I need a vacation, yo.
I haven’t had what you could well and truly call a vacation since October 2004. It was a beautiful, magical week in Club Med Cancun before those pussies became family friendly and seriously stunted my ability to spend 7 consecutive days in a perpetual alcoholic haze.
I didn’t even get that kind of bliss from my wedding. At best, I get a long weekend getaway here or there, but that’s it.
So this 8 year moratorium on vacation is starting to take its toll and I’m losing the funny. Burn out is a bitch. I have 32 hours of comp time from the last year and I was just gifted with 40 hours of vacation for my year of service. It’s slower than molasses at work, so this would be a great time to take some mental health time, right? Nein. I have to be here because it’s slower than molasses at work and I need to pull some traffic out of my pasty white ass. *le sigh* When do I get my independent wealth assistance grant?
In more interesting news, I got the most random pingback to my last post from another blog that reviews products. I was mentioned as a “related link” for a review on a men’s shaver. Clearly, the author of that little spam blog didn’t bother to read my post because while I did mention an electric shaver, I also made very prominent mention (with pictures) of gas powered dildos and cocaine. I’m thinking that any reputable blogger would probably not want to be associated with that unless they are also catering to a special subset of the mentally tweaked.
That’s right. I just called you all mentally tweaked. Wear that badge with pride.
Anyhoo…As I was going through my purse the other night, I found a small notebook with some notable quotes that I jotted down from an occasion where I went out for drinks with some coworkers following a company dinner. Apparently, these people had no filter for moderation. In fact, 3 of them left work early to start pregaming, so they were already 90% of the way to shitfaced by the time we decided to get cocktails at a local lounge.
Now, I have no problems drinking with coworkers, and just hearing these things as part of bar conversation isn’t really unusual. Actually, it was all pretty funny until I started seeing some terrifying spillover into our work environment.And our work environment was apparently overrun by an incestuous little group of closeted alcholic herpes traders.
Coworker to HR & GM about the friendly darts game: “He’s your partner, right?”
HR Director channeling a flamboyant homosexual man: “No, silly! We just work together.”
General Manager: Aw, yeah! She was way warmed up before she came! *winkwink* I found out later that he (married) had been sleeping with her (also married).
Coworker 1 to GM: “Calm down, Bam Bam! Pebbles is beating your ass and you paid for it. It happens to all men at some point.”
Coworker 2 slurring to noone in particular: “He’s a lot like my husband – I think he cheated but I don’t know because I was paying attention not very much.”
Coworker 1 to bartender: “I’m not drinking anymore because I can’t feel my lips. You should take advantage of that. It’s like a Stranger, only with lips instead of hands!” I don’t think he fully understands what “The Stranger” really was, so it was no surprise when she didn’t take him up on such a generous offer.
More double entendres during the darts game: “*HR director* hit it first!” I also found out after the fact that this was, in fact, the case.
GM to bartender: This is the one without the roofie, right? *gesturing to coworker 2* She’s supposed to get the roofie.”
And this is why I prefer to work with boring, child rearing married people. But only if I can leave for a week and forget they exist.