I do not understand men
even though I am surrounded by them. I especially do not understand the Husband.
I am sick. I've been sick since Friday and am getting worse. The husband was all...I'll take care of the meals this weekend only to have him complain yesterday morning that it was an expensive thing to do. He told me to stay home from the office yesterday but as soon as he got in the door last evening I was scolded with a list of all that MUST BE DONE by me because he refuses to do anything connected with the computer because he is the Grand PooBAH and computer stuff is left to the likes of me. I'm not asking him to assemble a computer, or program it or any such nonsense. I'm asking him to open the book of all KNowledge, that holds all the proceedures for things done about the office and DO IT. I'm sicker than I have been since Friday but I MUST go into the office today. I have no idea if it'll be raining or if the office will have heat but Imust go because he WON'T learn how to use the computer,for, if he does all the other Grand Poobahs will come along and strip him of his Poobahness.
At the office I could be scarfing down a lunch while still inputting my data entry or writing contracts or checking court records while the pile of work at my elbow is ever growing. And then the phone rings and my work comes to a screeching halt because not only can Grand Poobahs not use the computer but heaven forbid should the owner of the company answer his own phone despite the fact that he claims we are partners. I guess I'm the computer doing, phone answering partner.
Oh and what is the Grand Poobah doing at this time? Maybe faxing something which means he has to sit at the computer while the fax feeds through the printe/scanner/fax AND play solitaire. I didn't know that solitaire is what makes faxes fax. Must be in the Grand Poobah book of life that I didn't get.
I hate the job. I hate it I hate it I hate it! I am trapped in an office with a Grand Poobah that has to vocalise every nit picky trivial nonsenseical thing that wanders through his head. But should I speak out of turn, I get the stinkey fish eye ans am silenced.
I'e had all of two hours sleep and am groggy and since I haven't washed my hair since who knows when I will have to ewash it to go to the office. I wonder what it takes to get pneumonia?
But the Grand Poobah's moment of the Greatest Poobahness occurred yeaterday morning. I had just finished hacking up a lung which robbed me of my voice and made my head throb and the Grand Poobah looks at me and asks me what I did with the salad dressing. Did he look in the fridge? NO. Or down in the cabinets in the basement? NO. He thought he'd ask me because this way he doesn't have to think of the answer for himself. Why of course let me do your thinking for you. At least thoughts will get thunk.
One more thing. Never ask the Grand Poobah to make the son's lunch because the instructions fluster him when I go too fast and I had to stand in the kitchen hacking up a lung against the sleeve of my shirt trying Not to spew my germs around which is why I askd the Grand Poobah to MAKE the lunch, while he needed to be directed with turkey on white with mayonaise and when I hinted that there should be more than one slice of lunchmeat on the bread he turned on my with hate in his eyes and tole me to stap making him feel stupid. Hey buster I know how to make a sandwhich and YOU asked for MY help.
The office is going to be a real pipsidoodle today. I can feel it.
BTW, anyone need a lung, I have one right here freshly caught.
I am sick. I've been sick since Friday and am getting worse. The husband was all...I'll take care of the meals this weekend only to have him complain yesterday morning that it was an expensive thing to do. He told me to stay home from the office yesterday but as soon as he got in the door last evening I was scolded with a list of all that MUST BE DONE by me because he refuses to do anything connected with the computer because he is the Grand PooBAH and computer stuff is left to the likes of me. I'm not asking him to assemble a computer, or program it or any such nonsense. I'm asking him to open the book of all KNowledge, that holds all the proceedures for things done about the office and DO IT. I'm sicker than I have been since Friday but I MUST go into the office today. I have no idea if it'll be raining or if the office will have heat but Imust go because he WON'T learn how to use the computer,for, if he does all the other Grand Poobahs will come along and strip him of his Poobahness.
At the office I could be scarfing down a lunch while still inputting my data entry or writing contracts or checking court records while the pile of work at my elbow is ever growing. And then the phone rings and my work comes to a screeching halt because not only can Grand Poobahs not use the computer but heaven forbid should the owner of the company answer his own phone despite the fact that he claims we are partners. I guess I'm the computer doing, phone answering partner.
Oh and what is the Grand Poobah doing at this time? Maybe faxing something which means he has to sit at the computer while the fax feeds through the printe/scanner/fax AND play solitaire. I didn't know that solitaire is what makes faxes fax. Must be in the Grand Poobah book of life that I didn't get.
I hate the job. I hate it I hate it I hate it! I am trapped in an office with a Grand Poobah that has to vocalise every nit picky trivial nonsenseical thing that wanders through his head. But should I speak out of turn, I get the stinkey fish eye ans am silenced.
I'e had all of two hours sleep and am groggy and since I haven't washed my hair since who knows when I will have to ewash it to go to the office. I wonder what it takes to get pneumonia?
But the Grand Poobah's moment of the Greatest Poobahness occurred yeaterday morning. I had just finished hacking up a lung which robbed me of my voice and made my head throb and the Grand Poobah looks at me and asks me what I did with the salad dressing. Did he look in the fridge? NO. Or down in the cabinets in the basement? NO. He thought he'd ask me because this way he doesn't have to think of the answer for himself. Why of course let me do your thinking for you. At least thoughts will get thunk.
One more thing. Never ask the Grand Poobah to make the son's lunch because the instructions fluster him when I go too fast and I had to stand in the kitchen hacking up a lung against the sleeve of my shirt trying Not to spew my germs around which is why I askd the Grand Poobah to MAKE the lunch, while he needed to be directed with turkey on white with mayonaise and when I hinted that there should be more than one slice of lunchmeat on the bread he turned on my with hate in his eyes and tole me to stap making him feel stupid. Hey buster I know how to make a sandwhich and YOU asked for MY help.
The office is going to be a real pipsidoodle today. I can feel it.
BTW, anyone need a lung, I have one right here freshly caught.
posted by ---me--- at Tuesday, January 26, 2010
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