I have made mention of my most favoritest boss ever, Stoneface, many times on this blog. Usually I am commenting on his fascination with sandwiches; his inability to have a conversation with me that doesn't involve food, or how I take my coffee; his delicate feelings; his alcoholism. This is something a little different. I now have photographic evidence of the bizarre world that Stoneface lives in. Let me set the scene:
The is a server room near my desk at work, and outside this server room is a blade rack with no blades in it. See random server rack image below.
Just a basic metal framework. Well, Stoneface, in what I can only assume was a fit of drunken inspiration, decided it looked much like a guillotine - or the frame of a guillotine. That lead to this:
That's right; my crazy, drunk (pretty sure he's a stoner too but that actually makes him slightly more appealing) boss taped cardboard and poster paper to the server rack and used my red Sharpie to add the super realistic-looking blood. Then he skipped around like a giddy little boy and pointed out his creation to everyone. Yes people, this is my workplace.
I was listening to BBC News this morning on my local NPR station and heard a crazy story.
People lie all the time to get laid - this is not new information to most people. If I wear a padded bra and have sex with some dude, can he say it was rape because he wouldn't have boned me if he knew my true cup size? Or what if I used to be a man? Or a man who used to be a woman? Or any lie at all that a person would tell in order to get some ass? Where is the line drawn? I don't believe that some lady who is embarrassed that she banged an Arab should be able to bring rape charges against him. This wasn't a case of a boss using a position of power to tap that, right? This was two people who met at the supermarket and decided that porking in a nearby building would be the best way to wrap up their respective trips.
OK, I know I wasn't there, but obviously force isn't the issue here. Stupid lady needs to own up to her mistake and move on. Stupid dude needs not to be boning chicks while he's married.
You know how you get a song, or a snippet of a song, stuck in your head? The same few words and notes circling around and around and around? Until you feel like your ears are going to bleed as your brain runs in clumpy streams from your nose? That sucks, right? At least when that happens you can sometime rid yourself of the earworm by listening to the song in question or by replacing it with another.Unfortunately, that is not my problem. My problem is as follows: It has been about 2 weeks since I got blown off by the boilermaker and I can't. Stop. Thinking. About. Him. I'm not kidding here, folks. In the morning before work, outside on my breaks, at home on the computer, in bed falling asleep. It's making me crazy.Was I so excited by the possibility of a relationship that I grabbed way too hard onto nothing? Or was he really that kind of special and I'm feeling the loss in a way most irritating? I'm sure some of it has to do with the dissatisfying way things ended. There was no closure, no explanation. Something happened around the start of the Flyers game on Saturday that turned everything around.There has been some temptation to contact him and ask him what the fuck happened. I know some of my friends are almost as interested in the answer to that as I am. I didn't at first because I wasn't prepared to hear him say all the bad stuff I was thinking. Stuff like: it was my fault for being crazy (which I wasn't but most people aren't super rational right after being binned). I don't remember, or refuse to impart here, the other things I thought.Am I ready to hear why now? Do I risk the contact and the attendant anxiety while I wait for a reply? Because we all know that there's a very good chance that he won't bother. I mean, he wouldn't man up to say that he wasn't feeling it anymore - why would this be any different?
Tell me, Joe, how relieved were you when you got work? When you knew you could text me and not have to lie about not coming up? Was it a huge weight off your shoulders? Did it alleviate the leaden feeling in your stomach? Perhaps I'm being naive in thinking you weren't lying about that. After all, I also believed that you'd tell me if you weren't interested and not just blow me off.
All that stuff about looking for this for the last 20 years? Guess that was a lie. So wait, you do lie? I'm confused. I'm confused as to why you couldn't tell me you changed your mind. I supposed you don't owe me anything. After all, our "relationship" was stillborn. You just didn't seem the type.
'Cause I'll admit I was messed up this weekend. I started thinking that my pheromones should be bottled as an alternative to Mace or pepper-spray. A non-lethal, yet wickedly effective man-repellent.
Yes, I got a little weird Friday night but I thought we were over that. Was it because I admitted I liked you? A lot? Was I not playing by the rules that we had been ignoring anyway? Or was it because you're so convinced that you are a crazy-magnet that you couldn't believe that I was any different? That despite my mostly normal behavior I was going to show up at your doorstep with a ball-gag, a gallon of Maalox and some rubber sheets?
So I don't know who to blame. Me, for being mildly awkward? Or you, for not having the balls to tell me? Either way, it's lose-lose, Joey.
I had a dream last night that I got a $73,000 tax refund. Waking up sucked.
I'm all paranoid that the base my pen pal is at got overrun by Taliban.
I've had three cups of coffee and it isn't even noon.
I parked my new Rabbit next to a coworker's Rabbit. I couldn't resist.
I don't have anything for lunch.
I choked on a Triscuit.
My recliner fell backwards last night - with me in it. And there was a witness.
I'm going to a buffet for the first time since changing my eating/exercise habits. I'm a little concerned at my control.
Everyone? Can I have your attention for a moment?Thank you. Here's what I want everyone to do. Take a deep breath. That's right; in through the nose, out through the mouth. Good. Now another one. Good.You can smell that, can't you? Taste it in the back of your throat? It tastes kind of like blue? Anybody have any idea what that is? No one? What that is, my friends, is the smell of crazy leaking all over the place.Now maybe it's the unseasonable warmth. I always get a bit rammy when the weather turns. There's something about the softening of the air, an indefinable sense of anticipation, that makes me all squirmy. What ever it is; I can feel the crazy oozing through the cracks. It's making me think about stuff I'd prefer not thinking about. I want to do cartwheels and backflips and make unnecessary and unwarranted declarations of - something. I want something major to happen. Good major, of course. I want to climb out of my skin. I feel like the only way to release the pressure is to lay on the floor and scream at the ceiling. It feels a bit like being angry but without the desire to hit things.I know I'm not crazy in the conventional sense but I need a word, or phrase, for what I'm feeling. anticipation doesn't cover it and pleasant tension just sounds stupid. That, and it's not all pleasant. When the pressure gets to be too much, I almost feel like I'm coming apart at the seams. That what's inside cannot be contained by the skin.It'll pass; it always does. Please don't 302 me.
