’t nothing! Try Triptomomsforporkdinner. It makes everyone heavy eyed, including the dogs. 

Yesterday was V-day, and we did exactly what I said we would do. Ate dinner, and hung out. No biggie. Today and tomorrow don’t have much on the agenda. I will attempt to sew a purse, and I have to make my special spaghetti sauce for Crystal’s Birthday on Thursday.  Thursday I am taking the day off, and I am spending it with my sister, because she is getting older, and I need to help her out of the massage pedicure chair. Just kidding Sissy! But really, watch your back as you ease out of that chair.

Birthdays are a fairly big deal in our family. We have parties for DAYS. Of course on your actual birthday, we have dinner, and everyone attends, but then that weekend, we have a real party! With people! (not just our family) We are party hounds, what can I say? We get crunk off the cake frosting. It is like drawing moths to flames. (oops! I think I just rapped a little!)

We have passed the party gene onto my nephew who already has his 6^th birthday planned out. Venue, the cake, presents, who will be there are pretty much set in stone. I must admit, he is way more organized than I am. I think I will have him plan out Steve’s next party. Although, I don’t know how much Steve would appreciate a Spider Man themed birthday. Maybe we can go with something a little more grown up, like GI Joe.

This week ends what I so lovingly refer to as the “gauntlet”. It is the period between October 7^th (my birthday) and February 17^th (Crystal’s birthday). In that 4 month span, we have 5 birthdays, 5 major holidays, and our anniversary. Oh, we have other holidays, and birthdays throughout the year, but we are BUSY during the gauntlet. We buy more gifts, decorate, and eat than any other time of the year. This is what I blame my expanded waistline on. Most people say “Oh, yes on Jan 1st I will start getting fit, and eat only rabbit food!” But I can’t say this, because who eats rabbit food on their father’s birthday, or during super bowl, or on Valentine’s Day, or my sister’s birthday?? See my point? My size is mostly the gauntlet’s fault. We should go after it with torches and pitchforks!!!! But let’s wait till after Thursday! Because, I still have lasagna and cake to eat for my sister’s birthday. 

Cheers Guuuurl! Happy Birthday!!!!

Pseudowords for the Soul

My office is currently short handed. (Not to mention short sighted, but that is another blog post) We hired a girl, who left 3 days later. She couldn’t handle our totally inefficient processes. She left for less insanity. I don’t blame her. But even as the office Nazi (the supervisor) read her reasons for leaving, he just couldn’t believe our systems were inefficient! (Well, he also was the developer of said systems.) There must have been other reasons, and she was making that other part up. This is all from the guy who’s monitor has wavy lines disrupting the entire screen, and tells me it doesn’t bother him because he is color blind. He won’t buy a new one. He is off his rocker.

So we are currently talking to a local head hunter agency that is trying to help us find a replacement. Their first attempt was a fail, obviously. The second attempt happened to be the antagonist from my previous place of employment. While we are civil to one another, she isn’t my best bud. My current boss would love to have her work here because of her experience, but she comes wrapped up in legal red tape from our previous employer. Plus, my boss isn’t interested in saving anyone, other than himself. That bullet was dodged, thankfully. Yet, this headhunter cannot get “NO” through her head and is constantly bringing her up. If I were a more violent person, I would tell her where she can shove her recommendation. But I am not, so I don’t. But boy I sure want to.

In other news, once again we are forced to endure arctic temperatures. Thank goodness no more snow or ice rain. We are freezing our colungas off down here! What is a colunga?  It can mean many things in my mom’s language. It typically is a reference to a part of a male’s anatomy.  If you look it up, the closest thing I could find was some place on the Spanish coast where in 2006 a bunch of sardines came to shore.  It fits perfectly, since it so random. My mom has never been to Spain. Also I read that in the land of the Kalunga people, calunga is the name of a plant - Simaba ferruginea – and the place where it grows, near a stream of the same name. It makes the land where it grows sacred; a land that never dries is good for planting food for all of life. These people were slaves from Brazil. Honestly, my mom has no idea about these people and their sacred plant.

It is like when she says stuff like “Chinga-macka-louie!” It has no definition in the dictionary, it means that she is not mad enough to say a cuss word, yet she needs to exclaim something. Don’t worry if you don’t get it. I am her daughter. I have been at this for 30 years. Very few people know how to understand her. I feel it has been a great exercise in learning how to properly use context clues. Thanks mom, for the english lesson. Have a great rest of the week y’all! Don’t get your ya-ya’s in a twist, keep the cacameraca to a minimum, and your colungas warm. 

Multiple Personality Disorders and Valentine’s Day

Valentine’s Day. To some, it is a cursed day, and to others it is special, and for a small fraction, it is the day your husband is required to come home with candy and roses. I used to  fall some where in the middle. It isn’t exactly a national holiday, but it is one I like to celebrate, and I think my husband has finally gotten the idea that roses and candy are required. Sometimes he does better than that, and this year he got me the Kindle DX. As usual, he couldn’t wait to give me my present, so I got it a few weeks ago.

I have run the gambit of Valentine’s Day viewpoints in my life so far. In high school, I could care less about Valentine’s Day. I thought it was so dumb for people to run around giving balloons and stuffed animals that had to be hauled from class to class all day. Not to mention all the starry eyed wussies clogging up the halls. I was a bit cynical back then. I hardly had or wanted a boy to share the sappy holiday with, and the few times I did have someone to share it with, it wasn’t all that anyway.

Then in my senior year of High school, I thought I was in “love-love-love”. Birdies chirping, and blue skies. I had no clue what I was doing.  So much so, that the same guy that I thought I was so madly in love with I married. On Valentine’s Day.  Yea. How romantic right? No, I didn’t think so either. Six months later, our sham of a marriage was dissolved and gone.  Valentine’s Day was a cursed black day for a few years after that. It was a rotten good for nothing, horrible holiday, which deserved none of my attentions.

Eventually, I went back to not caring. I dated on and off after my divorce. I never spent my time with someone that made me go all mushy about any holiday, so I went back to ignoring it. Then, one day I met my husband. Valentine’s Day became fun and all, but it really wasn’t that big of a deal. Until the year after we started dating that is. I went to much trouble to make that day as special as it could be for us. I can’t divulge details, ever. They would make my mom blush.  But the soon-to-be-husband didn’t leave all the planning to me. He had something up his sleeve that I would never forget.

Valentine’s Day 2004, Steven Karg told me he loved me with a diamond bracelet that literally said “I LOVE YOU” on every link. That was the first time he had ever even hinted to me that he loved me. I was ecstatic, to say the least. I mean, I had been in love with him for over a year! He was a bit slow on the uptake. But now, and forever, any memory I have ever had of any Valentine’s Day in the past, has been out shined, and over shadowed by Valentine’s Day 2004. No one could blame me for going all mushy for that special day. Although, we don’t usually do much but eat a special meal I prepare, and hang out. Like I told my girlfriends, Valentine’s Day is like Tuesday night around our house, unless you count the roses and chocolates, and sappy cards.

It doesn’t matter if we don’t go out to dinner or have special romantic plans. We don’t need to. I just like to celebrate the fact that the big scary plumber guy couldn’t say the three little words we use daily now. He couldn’t write them in a card, or hire a plane to write it in the sky. This big scary plumber chose to buy a dainty, diamond encrusted bracelet that told me he loved me. Nothing wrong with that, but it is pretty funny. I think I will tease him about it when I get home. But, only because I love him.