I feel as if someone stuffed my head full of cotton balls, which may be partially true because my agency called today to find out where the hell I was--I apparently had an interview at 11am that I have no recollection of scheduling at all and therefore missed. Pissed doesn't even come close to describing how I feel about that one.

But what's done is done.

We didn't bother to make dinner tonight since I can't taste anything and neither of us was very hungry but D was insistent that I eat something since all I had was a glass of 2 juiced oranges and a carrot in an attempt to wake up my immune system. So I invented something, I added a sliced green onion to some leftover mashed potatoes, some jalapeño Havarti cheese and a whole lot of cayenne pepper, formed them into little cakes, breaded them and fried them. Then I made D try them to see if they were good because all I could taste was a little heat from the cayenne.

The verdict was tasty but needing a dipping sauce. When my taste buds start functioning again I'll recreate them and see if there are any improvements to be made and then maybe write an actual recipe. Until then I'm going to suck back the Neocitran and stay bundled up on the couch.

Labels: anger, work

I kind of feel bad for all the people who go searching for 'artisan bread in 5 minutes a day' but then end up here. I bet it's horribly disappointing. You come looking for bread and you end up getting talk about dirty syringes and company issued razorblades. For that, I am sorry to have let you down.

But today was one of those days where I really wished I had one of those company issued razorblades. I am now convinced everyone at my company is completely off their rocker and although one day soon, I will hand in my standard 'Thanks for the opportunity' two weeks notice, I secretly wish I could go out with my guns blazing. I know blogging about work is one of those taboo, oh-no-you're-asking-to-get-dooced type of topics but I am beyond the point of caring now. Let's just say I was inappropriately reamed out in front of my coworkers by someone who technically has no authority over me, for something I didn't even do and leave it at that.

I may freeze and not move in hopes they won't see me when confrontation arises but 10 minutes later when my brain kicks in and I realize what is happening, I am cursing you to a fiery hell. Let me tell ya, in my head I am so kicking your ass. How many craptacular jobs does a girl have to work in her lifetime anyways? I'm pretty sure all anyone ever asks for is to be able to do their job without BS, be paid a fair wage and like what they do. Is that really so much to ask for? Apparently.

I'm pretty sure that's why I went to art school in the first place. So I would never end up where I am now. They tell you everything will be oh so shiny and wonderful when you get out, but it's a bunch of damn lies. It's all just to help you keep your sanity when you're working in a cube 9-5.

Well, I know I've been a cynical downer all week, so I promise I'll try to get some baking and/or puppy tea towel stitching done this weekend so reading my blog doesn't make you want to stab yourself with a dirty syringe. Oh and lists! I've done next to none of that and there is only three days left! I'm so bad at playing by the rules.

Labels: NaBloPoMo, work

There's a dirty syringe outside my office building that I pass every morning walking from the bus and I always think to myself: 'Yay, dirty syringe' or silently sing myself a song about it--(Dur-tee Sa-reh-inge!) I think I would actually be pretty sad if it disappeared one day. My co-worker Justin turns 26 on Saturday and has harassed me every day for the last six months about baking him a cake. (Boston Cream Pie to be exact) All of our insults toward each other are based around this cake I owe him, how him and D are secretly gay for each other, or about my 'fuzzy plant' (African violet) that he used to send death threats to before it actually died.

Anyways, I was actually prepared to finally bake this cake and maybe stuff mini bottles of Jack Daniel's into it, but then he told me he wasn't coming into work tomorrow because he was starting his birthday intoxication tonight. So I told him that was it and that now he was getting his cake with the dirty syringe embedded into it and he told me that would be great because he was really looking forward to scoring some std's this weekend. The whole day was more or less centred around the dirty syringe or the box of 100 razorblades that was on sale in the business flyer and how we needed to order them so every cube could have an emergency wrist slashing 'cry for help' kit.

I love my job.

Labels: NaBloPoMo, work