Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Ms. Crankypants Has Entered The Building

1. I feel like crap. I've been feeling more run down each day, recently, and today I feel as though I'm ill, or haven't slept for days (although I have, a reasonable amount). I don't know if it's hormones, or what, but it's not good.

2. Mrs. Nator has also been feeling off, and she's also snippy because she's undertaken remodelling our hallway this week herself, taking the week off to do it. While I appreciate her efforts very much, I don't think it's fair to be resentful of me not helping when I'm spending my days working at what is currently a rather stressful job.

3. Speaking of stressful, I just learned that they will be moving me and all my accoutrements to a cubicle on another floor on Friday, a day I had scheduled off. This means that not only am losing out on having an office with a door and a bit of sunlight (albeit from across the hall), but I have to pack everything up posthaste while we are in the middle of an entire redesign of our site. The kicker is, even this move may be temporary, so besides not knowing where I'm supposed to be when I come back in on Tuesday, I don't know if I should even bother to settle in, because I don't know if I'll be staying there.

and, last but not least,

4. It looks like we are going to cancel my birthday celebrations for this weekend - both the snorkel expedition and the stay at the beach. Between both of us feeling crappy and a weather forecast of four straight days of thunderstorms, it seems best to try again for Labor Day weekend. I think I'll still take the days off, because I clearly need to take care of myself a bit, but I am disappointed and feeling overdramatically petulant about the whole thing.

Grumble, grumble, whiiiiine! Now, go away, unless you have a heated massager and/or chocolate.


Ken said...

Cheer up and get feeling better you Nators. It's August and you got the summer malaise with the added depressing anniversaries of Hurricane Katrina and the WTC Bombings coming up. All made worse with threats of dozens of retrospective TV specials for the next three weeks. All those TV promos over and over... I think I would rather listen to "HEAD ON APPLY DIRECTLY TO THE FOREHEAD HEAD ON APPLY DIRECTLY TO THE FOREHEAD HEAD ON APPLY DIRECTLY TO THE FOREHEAD" myself.

Here are the titles of three books to help at work -- all are real ones and I once owned them -- sorry I don't have the authors or all the details. But I had a nasty and paranoid boss, so I would leave these out in the open so she would see them whilst snooping around.
1. Toxic Work (How the negative aspects of employment make you sick);
2. Thank God It's Monday (How to love your job);
3. How would Confuscius Ask For A Raise? (Enlightened answers to workplace dilemmas.)

Have a very happy birthday and try to go somewhere where there's warmer water for the snorkelling. Bonaire comes to mind.

MEK the Bear said...

How about a chocalate massager? We'll cover you in warm fudge and kneed your worries away, then we'll let Ms. Nator figure out a way to get the chocolate off you, then we'll do the same for her, would that help?

Hope you guys are feeling better by the weekend, take the time to mellow out and just enjoy each other, with or without body fudge ;-)

Da Nator said...

Thanks, guys - you're sweet.

Ken - OH MY GOD - NOT HEAD ON! Those commercials are so irritating they nearly send me into a panic attack, no lie. In fact, I saw one this morning, which may explain my malaise even better than the Horrifying National Shame Anniversaries (though that was an excellent point, too). I try to find the commercial funny, but by the third repetition I'm cowering under the ironing table, hyperventilating.

Let us not speak of work. Tomorrow is my last day for the week, so I will get through it. And I WILL do research on the schools I'm interested in the weekend, too, dagnabit!

MEK - great idea... we just need some plastic sheets and to hypnotize the cats. I say hypnotize because if the doors are open, they will end up in the chocolate sampler of our lesbian love, and if the doors are closed, they will get upset and break things or pee somewhere obvious. They like to be inbetween us, especially when we are trying to get intimate. Filthy pervert felines.

Now I just gotta find someone to do the massages, 'cause I'm too tired. I wonder if my alternate girlfriend Natalie from SYTYCD is available...

First Nations said...

i have nothing clever to say becuase i am feeling shitty myself, yo. crappy weather, crappy national holidays of shame, crappy perverted cats, crappy manatees (although i have one in my kitchen. i call it a dugong because i like to say it: dugong, dugong, dugong, dugong, dugong, dugong, dugong)and crappy FEELING LIKE SHIT.

Da Nator said...

Hey, you know that used to be my favourite programme: Dugong Show!

Thank you, folks - I'll be here all night. Wait a minute - no I won't. I'm finally going home to face the cold leftovers and angry cat breath.

Feel better, FN - one of us has to.

BEAST said...

Cheer up you lot , or the Beast will have to visit for big hugs and a bit of Beasty TLC .....and thats not good

BigAssBelle said...

"overdramatically petulant" ~ is there really such a thing? :-)

Anonymous said...

Gee. On the upside you spend half a day moving in. On the downside, you might get crappy mouse and monitor.

Do you get a whole cubicle to yourself? Cool. I am in open plan hell. If I fart the whole floor knows about it!

BEAST said...

So it was you mentalmac , I knew it

Da Nator said...

mentalmac - moving is not exactly a holiday... but, thanks to my cleaning out my office space at the beginning of the year when I was hoping to get fired, it only took me about 20 minutes to get things together this time. Fortunate, as I have a last minute deadline due, oh, now.

And oh, no... if I don't get an office with a door, I will have to keep my flatulence quiet, won't I? Another inconvenience! (Especially for us large and firm of buttocks.)

BTW, your icon will haunt me in my dreams.

I'm off to turn in this damn project and drink far too many margaritas. Adios, muchachos!