Family Matters

Every family has its black sheep. I like to think that I am the unusual one in the family, but truth be told, it is my sister. Crispy (as I refer to her) lives for male attention and hasn't quite made the mental transition into her thirties, much less her late thirties. She still wears the big hair, the spikey heels that show off her ankle tattoo and tank tops with cute little sayings like, "Porn Star" (imagine a graphic of a star rather than the word star).

She is always in trouble. She always thinks the world is doing her wrong and she always shows up at my doorstep at the most inconvenient times (although, honestly, there is no convenient time to have someone eating up your groceries and bumming money from you).

Last time she showed up I was poorer and saddled with a cat. She showed up last night at my doorstep. What am I supposed to do, shut the door in her face? This being related stuff sucks.

Empty Pockets

Well, I am back from Las Vegas less a couple hundred dollars. It seems that Sin (not to be confused with Sim) City is the only place that can make you happy while they are sucking the money out of your pockets. I was grateful that I didn't lose more actually.

Memorable Moments:

I saw a player double down on a 12 when the dealer had an ace showing...and he WON (God protects fools and idiots I guess)

The blackjack dealer mentioned that the Megabucks was due to win, since it was over 13 million dollars. This was Saturday night with me not due to leave until Monday morning. It is my ritual to play Megabucks just before I leave. I put 21 dollars into the machine, which is good for seven pulls.

30 minutes later, someone won the Jackpot. I should have listened to that dealer, they know what they are talking about.

Due to dry air and cigarette smoke, my throat is shot. I sound like I am gargling through a box of rocks, but I am back at work and trying to look productive.

My new found work ethic should last about 30 minutes.

Las Vegas

Like all good bureacrats (and an army of bad ones as well) I am off on another vacation. If the title didn't completely give it away (in which case you probably aren't smart enough to read, much less find my blog) I am going to Sin City.

What would a middle aged bureaucrat be doing in Sin City you ask? Well, use your imagination and remember what happens in Las Vegas stays in Las Vegas (along with a goodly portion of your savings account).

I love Las Vegas. Where else can you see the world's cheesiest Castle, a 2/3rd size replica of the Eiffel Tower AND the Brooklyn Bridge all in walking distance?

Last time I went there on vacation I went on a mission to find the cheapest food in the city, and MAN is there some cheap food in Las Vegas. There is the 12 inch hot dog for 99 cents, the 99 cent Marguerita, the 99 cent Shrimp Cocktail, the 99 cent bottle of beer (starting to see a pattern are we?) the only thing that these items have in common is that they all cause SEVERE indigestion. I could not eat hotdogs for nearly four months after ingesting one of these little beauties at Westward Ho (I swear every time I see that name I think of an army of prostitutes being called out from Baltimore to join the party).

The time before I decided to ride every ride in Las Vegas, including the New York New York rollercoaster. I swear that thing made my brain hurt and possibly killed a couple thousand fully functioning cells. Even though they have strict rules about emptying your pockets and not taking your purse etc. the first 360 loop had a rain of change and a very deadly looking ink pen fly by my head.

Wish me luck and hope to goodness I don't break down and eat another hotdog!

Lazed and Perfused

Okay, I think Pickle Juice (see the links on the side) is starting to rub off on my titles here.

Today I am tired, tired, tired and I have no one to blame but myself. I mean, who Else can I blame for keeping me up past midnight three days in a row, knowing I would have to get up sometime between 6:00 and 6:30 a.m.? (usually a might closer to the 6:30 time, but I digress)

Okay, I admit it, I am obsessing. I am sucking down the coffee of contrition for my sins. I admit it, I have an obsessive personality. If some is good, more is better. Like a game or a new hobby? Keep going until you drop. Find a new and fascinating person? Stalk them like the love starved weirdo you really are (okay, no, I take that back. I don't want to sound too pathetic.)

I keep telling my coworkers that I think I might be coming down with something. They must think I am halfway to dying based on how many times I have used the sickness excuse for dragging around like a java zombie.

Does that mean I will go to bed at a decent hour tonight? *snort*

Yeah, fat chance.

Rainy Days and Mondays
Well, the rainy season has begun here. It seems that everyone forgets how to drive in the rain. This strange form of mass amnesia causes all sorts of havoc during rush hour traffic. Skidding and hydroplaning being the order of the day. Sometimes I think that my fellow commuters are on a not-so-secret mission to kill me on my way to work.

I really hate it when it rains because I park about 4 blocks from work (a priveledge I actually pay for) and my shoes are always unpleasant and damp by the time I get into the office. I suppose I could run around barefoot or in stocking feet, but that wouldn't exactly project the go getter, promote me now image I sometimes try to emulate when I am not too busy surfing the internet and sucking down java.

I have friends that work in the trades, that is drywall, painting, roofing, masonry, and electricians. I know they work hard for their money and come home physically exhausted. Sometimes I envy them because they get a feeling of accomplishment when a house goes up, a roof is completed or the lights go on when you flick the switch.

But on rainy days, I will take my nice, buttwarming office chair.

Empire Building

Someone asked me about how many 'layers' government has. It can truly be a long ride to the top. I have a supervisor, her boss, his boss, his bosses' boss, and the boss above that who reports to the director. That is one, two, three, four, five...I am losing count here.

The reason it is this way? Simple. Job padding and Empire building. there are only two ways to promote in government. One is to interview for a promotion (after testing, getting on the list and being reachable) and get hired, but this is by no means the preferred method of advancement. The way to bureaucratic riches and the funnest way to promotion is to promote thyself. You do this by building up the pyramid propping up your title (and pay). By making your area bigger (more employees = more supervisors = more and higher managers, Viola!) and more populated.

Can't get more positions due to economic downturns? No problem, just steal them - also known as Consolidation. The winner in these "merges" gets to be the boss man and take home the golden paycheck. This fuels an endless array of studies and reports that tout efficiencies and savings but really aim to feather the top guys nest.

And people say that private industry is cutthroat.

A Departure From The Usual
I usually write about work, but the freedom of the Blogosphere means that I can type up any ole crap I can dream up and you can either read it or you can click away, cursing my fickle sychotic hyde for not posting about my crazed and delusional bureaucratic existence.

I was talking to a friend of mine about what he is looking for in a girlfriend, and I shared that I had come up with a list of my own that he might want to adopt. I developed this list under the philosophy that you find what you are looking for a heck of a lot easier if you actually know what you are looking for.

Read, enjoy, and let me know if there is anything I missed. It is entitled, "What I want in the person I love," (for convenince, called "You").

When I call, you are there.
When I look to the future, you are there.
You can listen to me bitch and whine because you know that I am just blowing off steam.
You hold me when I am feeling lonely.
I can hold you when I am feeling insecure.
When we make love it isn't just about being horny.
You tell me I am beautiful even when I am not.
You forgive me when I am snappish because you know we all get that way from time to time.
You do some of the things that I like and I do some of the things that you like.
You do not keep track of the tradeoff.
You will tell me my sister is a bitch even when I am the one who is wrong.
You keep my feet warm on a cold winter's night.
You tell me when you are feeling insecure so I know what bothers you.
You know that I am never trying to hurt you.
You give me the benefit of the doubt.
You like to do nice things for me "just because".
You notice when I do nice things for you "just because."
You know that a good back massage can snap me out of almost any dark mood.
You let me wander away from timt to time, you know I will be back because you are my homebase.
There is no one else that knows me like you do.
I let you wander off from time to time, I know you will be back, because I am your homebase.
You love me the way I am.
You don't want to change me because you love me the way I am.
You can't imagine a better life than the one we are living.
You don't shoot down my wilder ideas, knowing I will come to my senses eventually.
You value my opinion even when it differs.
I value your opinion becuase I know you are intelligent and deliberate in forming them.
From time to time you wonder what I am thinking about some random thing.
You want to spend time with me.
I want to spend time with you.
You want to show me all the things that are wonderful about the world.
I want to do the same.

I guess this whole post is a non-sequitor, but hey, this is my silly blog and I can play on my hampster wheel anytime I want!

*runs to get the tinfoil hat*

Minimum Work Standards
My very first government job (which paid $1184 per month, with a take home of $890 per month, paid once per month) consisted of checking anuual corporate statements of officers. Basically, all I did was make sure the check ws for the right amount (the number one priority to be sure) that addresses were complete and the appropriate signatures were at the bottom. The minimum work standards were 250 statements per day, that included mailing back errors with an error document enclosed, informing the recipient as to the nature of their blunder.

My record was 750 statements in one day and most days I processed between 450 - 600. What is scary is that the lady who sat in front of me could not produce the minimum work standard...a peasly 250 per day! About once a week, the rest of us take a days' worth of work off her desk so she could catch up.

They finally asked her to retire...RETIRE?...yes retire. Someone this brutally slow had worked for the government long enough to retire.

Sorry, about the delay in posting, Monday was Columbus day and you know us Government Workers, any excuse for a holiday. We observe them all and even make a few up when we get bored.

I was always amazed that we celebrate Columbus 'discovery' of America. After all, it was already here, so its not like he yanked it out of thin air and secondly, the poor sot didn't even know it was a new country. He thought he had tripped over the ass end of India. Still, if they see fit to give me eight hours paid, I am not complaining.

Getting Dumped On

I got a call from one of our facilites asking that we (headquarters) pay to refill the halogen gas system in their computer room. Since they have their own budget and it happened to be a computer room at their facility, I asked what made them think the cost should be ours. Well, according to them, the halogen dumped in the computer room and seeing as it was our system and we run the HQ Information Technology Division, they figured it was our responsibility for installing Halon in the first place.

First let me explain how Halon works. In a computer room, sprinklers would be bad, ruining valuable and delicate computer systems. With Halon, if the fire system thinks there is a fire, an alarm goes off. If there is no fire, you have 60 seconds to hit the shut-off switch and abort the Halon dump. If you do not, Halon dumps all over the computer room, displacing the oxygen and putting out the fire. Sometimes, in the case of a power outage or power surge, the fire system can give a false signal and trigger the system.

Now for the reason why it was our fault:

the computer room used to be filled with those monstrously large reel-to-reel computer jobbies that looked like something like the CRAY. These 6 foot tall, two foot wide boxes took up quite a bit of space in the computer rooms, but over the years computers have become smaller and smaller. Our current system consists of minicomputers not much bigger than the standard tower PC. So, there was all this space in the computer room going to waste. And, low and behold, there was all kinds of files and old furniture looking for a home. Over the years, more and more boxes and equipment found its way to the computer room until it looked more like a storage room than a high tech facility.

More than once, our technicians warned the facility people that storing things in the computer room was a mistake, but hey, its their facility.

Then one day, during a brief power outage, the Halon system was triggered. The facilities people began to panic, they ran to the computer room to disable the Halon dump (this is a switch on the wall) but so much stuff had been stored, so many boxes had been shoe horned into the computer room that they couldn't FIND the switch. It was buried somewhere behind a pile of furniture.

When I stopped laughing, I politely informed the budget analyst that I failed to see how that was our fault, after all, the system performed exactly as it was designed to.

I don't think he was terribly happy with me.

Car Wars

Last night, on my way home from work, no less than three cars tried to take me out. If felt like an extra from Death Race 3000 instead of a hapless commuter trying to get home.

Of course I honked, long and loudly. Me Ex used to hate it when I honked at other drivers. I guess he thought that some homicidal maniac would jump out of the other car and gun us down on the spot, or perhaps he just thought it was rude. The way I figure it, if someone is trying to become one with my front quarter panel and in the process cause me bodily harm, he or she is being somewhat impolite as well. As for getting gunned down, it is like being struck by lightning, rare in the extreme...and you won't see me wearing insulated shoes "just in case."

If there was a polite way to say ~HEY Car Here Asshole~ I might do it, but in reality I am only given one tool for the job. What did they say about tools? If all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. Well, all I have is a horn.

I guess I could punctuate it with a little flippage, but that would be rude.