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| 2002-12-03 - 11:12 p.m.
Second day, same as the first
Oh man. This SAD thing is in FULL swing. I am mastering the catatonic stare. I spent all day wishing I could go home, then on the way home, got all depressed all over again at the prospect of ANOTHER night doing the SAME DAMN THING as every other night, which is eating dinner, watching tv, playing on the computer, and reading. Not in that order. But here's the thing: I don't WANT to do anything else. I didn't even want to go to the movies last night with Husband, and the movie features George Clooney's butt, for heaven's sake. So here's just one reason my job atmosphere sucks. K, the development director and Minion for Satan, acquires a popcorn machine. (why? I have no fucking clue. As Husband put it, if someone told her the building was on fire, she'd probably reply with "Well, flowers would be nice".) Anyway...I digress. So the admin asst comes down to our end of the building and says "there's no room for the vending machines (each about the size of a dorm fridge) in the multi purpose room. Is there space down here?" They immediately move to the empty cubicle, the one I really, really REALLY am going to move into one of these days. I noted that I was going to move in there, and would really prefer NOT to have the fucking pop machine in my fucking office. You know where it's going to go now? Guess? Really. Guess. RIGHT BEHIND MY CHAIR IN MY CURRENT CUBE. I mean. Drama Queen got all excited about moving things around, and when I stopped responding to her, said in her best reserved for the naughty husband voice "well. I can see you've checked out of this conversation". For some reason, when she does that, it really pisses me off. I fucking check out of conversations because A: They are usually started against my will, and I don't want to participate in them in the first place and B: There was no more need for discussion. I said "I don't want the vending machines in my office", and they decided to put them not five feet from where I am currently ensconced. What is there to discuss, unless I am to throw a hissy fit? We have a staff "fun time" scheduled for tomorrow at noon. Our stupid place has problems that aren't going to be cured by playing miniature golf for an afternoon. Satan's Minion is up to more evil doings. She organizes her little cliques and alliances, and plays mindfuck with people, and it's just so....high school. Why, when I am thirty five fucking years old and damn good at my job, does it still come down to whether the popular girls like me?
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