Fishing for Green…

No, this post isn’t about money or something cool, it is about something I thought that I had grown out of in middle school.  Not since the 7th grade have I been concerned about getting pinched on St. Patrick’s day for not wearing green.  

As a true Irish woman, I replaced green clothing with green beer some time in high school and haven’t looked back since.  But, for the first time in a decade, I am afraid of being pinched tomorrow at work if I don’t wear green.  But, what adult in their right mind would make their coworkers worry about a little pinch?  Corn Fed Cube Neighbor.  

Here is how I guess C.F.C.N.’s weekend went:  Alarm clock at 6 AM on Saturday, breakfast (with tea, not coffee, because even the smell of coffee will send him into a fit of dehydration), a bike ride around the block (so he can tell my ex-professional mountain biking boss he took a 22-mile ride up hill, both ways, in 45 minutes), and then a quick trip to every vintage store in Colorado to find green pants, a green long-sleeved shirt to wear under a green short-sleeved shirt, green socks, green whitey-tighties, and green shoe laces for his white sneakers (he wouldn’t want to go over board, the white sneakers keep the ensemble modest).

Why?  Because he is embracing his Irish heritage?  No.  Because green is his color?  No.  Because he had no friends in elementary school, or high school, or college and believes that the 8 people in the office will be his friend if he wears all green and pinches them all day just like all the cool kids in elementary school did to him, then make a scene about how cool he is for being the only festive person in the office hereby wasting not only my patience but also precious work time so we will all be forced into working late on the most sacred of all beer drinking holidays?  Bingo.

I can promise that I will find both his outfit and his existence disgusting all day tomorrow, but dammit, I will not shame the McDonald name by working late on St. Patrick’s day.  So C.F.C.N., green it is.  May the luck o’ the Irish be with me and may I successfully ruin your day.

Being a Near Retard is a Prerequisite to Work at Home Depot

Here is an application to work at Home Depot:

Are you an idiot?

If you said “yes” congratulations, you are hired.  

I went to Home Depot with the most in depth description possible.  ”I need 3 inch phillips head Grip Rite gold screws,” impressive, huh?  Well the guy who worked there wasn’t impressed, he responded, “Ma’am, they don’t make screws out of gold, it’s not jewelry.”  

FUCK!  And to think, I thought that the beauty of gold screws was that I could buy an extra to hang on my necklace because that shit is 24 karats!  Thank God you told me before I spent the extra 15 cents on screw jewelry, or screwelry as they say on the streets.  

Anyway, since you don’t have anything that fits the description of 3 inch phillips head Grip Rite gold screw, I need some sort of 3 inch screw that will hold a TV and wont strip, do you have any suggestions or have I said something that confused you?

What did the idiot hand me?  A box of 3 inch phillips head gold screws by Grip Rite as he said, “these wont strip on you, they are really strong because they are gold.”

Wow, thanks for the knowledge that you dropped on me today, jackass.  How’s your mom’s basement treating you these days, anyway?

My Corn-Fed Cube Neighbor and His Conversation With Jesus

Corn-Fed Cube Neighbor:  Hey Jesus, it’s really great to talk to you!

Jesus: No Problem! What’s up Corn Friend Cube Neighbor?

Corn-Fed Cube Neighbor:  Oh nothing Jesus, I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate everything that you did for me!

Jesus:  Don’t even worry about it, it’s all in a days work.

Corn-Fed Cube Neighbor:  No, seriously!  I have been trying to think of a way that I could thank you!

Jesus:  Honestly, it was my pleasure.  Just try to live a fulfilling life and be good to those around you.  

Corn-Fed Cube Neighbor:  No, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I want to give up something really important for as long as possible to honor all that you have done for me.  You know, you wondered the desert for 40 days avoiding the temptation of Satan and eventually went on to die on the cross for my sins.  And honestly, Crucifixion, that must have sucked!  I mean, I have to do something!

Jesus:  Well, you are right, all of that really sucked.  But there is no need to repay me, just be good to yourself and those around you, OK?

Corn-Fed Cube Neighbor:  No…I know something that really relates to all that you have done for me.  I’m going to give up cookies for 40 days!

Jesus:  Cookies?  Seriously, cookies?

Corn-Fed Cube Neighbor:  Yeah Jesus, I REALLY love cookies!!!

Jesus:  Fuck you.

Happy Lent.

A Not-So-Sincere Apology…

Due to a sudden and unexplainable lack of bitchyness (and an over abundance of brilliance) I have neglected my blog.  I therefore apologize to all three of my dedicated readers.  

Fear not, for I am feeling as bitchy as ever and obviously brilliant.  More enlightening posts will be up ASAP.

Calling Your Blog “The Voice of Jesus Christ” Makes You a Bad Christian

Unless it truly is the fucking words of Jesus Christ.  And I am almost positive the Jesus Christ has better things to do than an hourly update on his blog.  And better yet, don’t call your radio station the voice of Jesus Christ either.  Maybe he could keep his blog updated, but also run a radio station?  Yeah right.

I just think that it’s a little hypocritical, that’s all.  Send me a photo of Jesus Christ updating his blog and I will take it all back, promise.  Until then, rename your blog to, “The Voice of Some People Who Love Jesus Christ and Wish That He Would Blog More, and in His Absence, Will Blog For Him,” it’s much more acceptable, and it’s catchy!

First and Foremost, Fuck the Man

Consider this: Americans have about 12 trillion dollars in mortgage debt.  If you consider that the average time of this debt is about 7.5 years, this is about 1.6 billion dollars per year.  Public student loans average about 60 million per year and private another 17 million.  These numbers are hugely different but lets consider:

Prerequisites for Home Ownership

• Steady Job
• 10% down (the average us home price in Jan. 2008 was just below $300,000 but lets assume $250,000 so 10% is $25,000)
• Decent Credit and a low Debt-to-income ratio

Basically, if you don’t have all of these, you should never be approved to buy a home, thus the mess that we are in. 

Prerequisites for Receiving Student Loans

• About 1/3 of a brain

Does anyone see where I am going with this?  Any half-trained monkey can and should be allowed to go to college.  But college is impossible to pay for without financial support whether from family or loans.  I took out my first student loan when I was 18 with no credit history, no job other than my $8.05 an hour job at Sears on the weekends.  Now, 6 months out of school, I must begin repaying my student loan debt and be expected not to fail? 

Why can we only bail out underwater mortgages when the mortgage shouldn’t have been issued in the first place?  Why not my student loan debt?  I blame the mortage crisis on people who didn’t need houses and couldn’t afford them.  They could have rented.  But is it fair to say the same about college?  I had scholarships and it was still expensive.  Am I too contributing to the national debt crisis by going to college?  That goes against everything that we were taught as children.  Is the student loan debt really “good” debt or are we just robbing Peter to pay Paul? 

I did everything right, minus being born with a silver spoon.  Trust me, I don’t regret one thing about paying my way through college (I consider it one of those things that makes me better than you), but I think the standards here are a little outrageous.  Don’t piss on my leg and tell me its raining, and don’t tell me to go to college to get ahead then make me pay an arm and a leg while working in an underpaid, dead end job because all of the baby boomers are still taking the good ones.  Once again, fuck the man.

If I’m Going Down, I’m Takin’ All You Bitches With Me

Being a temp is a lot like being a normal human, minus vacation time, sick time, higher pay, retirement benefits, health insurance and ethical treatment.  Being a temp for me means that I am trusted with classified information, but not worth the accidental death and dismemberment insurance.  I am however, using this to my advantage.

I have the plague…not the flu, but the 102 degree fever hacking up blood God damn plague.  A normal human would take a sick day and go to the doctor…but not the temp.  I’ve sat at my desk coughing up a storm being sure to project as far as possible in hopes of taking this whole god damn place down with me.  So far, I’ve gotten:

• The Tech Guy who typed on my computer to install a new program
• The kiss ass next to me who wanted to show off how cool his new iPhone was by having me touch it
• My boss who came to ask me a question and wrote the answer with my pen
• The jack ass who told me I looked like shit today (ok, I didn’t really get him other than saying that he looked like shit everyday, but I am making it a point to cough in his direction)

Enjoy the plague coworkers.  You night not be able to justify hiring me, but I think I just made it a lot harder for you to justify not hiring me.

Your Drug Abuse Doesn’t Make You Better Than Me

Let me get something straight…

I’m all for substance abuse, especially drinking until I can’t feel feelings–but it doesn’t make me better than you (there are plenty of other things that DO make me better than you, my drinking habit isn’t one of them).  So, every time that someone tells me that their latest Ecstasy binge made them see things so clearly, or that they understand the meaning of life after after their latest acid trip, I want to hit them.  I don’t judge you for your drug abuse; I judge you for thinking that you are doing something more than killing a couple brain cells at the end of a long week (or day).  I don’t feel the need to tell you about how I did one too many Jager Bombs and saw God, so don’t tell me about how doing Ecstasy and getting Eiffel Towered by a pro snowboarder and his dealer has enlightened you.

You’re not better than me because you’ve tripped balls at Burning Man every year since you were 16.  Seriously, voluntarily drugging yourself until you are just one step above down syndrome in the middle of the desert isn’t a life changing experience unless the change is deciding you actually enjoy living in a house with a roof and running water, and having full use of your limbs as well as full control of your bodily functions.  

If you really want to get my attention, stop being pussy and do some heroin or something.

How I got here…

I am part of the first generation to be told that we can do anything that we want with only a little hard work and dedication.  Parents, teachers, mentors; everyone told us that.  That’s how I got here: I worked my ass off.  I graduated high school as the valedictorian and worked my way through college to pay my own tuition.  I entered the work force with two degrees, tons of work experience, a great head on my shoulders, and could charm the pants off of a priest…I’ve got the whole world at my finger tips according to what we were told as kids.  Turns out, what they told us was a crock of shit. 

So, for your enjoyment, here are some bitter thoughts sprinkled with my superior wisdom as I sit in my cubicle as a temp at a slowly failing and always boring mortage company.  All I can guarantee is that it will always be brilliant and ALWAYS be bitchy.  Here’s to making it until Happy Hour.