postus interruptus

I’m going on vacation.
It’s unreal.
It’s going to be so weird to not wake up panic stricken, wondering exactly how late I’m going to be for work that morning.

Tomorrow is my last day of work.
I won’t be at my desk though because I need to make one last business trip to represent my company at a trade fair on the other side of the country. Then I have to fly back on Sat morning, pack and fly out to Joburg (SA) on Saturday evening. Sunday I’ll be flying to Cape Town in time to pick up my robe on Mon and graduate on Tues. Or is it Wed?
Pft. Who cares. Sometime during the week.

According to me I’m already a graduate. Been a graduate since I handed in my dissertation and left university in Jan. Only graduating now because they took so bloody long to examine my thesis I couldnt make the June ceremony.

To me grad is just a big showdown where people feel special and accomplished, old men wear dresses, photographers hit the jackpot, parents burst with pride and graduants get wasted. Been there, done that, got the T-Shirt. Literally. It’s a dull, purple waste of cotton with…wait for it… ‘Class of 2002’ written on it. How exciting.

I can think of better T-Shirts the computer science dept could have come up with:

me = grad
do
booze++
until brain == dead

I would have skipped the whole hullabaloo if my dad hadn’t popped a vein at the thought of me graduating in absentia. It means more to him than it does to me, so I thought I’d just let him get his proud moment. Afterall, he did have to put up with my incessant demands for more money during my days of perpetual brokeness.

So I’ll be gone for a month.
Might post.
Or not.

Thanks to everyone who has stopped by and actually left a comment. (Hint hint you lurking lot) I know I act like I don’t care, but *sniff* , *Sob* I do. I really do. I weally weally wuv you all!

*clears throat*.
Yeah, whatever.
That was sooo not me. It’s the other voice in my head.

Later people.

Shoot me please

I've made two major blunders today. Okay, one major the other minor.

The first was at a workshop this morning. The Chief Technical Officer of the ...what’s the word (we are the supplier - they are the? supplyee?)... recipient company of the stuff we sell...was making a presentation when he realised what he had just said was slightly inaccurate so right in the middle of the sentence he just yelled out "hold your horses, I'm a lying thief!". Man, I couldn't help it - I just burst out into incontrollable spasms of laughter right there in the middle of the presentation with my boss staring me down as if to say "get a grip woman". These people have zero sense of humour. How could you not find that funny? The only other person who joined in with a covert giggle was this guy Michel, who I really like because he's like me in so many ways. Anyway, if I wasn’t dark, I'm sure I’d have been a bright shade of red...

The MAJOR booboo was an incident with a certain colleague. She creates invoices for us, except given the multinational nature of my company she's physically located on the other side of the world and we communicate almost entirely by email. The email system goes down and people actually go home because of how much we rely on it to get any work done.

So I’ve been asking her to generate invoices for some work we have completed for the supplyee company. She ignores my emails then quite out of the blue asks if she can invoice something completely irrelevant. To cut a long story short, a series of mails were exchanged between her (wining as usual) my boss (telling her to not take things personally) and another colleague while I just looked on with mild amusement because I’m the only person who knows the full story and the extent of her insanity. I started composing a reasonable email to highlight the whole invoicing mix-up in a reproachful but suitably professional manner when I got caught up in my own profound irritation for her and started to write down exactly what I really wanted to say. The worst part is I actually accidentally sent it:

Hi H...,

I’ve asked you REPEATEDLY to raise specific invoices. I say, you invoice. That’s how it works. But nooooo. You are involved in your own personal agenda and ask me if you can raise invoices that are not relevant at the moment, just because YOU think they are invoiceable. You are not reachable by phone, fax, email or telepathy. I'm not the only person with this problem. Ask ANYONE who has worked with you. Everyone just shakes their head and mutters, 'that woman is mad' at the utterance of your name. I realise you are busy, but don't mystify the whole process like it’s a big deal to insert a PO number and click a button that says 'generate invoice' - yes I do happen to know how its done. Now please pull the rod out of your behind and kindly send me my invoice.

Best Regards,
Lyn

So I guess I’m going to clean out my desk now and not expect any compensation.
Except she is so irritating my boss might even be mildly amused.
Anyway, I immediately called her up (dropped a voicemail and sent more emails) and told her I didn’t mean to send it and such...
Its a moments like this I wonder if I’m really a normal.

Paris

I must be missing something because I just don’t seem to get it. Try as I may to partake in the globally shared revulsion for Paris, I’m just not feeling it. I stumbled on yet another blog where the author feels the world would a better place if she was ‘shot into space and left there to die a slow and painful death’. So this begs the question: Why does everyone rag on Paris Hilton?

- Could it be her sense of style?
No she didint! Is that… *gasp*… the same dress she wore to that thing at that place last month!?! Not only is it REPEATED but also hopelessly OUTDATED! Holy MotherofGod, this must be the end of the world as we know it.
So the fluorescent pink top does not go with the lime green mini skirt. Infact it couldn’t possibly go with any colour known to man. Boo-freaking-hoo. Let's line up the firing squad.

- Maybe because she’s rich?
Selfish bitch. Why didn’t she do the right thing and politely decline her inheritance: No thank you daddy. I would much rather spend my entire life in a tiny cubicle trying to figure out which spot to bang my head against next while I desperately try to regain feeling in my lips from kissing my boss’ ass all freaking day and trying very hard not to drive my pencil into the next fucker who calls me ‘the chick who sits by the water cooler’ my name is Paris goddammit, PARIS.

- Because she's no Angelina Jolie? So that’s why everybody hates her! because she's just Too Damn Ugly. Take a good look in the mirror people. Chances are you are NOT prettier than her. And if you are, well good for you. Now shut the fk up.

- Or perhaps because she’s a party animal and none too prim.
Oh man, here’s what happens when the moral fabric of society breaks down. Paris happens. When we are all in church singing Holy holy holy, Paris is recovering from a hangover…or still perpetuating one. We were in church weren’t we? Well, some of us right? Any of us? Anyone? I know I for one I was probably lying on my bed spent, cheeks still flushed in the aftermath, grinning with contentment and sucking on a cigarette.
So Paris, ROCK ON!

- She’s named after a Hotel.
Did you not get the memo? Woe betides she that is named after a hotel. Damned she shall be - forever cast out to fringes of society where she will be publicly ridiculed to serve as a lesson to all those who poignantly refuse to uphold the virtues of this great land we live in– those who fail to abide by the 1st Commandment: THOU SHALL NOT NAMETH THINE OFFSPRING AFTER THOU’S HOTEL lest you get cast into outer space and left there to wither and die.

Frankly I couldn’t care less if she was infact blasted into outer space. Paris means absolutely diddlysquat to me. But I can’t help but be fascinated by the outright global disdain for Miss Hilton. A young woman with lots of money lots of time lots of attention and lots of sex = lots of resentment I suppose.

Anyway, for argument sake and for my personal edification: why do YOU hate Paris?