| RANDOM QUOTE | Love is a perky elf dancing a merry little jig and then suddenly he turns on you with a miniature machine gun.
-Matt Groening, Love is Hell | |
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| UNBEARABLE |  | Category: Work
Tuesday, August 31st, 2004 @ 03:11 pm
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Work is becoming stranger and stranger for me as the days go by. Due to my status as "only person around here that knows the differences between holes in the ground and my ass", I'm getting bugged constantly.
I sit here in my little world, surrounded by humming computers, and throw myself into projects. Truth be told, it's pretty fun having to create functionality for new and weird shit that management dreams up and decides is a necessity. I can sit here, tacking away at code, figuring out 18 ways to skin a cat, coming up with "neat", and to some extent impressive, algorithms to create the odd outcome that I've been requested to provide.
Then, the inevitable happens, I hear the shuffling of feet on carpet behind me. Hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I sense the living incarnation of Yosemite -fucking- Sam breathing down my neck. I turn to see him standing there, gut hanging over his "Don't Mess with Texas" belt buckle. Under one arm, a disheveled pile of claims, sticking haphazardly out of a crumpled manilla folder. Under the other, a laptop which, from the looks of it, was bestowed to him by Jesus Christ himself shortly before the son of God's untimely execution.
"Yah tha man that fixin's tha puters?", he drawls, his words crumbling my technological, zen-like state.
I turn around to face him to see if I recognize him as having been in here before, but it's impossible. His face is rapidly shape-shifting, quickly becoming a blurry amalgam of every one of these spawns of dixie that has stepped into this office.
"Yes, I suppose that would be me," I respond as pleasantly as possible, trying my damndest to earn the title of "most personable" member of the IT staff, a title I've been honored with more than once.
He rears back, with moustache flairing and firey balls of chewing tobacco spewing forth, the demon speaks, "Well, ah don't really whatsa wrong with it, I can't seems to git it on tha intarweb, it dull-gern locks up on me every time."
He doesn't fool me. I know the devil's tricks by now. You see "locks up" is the way this multi formed beast refers to the actual human phrase "isn't working". A "lock up" could be an actual "lock up", a program crashing, an error when trying to save something, or best yet, just not knowing what to do at all.
I prepare to throw myself headlong into this issue to resolve it as expeditiously as humanly possible. "What kind of wireless card are you using?" I inquire, hoping to start from the ground up and find something before I actually have to lay hands on this creature's computer.
"Dunno if ah got one ah those things," he ripostes, his ignorance skewering me through the heart, wounding me mortally.
In my last, dying breath, I fire up my email client and shoot an email to my coworker currently working onsite in Florida: "Avenge me," I write as I feel the life draining from my body. I press the "Send" button and steady myself in preparation to meet my maker.
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| WORKITY WORK WORK | | Category: Work
Tuesday, August 17th, 2004 @ 03:27 pm
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Well, looks like my two wonderful coworkers have been sent out to the ravaged wasteland known as Florida. I guess I'll be holding down the fort at the office on my own for some time.
The fact that I'm the lone gunman in the IT department and the amount of work generated by the catastrophes we have going on right now are combining to create a strange state of being that seems to be able to bend space and time as we know it. I get into work around 8:15am and as soon as the elevator opens on my floor I hear this massive roar surround me while my body vibrates and spasms uncontrollably for about 10 minutes. I hear men screaming and woman weeping. I see flashes of light and darkness perforated by the faces of the damned. Then I sit down at my desk and look at the clock and notice it's 5:15pm. Wow.
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| FLOOD, FIRE, AND FAMINE | | Category: Work
Friday, August 13th, 2004 @ 10:40 am
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 Well, a cool front has swept across my fair city sending wave after wave of absolutely wonderful weather to my front door. Just in time for the weekend too, it should be fantastic.
What a great time for a hurricane to hit and have my company go to DEFCON FUCKING FOUR. You see, I work at a catastrophe company and a hurricane is poised over a prostrate Florida, ready to ram its wrath of God up the state's ass. So, the time has come for everybody to freak the fuck out and start screaming at everybody to mobilize and be prepared to get to the site.
I think I'm dodging the bullet for the time being in as far as getting sent out, but like the Virginia Beach hurricane I have to do the support from the home office as well as be ready to relieve one of the other guys if the time comes. I don't know if it's the guarantee of money this time or the fact that I've already been through this a few times before but the proposition of getting sent out isn't as big a deal to me this time. Granted, I don't want to, but it doesn't seem like the end of the world this go 'round.
Oh well, as it looks now I'll be in town for the weekend, but who knows.
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| EAT, DRINK, AND BE MERRY | | Category: Work
Tuesday, December 9th, 2003 @ 03:21 pm
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Well, work-christmas-party season is upon us and the time has come to eat finger sandwiches, drink copious amounts of alcohol, and make a complete ass out of ourselves in front of people with whom we are supposed to have a generally professional relationship with.
I found a link on some site (probably Fark) that 1 out of 5 people in an office environment will end up "bumping uglies" during holiday festivities. Thinking about what the majority of my co-workers look like, I find the prospect disgusting almost to the point of penile inversion. I'm not saying there aren't those whose looks deserve some merit, but let's just say I'm not playing the odds.
My company's party, like last year, is a conference of sorts which will entail meeting people I kind of work with from all over the country, so that puts a heavier weight on what should be an evening of decadence. I'm just wondering how I can balance the act of looking like a professional and having my spidey sense spamming me with messages that there is an open bar in the nearby vicinity. Diginity and endless booze, a dangerous mixture indeed.
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| UNFUCKED! | | Category: Work
Monday, October 20th, 2003 @ 08:40 pm
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 Heading back home on Wednesday, the 22nd! Finally I get to leave this assed out caper behind me and return to a life of drink and debauchery.
So, what's the plans for the coming weekend? Who's drinking? I'm not sure if I'm up for camping or anything out of the ordinary yet, just want to drink myself into a stupor surrounded by friends and foes alike, all passing me gilded chalices of spirits, hoisting me above their heads chanting lyrics that praise me, all while the women present bat their eyelashes at me and blush.
And, of course, to make sweet monkey butt sex with my sweet monkey butt sex partner.
Call me, I'm sure you won't want to miss any of it. Except for that monkey butt sex, you're missing that. Unless you're a hot woman. Then you can join. Maybe.
Oh, and by the way,
Booyah.
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