The Truly Horrible Rotten Miserable Day, Which Got Better

Yep – I’m a healthy, affluent white woman, with a good job and all my limbs and senses; so I should shut up about my “miserable” day, I know. But it’s all relative. Maslow. Look him up.

  1. Woke up from a horrible screaming nightmare, something about a convenience store robbery and then the squirrelly security guard from Grosse Pointe Blank showed up with a really big machine gun – yeah – THAT’S not what you want in your dreams.
    1. yes, but I’m lucky to have a bed to wake up screaming IN, and a husband to sleepily thump me on the back while saying halfheartedly “there, there”, and internet access to allow me to find that clip
  2. Put hydrogen peroxide instead of saline my EYE while putting in contacts.
    1. yes, but I’m lucky to have eyes, and to live in modern times when vision correction is possible
  3. Got stuck behind a fender-bender accident on the exit ramp to my work – I could SEE my building, I just couldn’t get there
    1. yes, but I’m lucky to have a job, and a car, and to not have been IN the accident
  4. Due to the iffy nature of last night’s chicken, I almost soiled myself in the elevator. I won’t go into too much detail, since others have done FAR more justice to the subject than I ever could, but I was DANCING around in the elevator, waiting for it to get to my floor. (For the very best description on all of the internet of such an event, click here.)
    1. yes, but I’m lucky to have had dinner at all, and to not have dysentery all year round, and to have an elevator and to, in the end, NOT have soiled myself
  5. Was humiliated by the security guard on the 22nd floor when I went snooping around up there in the rarefied atmosphere of Executive Row to see if they had any better coffee than we do down on Worker Bee Way
    1. yes, but again, I’m lucky to have a job; and I’m lucky that I even HAVE coffee, even if it’s not as good as they have on the 22nd, I bet. I just know it. They probably have their own little Starbucks up there! EAT THE RICH!
  6. Found out from my later-arriving colleagues that even with the peroxide AND the accident I still got here too early to get one of the Happy Valentine’s Day lollipops they were handing out at the door.
    1. I’m not sure I have a “yes, but” for this one. I would have liked a lollipop.
  7. Had the scales fall from my eyes about our new dishy Frenchman on the 12th floor. As it turns out? He’s neither dishy nor French!  He’s Bosnian, which is neither here nor there, but the dishiness? WTF? Let’s go back in time (to Monday) On first meeting, it was hard to look straight AT him… it was like looking into the sun! He was THAT dishy. After my first meeting with him I ran to my (female) Senior Architect and asked “Who is that dishy Frenchman I was just in a meeting with?” Without knowing WHAT meeting I was just in, she said (I shit you not) “OH THAT GUY!!!”  (Mind you, this is in a building of over 3000 people, and yet she knew EXACTLY who I meant!) I’m in I.T., and with all apologies to the men reading this who might be in I.T., in general you are NOT  a dishy bunch. I’m sorry, but it’s true. You’ re smart, you’re funny, you’re wonderful people, but you are NOT dishy. Doesn’t happen. This guy was non-nerd personified. Tall, manly, with flowing locks and sexy 2-days’-growth stubble. Like Fabio come to life! Anyway… on this most horrible of horrible days, I had a second meeting with him. Thought that was going to perk things up? OH. NO. It was all glamour. It was illusion. It was … disappointing. He is a scruffy burnout. Not dishy. Not in the least dishy. The long luxuriant hair? It’s kind of a greasy wad. The manly 2-day stubble? It’s just a hobo-beard.
    1. yes, but at least I got to experience the dishy before it morphed into scruffy burnout



As it turns out, not much else did. I had some horrible work-related crap, but none of it was as spectacular as the early morning.

Let me ask you… If you have a PROCESS and you have STANDARDS, but EVERY SINGLE FUCKING PROJECT that comes along finds a reason to become an EXCEPTION or a ONE-OFF, or otherwise manages to talk your powers-that-be into letting them NOT follow your PROCESS or your STANDARDS – then WHAT is the POINT of HAVING processes and standards in the first place?!??!!? Gah. Forgive the rant, it just seemed like everything I touched today turned into an ugly ugly mess.

On the bright side, at least I wasn’t the one who sent JB an email asking if JB was interested in the new dishy Frenchman on the 12th floor – instead of, as intended, sending someone ELSE an email asking if JB is interested in the new dishy Frenchman on the 12th floor. (Anyone who hadn’t yet had a 2nd meeting with him, still thought he was dishy. Poor deluded fools.)

AND (written much later) … the day DID eventually get better.

I came home and Mr Tater pointed out that, odd as it may seem, the trimmed-back-to-near-extinction rose bushes had inexplicably GROWN.

Now how did THOSE get there?

Now how did THOSE get there?

It’s a little hard to see in the picture but there’s a lovely bouquet of roses stuck in the middle of the dead winter rose bushes.

He’s pretty cute, that Mr Tater. (no Fabio, but no scruffy burnout either)

I think I’ll keep him, and I guess today could have been a lot worse.


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