Updates! Updates! Updates!
Day #2 of my boss' vacation -- or "Hell Week," as I
lovingly referring to it -- so no time
anything more than a handful of quick cranky updates:
- Mothers Day.
I had a lovely Mothers Day, thankyouverymuchforasking.
flowers to my office last Thursday -- two dozen
roses, in various colors -- and
still sitting proudly (if somewhat droopily) on the front desk in front
of me this morning. She
also sent me a nice
little silver ring
inlaid with opal and black onyx, a cookbook created by the staff at the
hospital where she works, and a lifetime supply of Band-Aids.(Don't
All three of the Tots checked in by
phone at various points throughout the day and evening to wish me a
Happy Mother's Day. Kacie
called me from a bowling alley late Sunday night, shouting to
be heard above the din of crashing pins and inebriated
champions. ("You're bowling
on your night off?" I asked in surprise. She
gigglingly reminded me that now that she's quit her job at the Box
night" is her night off. Sigh.)
David and I
the day Sunday in
downtown San Francisco, browsing for Warren
Smith CDs at
Amoeba Records, walking around the Haight, splitting the world's best
pepperoni-and-black-olive pizza at Giorgio's
District. Once we got home, we
sat in bed and had thick wedges of supermarket lemon meringue pie (the
next week, I swear to god) and watched the Sunday night cartoons on
FOX. I was sound
asleep ten minutes into "Family Guy."
All in all, a most
satisfying Mother's Day.
- David's Birthday.
David had a lovely birthday on Monday,
and co-workers surprised him with a cake, halfway through the day, and
then they all stood around his desk and basked in
vast reserves of grooviness and stuff for a while. I sent him
standard $50 Amazon gift certificate -- a rather
bloodless and unimaginative birthday "gift," if you ask me, but it's
the only thing he ever really WANTS -- and we
enjoyed a spontaneous Bed Picnic that evening, with our old
and the leftover Giorgio's pizza and lemon meringue pie. (The
diet starts next week, I swear to god.)
All in all, he says, a most satisfying 49th birthday.
- My performance review.
I've survived another annual Performance Review.
It took place at the very last minute on Friday, as I stood in the
doorway of JoAnne's
office with my purse and my laptop bag slung over my shoulder, getting
ready to leave for the weekend. She handed me the envelope
all my review information enclosed -- "It's pretty
much the same stuff as
last year," she said, meaning that there were the usual complaints from
my co-workers about me being prickly and unapproachable and not dancing
for joy when they drop 48,897,621-page Soil Density Report requests
into my *In* Box at 4 p.m. -- and I stuffed it into
my purse and said "Thanks" and wished her a nice vacation. And
that, pretty much, was that. No fuss. No
tears. No gigantic emotional meltdown.
Review, in other words.
I didn't bother opening up the
envelope to read the review comments, by the way
... because I'd
them. The day the Confidential
envelope arrived in the overnight from Corporate, I managed to open it
and take a
quicky sneaky peek at the contents, before I re-sealed the envelope and
passed it along to
JoAnne. And yes, I know that that was unethical and
kinds of wrong, but I just couldn't stand the
suspense. JoAnne's comments about me were generally
favorable -- "There
doubt that the quality and quantity of Seca's work is and always has
been excellent," she says at one
point -- plus I was given my token
.00005¢/hour raise. (Woohoo! McDonald's Dollar Menu
EVERYBODY!) All in all,
things turned out pretty well this year.
Now I've got 362 days to start dreading the next
- My Stoopid Infected Toe.
Yes, I'm still battling with my stoopid infected toe. (And if
you're tired of hearing about it, imagine how
*I* feel.) The good news is that I have an appointment this
afternoon with a podiatric specialist. A REAL foot
doctor this time, in other words, rather than a bored inattentive
Doogie Howser clone
in the Kaiser "Urgent Care" office. We might actually see
results this time.
The bad news (if you're a big squeamish baby, like my husband) is that
I'm bringing my CAMERA with
- Hell Week.
What can I tell you? Hell Week goes on ... and on ... and on
The thing I hate the most about the whole thing is the fact that I'm
continually having to remind
JoAnne is on vacation. It doesn't matter that she sent out
one but TWO interoffice e-mails, days before she left, informing
everyone that she would be out of the office for these five days, and
that they should come to Secra for all their quadruple-urgent admin
needs in her absence. It doesn't matter that she recorded a
vacation voicemail greeting, or that
her e-mail bounces back an automatic "Out Of Office" message to the
that I have affixed an 11" x 17" sign to her office
door, written in heavy black Magic Marker, announcing that "JOANNE
IS OUT OF THE OFFICE UNTIL 5/16."
At least twice a
day, usually when I'm elbow-deep
in Soil Density Reports, one of the lesser geonerds will approach me,
baffled, and whine "Is
I keep reminding myself that eventually it will be over, and JoAnne
will return from her vacation, and things will go back to normal.
Then I can go back to hating my job
for the usual
reasons -- lack of respect from my (male) co-workers,
conditions, the fact that a blind chimp on crack could do my job --
instead of hating it because I'm stressed and overworked
doing the work of two people. Plus I have to transfer the fudking
to LOS ANGELES every damn time I have to go to the bathroom.
to throw a rock?