Dear Lord

My son has a portable game device that inexplicably has an alarm one can set. He set it. That's why I'm up at 5:21 on a Saturday morning. What does one do at 5:22 on a Saturday morning when one is slightly hungover and doesn't want to wake anyone? One turns on the East Coast feed of Food Network.

And then one sees the horror that is Sandra Lee. And she's saying, "One package of chocolate cake mix [pours in bowl] and one can of cherry cola [pours in bowl]." And one thinks, "I'm still asleep, and this is my nightmare."

My Life on the (WT)F List

I went to Comic Con today. I'm going to post a longer entry with pictures later, but I can't do it now because my feet hurt.*

Anyway, every other time I've attended Comic Con, I've seen at least a couple celebrities -- usually minor ones, like Erin Gray, Lou Ferrigno, and random Playboy bunnies. The last four times I've gone, I've had close encounters with Gene Simmons.

Well, today, I saw just one. Stephen Fucking Baldwin. And he was signing autographs and sort of roaring at people. I thought about taking a picture, but then realized he wouldn't know I was taking it to show people how ridiculous he looked today and would just assume I loooooove heeeeem. So I didn't.

But you have to believe me, I saw him and he was acting like an idiot. And he loves Jesus. Just so you know.

*How does sore feet prevent me from blogging? I would have to walk a couple feet to the table to get my camera so I can download the pix. I don't see that happening today.

Goodbye Boss Wack

If you are among my legion of fans who check my blog daily for a new post (Hiya, Gumbeauxgal!), you might have noticed I've been AWOL for, like, two months. There's actually a good reason for this: For about two years, I've been dealing with an increasingly hostile situation at work that recently became intolerable. In a nutshell, my boss was an idiot.


Oh, I know what you're thinking. "Oh, come on! It's the same all across corporate America. Everyone's boss is an idiot, and the same problems exist in every company, and you're just a whiner, or this is your very first job."


Ahem. I'm sorry to disillusion you, but this situation was truly so. fucking. special. (Apologies to Radiohead).

Over the last two years, this boss nearly toppled our entire organization. It almost would have been easier to take if Boss Wack were evil. Instead, BW is pathetically unqualified to perform the work expected. And, unfortunately, BW was too incompetent to carry out the very good advice (even specific instructions) of the many employees who wanted to see the organization (and by association, BW) succeed.

As the situation declined over the years, several of BW's employees developed both emotional and physical symptoms of stress, including digestive trouble, chronic migraines, high blood pressure, anxiety, and depression. Of course, our loved ones advised us to simply "leave work at work" and detach our emotions from the office. Unfortunately, we are all highly ethical, committed to our customers, and invested in quality. Our work is too big a part of our lives to be able to compartmentalize in that way.

Numerous complaints to the higher-ups and traditional HR channels resulted in naught . . . until last week.

As of last Friday, BW is no longer our boss. Several of those who remain likened it to getting out of an abusive relationship, because that's what it essentially was. There was obviously no physical abuse, but there was emotional abuse, and many levels of inappropriateness. None of us has experienced anything quite like this before, and we all have many years of experience in corporate America.

So, the tides have turned, the wall has come crashing down, and a bunch of good people are suddenly happy campers with the weight of the world off our shoulders. We don't know exactly what will happen next, but the future is rife with opportunity and hope.

And that means I have my energy for my personal life back again. I can be happy and funny, and, of course, brilliant again. Let the post-athon commence!

Mission Accomplished

Five years ago today, we won the war President Bush so thoughtfully started for us.

I'm sure that's very comforting to the many thousands* who have died in the war since then.

*Because I count Iraqis.

Meet Mish-Mish

This is Mish-Mish. She is a twelve-week-old Chausie kitten who is currently purging my home of invisible-to-the-human-eye terror threats.

It's been about sixteen years since I've had a kitten. My last kittens were Fear and Trembling, a sweet, adorable, if non-litterbox-oriented pair of "mutt" shorthairs I adopted upon pressure from a former coworker who didn't believe in neutering her cats. They weren't that smart, and they weren't that proud, but they loved me and I loved them. Fear died over the summer, and Trembling died early this month. That was the first day I ever lived without a cat family member.

Between the time I was about six until I got Tremor (a year before Fear and Trembling), my family favored purebred exotic cats, like Siamese, Burmese, and Tonkinese. After my family's long-lived, beloved Burmese, Killer, died, my dad expressed an interest in Abyssinians, which I had also always coveted. When Trembling died, I started looking into Abyssinian rescue organizations, thinking that "when I was ready," I might want to adopt an Abby or Abby mix. I found an Abyssinian and Chausie breeder and rescue service, who happened to have one female Chausie they desperately wanted to adopt out. I researched the breed, and when I discovered they're more affectionate and better with children than Chausies, I figured I'd better meet that kitten. I did, and it was very-much-like at first sight.

She came home with me (and about eighty dollars' worth of Chuao chocolates) on Valentine's Day. She hid under my bed for about eighteen hours, and then began reminding me of what it's like to have a kitten.

Fingers typing on a keyboard are a scourge that must be exterminated. Dust bunnies will not stand. Six-and-a-half year old little boys are a very interesting science project and/or transportation system. Toes? Another scourge. By the way, that snack you're eating? Drop it, or she'll pounce. In fact, pounce is her middle name. Oh -- and there was nothing in the available material on Chausies that mentioned they can jump ten feet vertically from standing.

It's been fun. And she's certainly worming her way into my heart. I miss my old lady kitties, but I can see my new longtime kitty companion in Mish-Mish.