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Yes, it has been weeks since blogging -- I'm feeling like it's garbage day, and I've forgotten to take out the trash.
Boyfriend finished the job, and did receive a paycheque, before Xmas. Even with this pre-Xmas influx of moula, I was looking forward to simple gifts, as I figured he'd have other bills to catch up on. I'd dropped a few pointed hints about the delectability of home-burnt CDs full of comedy MP3s.
I'd had an influx myself, in the form of a tax rebate. Though money is always good, it put me on the horns of a wee dilemma: first, I had no idea what to get him; and second, whatever it was had to be appropriately expensive (considering my means) but not embarassingly so (considering his feelings).
A year ago, I was sent to our branch office in the States and I'd asked him if there was anything he wanted me to bring back. He gave me the name of a particular light meter now out of production but top of the line in its day and still very good; he'd found one here, but even used it was still more money than he was willing or able to pay. I called every photography shop listed, but there were none to be found.
A year and one Xmas later, having done a bit of research looking for the manual, I realise now I should have been phoning the antique shops. It is probably expensive due to its vintage as well as its utility.
But the week before Xmas, I was so very pleased with myself to have remembered the request, and doubly delighted that I managed to dredge up the name of the light meter from the silt of my memory, and trebly thrilled that the photography store where he mooned over it still had it in stock, that I did not research it at all; I ran out and bought it. I also got him some film, and a block of time in a darkroom so he could have a place to develop all the pics he took with his brand-new/used light meter.
And I figured, this is perfect -- it's expensive, but not obviously so; half of it is used, and the other half of it is intangible. It's something he's expressed a desire to have and to do, and it will provide fun beyond Xmas.
And then for Xmas he gets me this.
Boyfriend came home in a poopy mood last night and was uncharacteristically untalkative... his boss has decreed that until the current project is completed, and is paid for by the client, no paycheque for Boyfriend is forthcoming.
I can imagine that, if Boyfriend reads this blog, he would have therefore interpreted my "consolation prize" quip not as the purely self-depricating remark that it was solely intended to be, but as a reflection on himself: either a direct slam or an accidental truth about his personal worth. Please don't take it either way, honey.
Wish I could stop you from kicking yourself when you're down. There are already plenty of people out there in the world who would do that to anyone for free, and without much prompting. Therefore, in my extremely humble and self-depricating opinion, kicking oneself is not a self-disciplinary technique one needs to bother having in one's arsenal of coping skills. Please don't do it.
And if it was me you were hoping to punish by silence, well, Hah! I like the silent treatment. But it does make me worry about you. And it does make me go into the kitchen and do uncharacteristic things myself, like doing dishes, because I can't stand being in a room with a high poopyhead quotient. :) The Old Man being a feline poopyhead is bad enough.
What we need is to start a BossWatch -- a community blogsite where people can share their Stupid Boss Stories, blow off some steam and have a laugh. Maybe even at best such a site could even allay stress by helping to understand, if not condone, where Stupid Boss is coming from.
It should include links to gov't, legal, and psychiatric resources, as well as the HRDC job banks...
There's a song I have yet to be able to find online; it was done as a part of a CBC comedy show for Labour Day. It's titled, "My Boss is Stupid" and the lyric that keeps running around my head is:
In the dictionary under the word "stupid"
there's a picture of you
and a map to your house
and an impassioned plea to kill you.
If anyone happens to find the whole of it, please let me know. I think CBC funny guy and producer Al Rae was part of the group that sang it.
So, Honey Pie, for Xmas I don't want to exchange presents. I'd like to just pack a hot lunch and go on a winter picnic: drive on ghostly white deserted highways, where skittering snow shifts crossways like sidewinding sand across the inroads into the Sahara; photograph far away snowy places...
Hey, we can get some new thermoses out of the deal. Maybe that will encourage us to start bringing lunches to work. :)
Take care,
Ed
On my Xmas list is a pair of "enhancers" from La Senza.
I've had my current pair for well over a year now. Originally I'd bought them just for a special occasion, and I had intended only to wear them once in a while; but how was I to know that having breasts would be so addictive?
I've worn them almost every day, every time I leave the house, even just to run out to the dep. I don't usually bother with makeup, and heck, with my current (read: nonexistant) clothing budget, I can't get fussy about what I wear. But I daren't be seen now without a bosom.
The old girls have become cracked & leaky, so the semi-gel from the inside adheres to my skin; every day after work I have to peel them off like little flat suckery octopi. So I'd like a new pair, please.
I can just imagine it now... when it comes time for apres-Xmas office small talk, trying to explain how my boyfriend is not a dink for giving me something like that. "...but that's what I asked for!"
pout ...if I was a trophy wife, nobody would bat an eyelash about being given breasts for Christmas.
sigh Not so much trophy wife as consolation prize girlfriend. That's why I get the Acme Peel-Off-Press-On Breasts. :)
...did I mention? We are having the ISO people by again, to certify us to the new standard. We are supposed to have audited ourselves using the new standard before they arrive...
...unfortunately, though we have many people certified as auditors in our office, I am the only person in the office who has been certified as an auditor to the new standard; and I'm too bloody busy faking new paperwork, and marking old fake paperwork obsolete, to do any audits. :) And blogging has been right out.
...on the bright side, we are having our grand opening soon afterwards; and the invitation specifically states that there will be cocktails served. I'd been joking since moving day to anyone who would listen that my new desk lacks only a sink, some stools in front of it, and some coasters & shot glasses with our logo on them, and then we'd have a fantastic wet bar for guests... I do hope that means I'm bartending; I can't imagine anywhere else in the building where serving drinks would be appropriate.