Archive for February, 2008

I’m working at the Reference desk right now (I could get totally fired, but I totally don’t care) and I just have to say to the people out there: have a fucking clue what the hell you’re looking for BEFORE you come into the library.

People come in and expect the computer to be a crystal ball and it’s operator to be some kind of gypsy or a psychic or something. News flash: I gave up mind reading years ago. I cannot read your mind, so don’t expect me to. The computer is not magical. Please do not tap on it and tell me these things can do anything! If I’m lucky, it does what I tell it. Not a crystal ball, not a miracle machine, just a dumb computer. Capiche?

That said, it should be clear that it cannot give me the name and location of a film when all you can tell me about it is: “it had mirrors, or glass, or something like that in it. It might star James Woods, or somebody like him I think…oh, and it’s old, from the 40’s maybe?” Oh! That old one with the mirrors and the guy! I know just the one! Right this way sir! NOT!

It’s older than my parents (no offense old parents) and you expect it to be on DVD here in the library right now. And you don’t know the title. Or who’s in it exactly. Sorry buddy but you’re SOL.

Maybe you should go to the Psychic library. Maybe they can help you.

Sheesh!

Or at least it seems like it because everyone is doing it. This is the second time some jobless shit bird has tried to steal from us in two weeks.

Today I received a lovely little letter from the Providence Diocese (I worked for them as a school librarian at a Catholic elementary school–worst year of my life, but more on that later). They wrote to inform me that several computers containing employee names and social security numbers were stolen and that I need to put a freeze on my credit and pull my credit report right away to check for fraud.

That’s nice.

So I spent an hour on the phone today calling Equifax and climbing through their damned frustrating phone tree. I could be heard screaming “I want to talk to a person!!!” into the phone on more than one occasion but the blasted computer out and out refused! I did get to look at my credit report online and everything–thank sweet baby Jesus–looks fine so far.

But what the fuck people?? Get jobs!! I have one. My husband has one. All the people I know have one. We work for the man every night and day and we live through it just fine.

People suck!

It all started when I got to work and found this waiting for me on my desk.

It’s a Valentine from Lynne. Being every bit as juvenile as she, I returned the sentiment with a similar Valentine that said “bite me” with a chocolate peanut butter heart that, when eaten by her allergicness, would certainly send her into anaphylactic shock. “Happy V-day, the hives are festive!” (I’m not evil! I didn’t know she was allergic to pb.)

This set off a cacophony of emails regarding phrases we’d rather see on the Necco conversation hearts than stupid crap like “be mine” and “I love you.” The following is a collaborative list for your reading pleasure:

• No BJ 4 U
• UR Fat
• U Suck
• I (heart) boobs
• Hate U
• Dum Ass
• B Gone
• U R A Douche
• Sweet tits
• Nice Cans
• Crotch rot
• Fat bitch
• Butt Pirate
• Prn Star
• Whiz on me
• A-hole
• Me so horny
• Dck hed
• Baby daddy?
• Butt sex

Had we the time and ability to write in tiny, tiny letters we would have gone into the break room and written these on the bowl of hearts on the table in there. Can you imagine the look on a librarian’s face when she picks up a heart that says “butt sex” on it?

Wicked. Pissah.

My husband calling my daughter over to him, angling his butt toward her, and farting in her general direction only for her to throw her hands in the air and shout “Yea!  You did it!  Good job Daddy! You made a big, big, poop noise!”

Priceless

I loathe Valentine’s day. In my opinion, it’s nothing more than an enormous crock of shit. It’s a day of disappointment, and most likely a giant fight. How could it not be when your worth as a person is measured in cards, flowers, candy, jewelry, and romantic dinners. Nothing could ever hold up under this kind of pressure.

We’re supposed to expect that diamond heart necklace from the TV commercials– the JC Penney ad says “Today is the day everyone gets what they want.” (Just in case you missed it fellas, they’re implying that if you buy your sweetie a diamond heart pendant, you’ll get a big bj out of it. Good luck with that.) In reality, what most of us get, if we’re lucky, is a crummy bent up card that says Feliz día de San Valentín, Maria! purchased at the last possible moment from the picked over racks at CVS. Most people I know don’t even get that. Sometimes I don’t get anything either.

And I don’t feel sorry for the singletons. I’d actually rather be single because you don’t expect anything from anyone and you can enjoy a wonderful pity party on the couch with your good pals Ben & Jerry and Kendall Jackson while watching Bridget Jones’ Diary instead of fighting with some thoughtless douche.

So with all of this let down and disappointment during this impossibly retarded holiday, I say screw you St. Valentine. I also say up yours Hallmark, and bite me jewelry people. You did this to us.  You took what could have been a fairly decent holiday and twisted it into something depressing and ugly.

So, I have a homework assignment for you. Tell me about your Valentine’s day–if any of you have had a really romantic one, let us know it isn’t all total bullshit for everyone. If you’ve had an awful one, let us know about that too since it totally proves I’m right.

Dear smug bitch at the library who insulted both my daughter and myself when she said my kid is “beautiful, but out of control and needs discipline,”

For your information, bitch face, my daughter is spirited, brilliant, independent, outgoing, creative, and yes, gorgeous. She’s an incredible little kid who is full of life and enthusiasm. She’s only 2 years old and is learning how to share toys and play with other kids. She makes mistakes, but is she a discipline problem? I think fucking not. How dare you say that she is? You don’t even fucking know her!

She’s nothing like the two little lemmings you drag around behind you. Have you noticed that while all the other kids are laughing and squirming around during the story, your nice and nephew are sitting there with their mouths hanging open like two little lobotomy patients? They’re the real freaks here lady, and I can tell you’re very proud of yourself by the way you stand in the back of the room with your arms folded with that smug look on your face, watching all the other moms struggle to keep squiggly two year olds still. And do you really need to control them so much as to force them to do the storytime craft exactly like the librarian’s example? Would it kill you to let the poor kids do what they want with the materials given to them? They are, after all, only TWO YEARS OLD!! Oh, and by the way, little Alex may be able to spell his name, but he sure as hell can’t write it. I saw him scribbling. You’d better get on that. He’s out of control.

You really pissed me off today with your fucking smug bullshit. Overbearing ass holes like you are the ones who raise Unabombers. Remember the expression, “it’s the quiet ones you have to worry about?” Well, it looks like you’ve got a fucking problem on your hands. Two of them, actually.

You’re really lucky there won’t be another storytime for a few weeks. The way I feel right now, I’m likely to show up in my gladiator outfit and open up a can of whoop ass on you.

How’s that for discipline?

When in the hell is this writer’s strike going to be over because I cannot handle having nothing to watch on TV. It’s the only fun I have all day, dammit!

I was totally bummed to see that the best thing on TV last night was stupid American Gladiator, which I’ve never watched before in my life.

But you know what? Seriously? I can totally kick some ass on that show.

I’m goin’ for it, baby.

Behold! The next American Gladiator.

I’m totally rockin’ that outfit aren’t I?

Ooooohhhhh yeaaahh!

Things found around the house that look like a penis, but aren’t.

This is actually a plastic toddler spoon.

Moen: Buy it for looks, buy it for life.

Penis hat complete with reservoir tip.

Well, it ain’t gonna eat itself!

Breathtaking when it’s lit.

Jesus Christ child molester!

Happy Monday!

You’re going to be seeing penises everywhere now.

We went to Ikea yesterday. It’s a marvelous, marvelous wonderland.

I actually had trouble sleeping Friday night because I was so excited to go. We’ve attempted Ikea before with Mustang Sally in tow, so this time we dropped her off at my mother’s and headed off ALONE! I was positively giddy. When we got there I was so excited I actually skipped and jumped through the parking lot. It was like the mother ship was calling me home.

I really am that queer.

We purchased a variety of items with odd names that will undoubtedly make our lives better in that hip, ergonomic Ikea sort of way. I love how everything in the store has a name you cannot pronounce. Some of them sound vaguely dirty and I think they’re just obscene words in some made up language.

As soon as we got home, my husband and I tore into our purchases like two little kids on Christmas morning. He started putting stuff together right away. The Melodi pendant lamp in our kitchen looks totally fab with the red Stefan chairs he spent the evening assembling. I bought wine glasses as big as my head (hooray for wine!), and for the girl we found a down comforter (for $10!!!!) and the pervy sounding Fabler Prickar duvet set to go with it. But the new mattress for the sofa bed–the Sultan Fageras–takes the prize for the wackiest name. I can’t help but picture sultans lounging around on it while hot shirtless men fan them with palm leaves. Out of everything we bought, my favorite thing was a clear plastic colander for girlfriend to play with in the bath. It was $1.

It has come to my attention only just recently that I’m pretty happy. I suspect that I’ve been happy for quite some time, but just didn’t notice until now. This is noteworthy because I’ve always been sort of depressed, so to discover that I’m actually quite content and even happy comes as a bit of a shock.

I feel happy.

Huh. Who knew?