Well, since today is 24 months (i.e. 2 years; yay, me!) that I've been technically married to a woman I've spent 26 HOURS with, I thought I'd do me one of them post things.
And so I have.
Strange happenings on the workplace front. For some reason, I've been promoted again. With the possibility of another in the relatively near future.
For those of y'all keeping score, since last May 7th, I've:
- been promoted and, therefore, changed careers, 3 times
- renewed my driving career after a 16 year hiatus
- ceased, desisted and refrained from wearing my self-loathing like a badge of honor after having done so for, essentially, 34 years; you'd be surprised (I know I was and am, daily) how differently the womenfolks (hell, everyfuckingbody, but, since life ain't nothing but bitches and money...) are responding to l'il ol' me as of late
- made me what I like to think of as 3 lifelong nemeses; the fella what got passed over for the gig I accepted (sans applying); the coworker what had to put off his long-planned Vacation to the U.S. because of my rapid ascension and us being left shorthanded; and good ol' Pudge, who I will now be able to put to work, so's she can actually earn her salary for a change and stop stealing from the company
And yes, I totally sold them out with regard to how completely fucking worthless they are when some regional higher up-type folk were creeping around last week. Hey, they ASKED. And were told that I was leaving for 2 reasons: a) the opportunity for further advancement and 2) I'm tired of watching these 2 nitwits fuck the pooch all the day. I mean, come on, that poor canine has more than had ENOUGH. Anyway, now I'm up to 4 reasons. 3) the $7000/year raise, which will make my performance bonuses increase accordingly and d) the opportunity to ensure that, after carrying my coworkers lo these past 4 months, I'll (with the full support of management, I asked) be able to keep them busy and working a full day. And I fully intend to keep Pudge running around so much that she'll run off her freakishly outsized ass. Even if spending any fucking time with her at all kinda makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little. A lot.
Because I'm a giver. A real humanitarian. A sage, even.
Is it sad that I'm thrilled to no end by the stylish yet divinely (yes, more than confident enough in my masculinity to use the word divinely; again) comfortable leather captain's chairs my new boss has provided for the office? Don't care. I love them. But I don't, like, LOVE them. That would be wrong.
And anatomically awkward, to boot.
Monday night, I managed to open a shapely young adorable on our softball opposition of the evening. Yes, I took advantage of the fact that she'd just been drilled in the leg with a line drive (context is all; think beyond the tired pickup lines) and was knocking back wobbly pops (to drop some Don Cherry on y'all). Where the trouble comes into Paradise is that I failed to neg her on her braces, oncet I noticed them, although I did make like she was all bad ass when she claimed to be all grrrrr about being in pain and shit. Nope, didn't close. But if you don't learn, you don't grow. No failure, only feedback.
Besides, I'm sure we'll play them again and I can take me a more effective run at young Ashley. Oh yes, I was more than excellent in her presence, despite the 2 first inning fielding errors (play the ball, don't let it play you; oh my yes, there's a bigger metaphor in there somewhere); going 5 for 5 at the plate with 2 home runs. Yeah, that's how I roll.
On a happier note, last night at beach volleyball, yet another of them accursed K's was complaining about getting sand in her face. Yeah, like that's the first time you've ever taken a facial was, of course, my response. At which point she stared at me in open mouthed wonder and got hit with an errant pass because she wasn't paying attention. Good Times.
Yes, she's a premium. Yes, she knew the old me, the one who never said anything to anybody. Yes, things are different now. With more to come.
And yes, I'm out. Be good and be safe.