Caterwauling

My Ghettopoly shipped today!

The ever-wacktacular Jacko was arrested. And he got out on $3 million bail. Shit. I don’t even have $3 to my name to buy a pack of cigarettes. I guess when you’re rich, you can molest anybody you want (although I’d choose somebody a little closer to my age range!). Jane thinks Jacko might want to go to jail … that is, if it’s Juvenile Hall. 😉

And because it’s a slow news day, the Metro system approved a new bathroom policy. Sounds like it is easier to talk your way out of a speeding ticket than to convince Metro employees that you just have to pee really badly.

The decision comes tomorrow whether to fry Muhammad or let the fucker rot in jail on our tax bill. All I have to say is, “Kill the Wabbit! Kill the Wabbit!”

The Gemini horoscope sums up my typical workday: “Tolerating bad behavior can arouse anger. Despite well-justified fears about alienating co-workers, you’re better off confronting a situation. The problem is you’re overworked and underpaid.” But since WHEN have I worried about alienating my co-workers, who are alien life forms (or, rather, human corpses that have forgotten to fall over)?

Turned in my budget today for final approval by Finance. It took two hours to do the math on a half-million-dollar list of expenditures, but four hours to figure out how to plug them into this ridiculous Excel form that Finance asked us to use.

Parting thought: Doesn’t he look like the victim of a Cover Girl laboratory explosion? Shit, the man’s a caricature in his “natural” state — how would a caricaturist be able to distort this any more than it already is?

Shit like this just pisses me off beyond belief. I mean, now that Massachusetts has pioneered a possible path to acceptance for gay marriage, my adopted home state of Virginia is taking extra steps to ensure it never happens here.

Seriously, I want to go to Massachusetts and marry a woman right now just so I can prove a point. Really, who gives a shit and what difference does it make? Oh wait, spouses can be covered under each other’s insurance plans and be entitled to pensions and property in the event of death. God forbid that an occasional estate doesn’t get turned over to the county instead of to someone who deserves it. *sigh*

I’m getting older, and I’ve already figured out that the whole “fairytale” bullshit ain’t happenin’ for me — the expectation of career, marriage, family and retirement is more a dream than a potential reality here, so I’ve gotta think outside the box. I sure haven’t met the man of my dreams yet (or, if I have, I just haven’t realized it yet), and I don’t know if ever I will (or if ever I will catch him!). Maybe my fate might be to end up with a woman (insert “Strangers With Candy”‘s Jeri Blank’s quote, “I like the pole AND the hole!” And if that’s how it works out, fine. I just want to know that I’m not going to be treated like a freak of nature by society if that’s how my life happens to unfold.

Actually, I just work on the second floor.

The flying coffins elevators have been acting up lately, so one of the chicks in H.R. sent us an e-mail to ask us to specifically outline any troubles we’ve had with the elevators.

So Shan sends this:

“Elevator problems I’ve encountered:

Uh, it brought me to the 2nd floor… :)”

Yeah, it’s a recurring problem, coming back every day for more!