Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the tag “work”

Young Pups and Old Dogs

I’m flying!!!!

About once a week I get to leave Stalag 13, also known as my office trailer, and venture up the hill to the post office. This morning Kansas is beautiful; around 80 F (26.6 C for the rest of the world), with a nice breeze. By this afternoon it will be a totally different story, with a temp of 95 F, and wind gusting to around 40, and about 60% humidity.  I hop in my car, roll down the windows, and prepare to take advantage of the perfection of this particular Tuesday morning.

On my drive up the hill, I notice the dogs in the car ahead of me are taking advantage of it too. I see a white pup, with a black nose and floppy ears first. His head is bobbing all around, trying hungrily to grab a scent of something, jowls blowing in the breeze, ears flipping all around and even making a circular motion one time, because this pup can’t keep his head still just to enjoy the breeze in his face. I have no idea what the dog’s age is, but it’s pretty obvious he’s a pup, with his head darting all around like he’s going to miss something on the ride, and might never get the chance to see it again. Unable to stand it any longer, he makes his way to the other window, hoping to catch a glimpse out of it.

That’s when I notice the all black face of another dog that was obscured by all the pup’s bobbing and weaving. We stop at the light and I can see the gray on the old man’s nose. He is calm. He lifts his face to the sun, inhaling slowly, savoring the bouquet of the morning. He appears tranquil and comfortable with where he is at, in this particular space and time. The pup doesn’t even annoy him as he makes his way back and forth along the seat, as he remembers he was young once and he too felt the need to run at life like there wouldn’t be enough time to smell everything along the way.

I have to turn to get to my destination and they continue on. When I stop, I sit for a second, thinking about how I can relate to both those dogs. I too want to be tranquil and comfortable with where I am at, and some days I can. Some days I can stop along my way and savor life. Other days I am still the pup, running from one thing to another hoping to find an exciting adventure.

I decide being a little bit of both is just fine with me. I step from the car and lift my face to the sun, feel the breeze on my face, and inhale life.

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Office Mourning

Yesterday I wore all black to work. My boss wanted to know if someone died. I told him a little piece of me, every day I come to work.

Happy Fucking Friday!!!

A Day in the Life of an Office Bitch in Construction

Do you ever have those days at work when you think, “Shit couldn’t possibly get much stupider than it already is”? I have them often. But as luck would have it, I continually get the answer to that rhetorical question, which is an unequivocal “yes”.

As I’ve said before, I work in construction. I don’t wear steel-toed boots to work every day, and I don’t swing a hammer, I am an office manager for a construction company. Basically, I am the “office bitch” for a construction company. I push papers, I copy and scan shit, and I watch the money. Correction; I watch the money go out. Rarely does the money flow back in, and when it does, it’s a trickle. When it goes out, it’s a flow like your first piss when you’ve broke the seal after pounding four beers in an hour’s time.

So this contract I work on, it’s bleeding; bleeding like your ball sack when you nicked it manscaping.

How to fix the problem?

My suggestions would be:
1. Work smarter.
2. Buckle down and get jobs bought out sooner and get your fucking paperwork turned in on time.
3. Stop making excuses and do your job.

I know those are novel ideas, and very easy difficult to implement, but they cost the company no extra money. Wouldn’t you think you’d want to try the no-cost approach first?

Not around here!

My boss just came to me and told me to buy “Moose Knuckle”, our head superintendent, a new white board. Moose Knuckle, known to everyone around here as “Captain Save-A-Ho”, claims this will help him get his shit together and track activity in the field better.

I must point out here that Moose Knuckle doesn’t even carry a notebook with him. He claims he can keep track of everything in his head. Really, the only reason he can keep track of anything, is because he makes it up as he goes along. If he doesn’t know the answer to a question–he will make something up. And that something that he makes up, to cover his failure to jot down a fucking note every once in awhile? It won’t be a simple bullshit excuse like, “Man, I was really fucking busy bailing my drunk girlfriend out of jail today and didn’t make it to that job”. No, it’s fucking elaborate and Ripley’s Believe It or Not kind of shit, like, “Man, I’m not sure what happened, because I got stuck in a 10 car pile-up on the way to the job site, and I had to give 3 people mouth-to-mouth, and one dude an emergency tracheotomy with my ball point pen, and then I had to whip off my too tight moose knuckle Levi’s and use them as a tourniquet to save this chick’s leg, and I just lost track of time and before I knew it was time to come back here for the meeting”.

But. . . .a new, really fucking big white board is going to make all the difference.

Do you have any idea how much those things cost? We’re talking party like a rock star in Vegas with cocaine and hookers, or a Justin Bieber trip to the titty bar expensive.

So I suggest to my boss that Moose Knuckle take the one out of the empty office next door to me. Nope. Not good enough. Moose Knuckle wants the BIG board. I’m guessing to make up for what he is lacking in the moose knuckle department, but mind you, that is merely a guess, except for the fact of just how fucking tight the dude wears his fucking pants. Gross.

I look at my boss like Crazy Eyes from Orange is the New Black. I ask him if he realizes how much it’s going to cost, and remind him that Moose Knuckle didn’t maintain the first white board he had. He says he knows, but tells me to get it anyway. WTF? Just to prove to everyone after dropping a load of money on this thing that the guy couldn’t coordinate s’mores making at a fucking Campfire Girl jamboree??

I know you guys don’t like to listen to me, because I have a VAGINA, but could we just buy the guy a little notebook and tell him that if he can maintain that, you’ll graduate him to the big boy white board??

Saving a few bucks. What a stellar fucking idea.

 

moose

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