Congrats to all the job-havers, and ~ma to all the job-seekers.
I may soon be one. Fuck the company I work for. I'm done.
Riley ,'Help'
[NAFDA] Spike-centric discussion. Lusty, lewd (only occasionally crude), risqué (and frisqué), bawdy (Oh, lawdy!), flirty ('cuz we're purty), raunchy talk inside. Caveat lector.
Congrats to all the job-havers, and ~ma to all the job-seekers.
I may soon be one. Fuck the company I work for. I'm done.
I may soon be one. Fuck the company I work for. I'm done.
::pours a hefty martini and sends a Cabana Boy to deliver it to Maria::
Oh, shit, Maria, no. Stupidheads. Who wouldn't want to move heaven and earth to keep you working for them?
Clearly the solution is to move West.
Oooh, JZ is wise. Listen to JZ. (Then head slightly farther north...)
Oooh, JZ is wise. Listen to JZ. (Then head slightly farther north...)
Cass is very wise. (So is JZ. But I'm siding with Cass on this one.)
Barb, make sure he sends it to the Delta SkyClub at O'Hare. I'm not in DC right now.
JZ, they promoted me, told me nice things, and then went back to the same shit that had me looking for a job last year. This place is even worse than a one-night stand; at least I knew I was being fucked. I've given them eight years, and I get the same bullshit as usual. Whatever.
They are going to get an earful at my exit interview. I can't wait to let them know just how much of a Crain's "Best Places to Work" they really are.
Need to shower to get rid of the scotch that I spilled on my leg.
Damn, how much scotch did you spill that you require a shower?
Maria, yikes! You okay?
Finally, I love my neighborhood, but I hate the fact that my across-the-street neighbors consider any temperature above 50 degrees as sufficient for them to hang out on their front porch all. day. long. (this includes evening as well), talking at the top of their lungs, hooting and shouting at each other and their kids and whoever else decides to show up. And if no one else is around, the mom will just sit on the porch and talk on her phone, loudly, all. day. long.
I should be grateful they stopped the loud music, and I am, but god DAMN. Does it not occur to them that no one else treats their own front porch as the community center and how-loud-can-you-talk contest? It's 80 degrees and I want to keep the windows and front door open, but that means I have to listen to them hollering.
I'm going to blast Harry Connick Jr. out the windows. I swear it.
Damn, how much scotch did you spill that you require a shower?
Not much -- less than an inch in a plastic cup -- but it soaked through my jeans over most of my thigh.
Cass is very wise. (So is JZ. But I'm siding with Cass on this one.)
As am I.
Heh.West coast is only a vacation destination at this point, sadly. We can't afford to move. Being upside down on the house guarantees it.
Tep, I'm ok, just fucking pissed. The assholes are handling me, and that's the one thing I detest.
Waiting to board my flight home.