dianaschnuth

Well, I had started an entry back on Sunday, the day after the righteous Pietasters show Aaron and I went to in Cleveland, at the new Grog Shop. Then I walked away from my computer for a while, and a power surge hit, and our power went out for a split second. And that was all she wrote for the aborted Pietasters review. I was even starting with the end and working backwards, so I wouldn’t stop before I got to the good part, like I always do.

So, it occurs to me that I haven’t updated in a while. A good couple weeks here. I know I get frustrated when other people don’t update their blogs on a regular basis, so I guess I’d better get on the ball.

I’ve been sneaking a few grams of sugar a day, here and there, and pretending that they wouldn’t hurt. Hey, I missed my Miracle Whip Light, and I bought a whole box of those Atkins Advantage bars, and the cream cheese was calling to me. And so, I have gained back five pounds in the past few days, and my ketosis has put on the brakes, though it hasn’t stopped completely. Although it occurs to me that it might not be entirely my sugar-sneaking that has bumped me back up a few pounds, as it’s about time for my Monthly Visitor, as my mother used to call it (when she still had one).

Not a whole lot else going on… Got rid of the Macquarium shell and my old copy of Norton Utilities 2.0 for Mac by posting on some Mac newsgroups. They’re headed out soon, for only the cost of shipping them to their new homes. Um, what else…? I have the next few days off of work, which is nice. Aaron’s vacation ends Monday, which makes both of us sad. But we’re going to see Kill Bill on Friday, and off to the Apple Butter Fest on Sunday (where I am only going to have a handful of Kris’s kettle corn), so that’ll be fun.

And that’s about it.

What draws imbeciles to congregate at the Post Office?

So, I had to mail two packages of eBay goodness, a roll of film from the Ren Fest, and a few bills. Since I knew Tuesdays are usually super-light at work, I opted to wait until after work to mail all these things. Three-thirty rolls around, I get to leave work, and I head to the BG Post Office. Parking lot looks a little busy, but I find an appropriate spot, park, gather my crap, and head in. And here’s what I find:

Finally, finally, after about 15 minutes, it’s my turn. Package number one: Media Mail with Delivery Confirmation. Check. Number two: Cheap Airmail to Canada. Check. Need stamps. Check. Done. Move aside and let crazy townie take her turn while I put my change away.

Is it that difficult? Sheesh.

And in the news… a Romanian Gypsy family recently arranged a marriage between their 12-year-old daughter and a 15-year-old boy. [brief pause for consideration] OK, comments from the peanut gallery:

I don’t know about you, ladies, but by age 12, I hadn’t even officially "become a woman" yet, and had barely even discovered the joy of, um… self-gratification. Real sex? Jinkies. Come to think of it, boys had only recently ceased to be icky — like, within a year or so beforehand.

And how about responsibility? I wasn’t even responsible enough to keep my room clean, much less clean an entire abode. And I was lucky to be making macaroni and cheese from the box at that age. I’m guessing Gypsies have a much different upbringing than I did, but still…!

OK, rant over.

By the way, since I started the Atkins Diet, I’ve lost one inch in my waist and a little more than an inch in my bust (which I’m chalking up to back fat instead of actual boobage). And while my actual weight loss has stalled, I’m still losing about half an inch a week, so I’m sticking with it. Rama at work is amazed at how much I’ve lost, and is excited to be off of work on Mondays in time to go to her Weight Watchers meetings again. It’s the battle of the diet plans… 😉

So, one of the things Amy suggested to me over the weekend was not to go through with my plan of writing a memo to my supervisor about department morale. She said management really doesn’t give a shit, and if I can possibly stand it, just to keep my mouth shut so as not to make things worse on myself. I hemmed and hawed… and agreed not to rock the boat.

Until today.

Andrew, my supervisor, apparently having been tipped off to the morale problems from some other source, sent the entire department an e-mail today. "I would like your input," he wrote, "on where you would like to see the department heading in the upcoming months, and suggestions or concerns that you might have regarding processing, prepping [preparing work to be processed], or overall moral [sic] issues would be appreciated." He asked us to have these comments to him by the afternoon, and informed us that the issues would be addressed in a meeting tomorrow.

So, I wrote him a two-page e-mail. That’s two full pages printed out.

I categorized my e-mail into three sections: On the Logistics of Processing, On Having an Informed Department, and On General Morale Issues.

Quotables from my e-mail that would make sense to The World Outside Lockbox:

• "We understand that you have compiled statistics on the running of the department. Still we as employees and ‘team members’ would like to be consulted regarding potential changes…"
• "Overall, we just want to be kept ‘in the loop.’ That’s all. Let us know what the plans are, so we’re not surprized when they happen."
• "I feel that we need some form of (admittedly cheesy) positive reinforcement."

I hope I didn’t step on any toes, because I told the truth about everything I could think of… except one thing: I didn’t tell him how bad he smells after a smoke break.

Loni, completely opposite of my approach, wrote a short e-mail of about three very brief paragraphs, detailing how we’re "made to feel like peons" and should be asked about changes before they happen. Her message was short and to the point… and quite unprofessional and even a touch rude, even though she stated at the end that she hoped she didn’t upset anyone with her comments. (Her grammar and punctuation are also absolutely atrocious.) She asked my opinion on her message before she sent it… and I told her it seemed fine. Well, it did seem like something Loni would say. I’m so evil. 🙂

Other random blog updatables:

I’ve been very good on my no-Dew week. Aaron bought Iced Tea instead of Mountain Dew, so although I hadn’t planned on drinking any sort of non-water beverage, I’ve been partaking in the Nestea Cool every now and then. However, I’ve been splurging on chocolate in a bad way all week. I think I’m going to make next week No Pasta Week, since I’ve actually not been craving pasta much at all this week.

The company name of the day: ABDICK.

The Kia smells like a fucking swimming pool, thanks to the overturned leaky bottle of bleach recently relocated from the backseat to the trunk to the trash. I’m slightly annoyed by it, but I’m afraid that Aaron is or will be pissed. I don’t know why I think I piss Aaron off so much, when I know I don’t really. I just feel like it’s my fault — I already leaked bleach onto two of his favorite shirts, and now most of the bottle has seeped into the trunk of the Kia. Go me. *sigh*

Next year’s Saginaires and Northern Aurora alumni picnic is once again scheduled for the Saturday after Labor Day. Once more conflicting with the Black Swamp Arts Festival. I’m not going to miss it every damned year… I wonder if Amy would come up on Friday, drive with me up to Saginaw for the picnic on Saturday, then back to spend Saturday night and Sunday at the Black Swamp. I sure hope so. Both things are important to me, and I’d hate to miss either one or the other for the next several years.

I was so pissed. I was driving home in my car, fuming, planning the scathing blog entry about hating my job and twelve-hour days and having to work holidays, all the while driving like a moderate maniac, peeling out from red lights and honking at the stupidity that regularly happens on the roads of Bowling Green.

I pulled into our driveway, maintaining my righteous anger. Stomped into the house. Turned on the computer. Went into the bathroom and peed. Went into the kitchen and got a brownie. Laid down on the couch to eat my brownie and watch a little TV (forgetting that my computer doesn’t take that long to boot up anymore).

Fell asleep.

Sigh… nothing like a half-hour nap to defuse your righteous rant about work and life and stuff.

Anyway, I really am sick of my job. I really do need to find a new one. And I really do need to stop drinking Mountain Dew and eating chocolate brownie stuff if I’m ever going to ease myself into this Atkins thing.

And I really do need to finish writing about P-Funk… later.