Today Totally Brought To You Courtesy of Xanax

I was pretty aggro most of the morning, which is my wont.  Then I has an epiphany:  Hey!  Maybe I should just up my own dosage. 

No, it wouldn't be the first time I've done it.  And it's not like it's an inordinate amount of Xanax that will send me careening off into the Never-Never Land of Sleep, Coma, or Shiny-Thing-Grasping.  Sometimes taking more helps, but sometimes it does not. 

It's not very often that I wake up and don't want to kill someone, so I just take my one little pill when I wake up and wait for coffee and, as a direct result, inherent betterment.  If that doesn't happen with coffee, then I am usually flipping out by 10:30 and wondering how to fix EVERY PROBLEM WHICH EXISTS IN THE WORLD or, more frequently, attempting to choke someone through my phone.  When in this maddened state, I tend to A) accuse random people of stealing my sandwich, B) accuse random people of stealing my pen, or C) accuse the Earth for continuing to turn.  Pretty amazing stuff, really, Xanax.  Their slogan should be "Xanax:  It Calms a Bitch Down."

So after taking over double what would be normal for me, I was, in fact, calmer.  Less crazified.  Less wanting to maim with a portable desk heater the next asshole that called or walked in my office.  And for that, I thank Xanax. 

Thank you, Xanax, for allowing me to keep my job. 
Thank you, Xanax, for making me aware that my sandwich is simply hidden underneath some stuff in my drawer. 
And thank you a billion, billion times over, dear Xanax, for saving me from a life of crafting shivs, bleaching the shit outta sheets for hours daily, and living in a cell whilst I go by the name "Honeypie."
Just thanks.

I Do Not Think I am Speaking Portuguese

The tasks I perform daily in my current workstation in life are really not that difficult.  Considering that I graduated with an English degree and not a "how to buy industrial equipment" degree, I would say that I've adapted quite well.  Unfortunately, while I have adapted, it seems that some who have been in this business for years have still not mastered simple tasks such as providing me with the information I need to handle whatever issue it is that they are asking me to handle. 

I realize this is common and not at all an anomaly in many workplaces and in all types of careers.  However, it boggles my mind to think that, por ejemplo, I could call, say, Verizon up and this be the content of the conversation: 

Verizon: This is Meow-Meow, may I help you?

Me:  Why yes, yes you can.  I'd like to get 500 working cell phones and I'll need them by tomorrow.

V:  Why of course.  Can you tell me what service you currently have?

Me:  No.

V:  Are you saying you do not currently have wireless service?

Me:  I don't know.

V:  Do you have a mobile phone that you are using currently?

Me:  Why yes! 

V:  Great, can you give me that phone number?

Me:  No. 

V:  We can try to move forward without that.  What is your residence zip code?

Me:  I don't know that either.

I think you get the picture. 
This seems to be the type of email communication I have every day.  Order this, get that, no I don't know where to buy it or how much it is or whether or not IT EVEN EXISTS.  So thanks for the info!  Please, allow me to try and pull this non-existent whatzit out of my ass for you, because you are super special to me and I have nothing but the entirety of my day to devote to your $1500 bill of material.  This is a multi-million dollar company, and I know every single dollar counts, but YOU ARE KIND OF TAKING ADVANTAGE OF THAT. 

My questions regarding what I need to perform my end of the deal aren't difficult - or are they?  Maybe I need to re-examine just what is essentially difficult to understand and what's not.  I promise, I'm not trying to make it harder.  I proooommmmiissse.  What I am trying to cut down on is double-flipping-off my screen every time an email lacks necessary info. 

My fingers are sore.

Workplace Restroom Etiquette: You're Doin' It Wrong

Hey there, lady with whom I work.  You are thoroughly disgusting.  Just sayin'. 

It's not your incessant humming while in the stall next to me.  It's not the endless fountain of noises that come out of your body.  It's not the fact that you want to strike up a conversation between straining. 

It's not any of that. 

It's actually ALL of it combined, because these nuggets of joy take place on a daily basis.  How do I possibly go about finding a time when you are not in the restroom?  Apparently it is impossible, as you are always there.  I am not one to criticize the situation goin' on in your bowels, as Lord knows I have my own set of issues - but I do not advertise them loudly whilst attempting to take care of business.  I wish you would kindly return the courtesy. 

But no.  That's too much to ask, evidently.  What you fail to comprehend is the simple fact that what I am asking is not completely unattainable for you. 

1) Walk in the restroom. 
2) Shut the fuck up. 
3) Do your thing quietly and respect the flush. 
4) Wash your hands, please. 
5) Get the fuck out. 

It's that easy. 

And yet, here you are today, barreling toward the restroom door WITH AN OPEN GRANOLA BAR in your hand.  You are chewing.  Which leads me to believe that you are taking it with y...oh, I'm just giving the fuck up.