More odds and ends

I think I've finally found the perfect coffeemaker.  See if you can find the one thing that keeps me from getting it.

We have a new tenant at our office building.

Clown pants

I work at home a lot.  My job is pretty much reading, thinking, and writing, and I can do that better at home  where there are fewer external distractions.  There still are some, but they're good:  a view of trees, a squirrel eating my tulip bulbs, children getting out of school, the changing light as the sun passes overhead.
I've got my stuff and my comfortable chairs and I can cook for lunch instead of reheating stuff or buying a grease bomb from down the street.  There is color on the walls here.  The rugs are nice.  It smells better (mostly--depends on Tiki).  If I want fresh air, I can open a window.  If I want music, I can play whatever I want as loud as I want.  I've got my dogs with me and I can hear them breathing/snoring, and feel Kirby's fur on my feet (he's clingy.  Tiki likes his space.)

I've got the best of the offices allotted to widget monkeys like me and I like my office.  But the external distractions are more numerous and more irritating:  loud hallway conversations, a neighbor's excessive perfume, the smell of another neighbor's laundry detergent, the churning grind of the ventilation unit, the paper jamming in the shared printer outside my office door (it's a piece of crap; we've been begging for a new one for several years), people fussing with the printer to clear the paper jam, the IT guys fiddling with the printer and devising a short-term solution but not solving the real problem (i.e., the printer is a piece of shit), the sound of sirens in the street, the picket line chanting in front of my building (some people don't like the landlord's business practices), demonstrations in front of the American Enterprise Institute down the street (some people don't like Dick Cheney or Karl Rove).  The walls are boring and the lighting is bad and the ventilation is OK but not good enough for my particular sensibilities and the carpet is grubby.  Etc.

Boing Boing Boing

Today is a Tigger day.


1. I have already done a day's worth of work. A productive Bunny is a happy Bunny, because as we all know, she measures her value according to her accomplishments. It's amazing what not being treated like a stupid person and suspected conspirator can do for one's morale.

2. Two of Bunny's teams are playing/have played today, so there will be excellent footie tonight.

3. I cut Kirby's toenails last night all by myself without having to pay anyone to do it for me and, although there was a shaky moment or two, I did not kill the dog. Hooray! Now he walks a lot quieter.

4. I got Collard Greens in my farm box yesterday. I soooooooo hate them and I was going to just face the truth and throw them out right away but then Ah hed an eyedeear. I'm going to braise them with olives and pancetta and sundried tomatoes and maybe less salt than I used last time I braised greens that way and maybe maybe maybe they'll be palatable! And even if I hate them, Mr. D will eat them because they will contain pork.

Oh yeah. That's why.....

Prologue

Last week I noticed that I needed new clothes. All of my warm-weather tops are old and faded. This one I never really liked because the collar is funny. That one has a little hole in it if you look hard enough. That other one has tiny little spots from a bleach accident. This one here suffered through an olive oil splatter. I can't wear these any more, especially not to work. I thought I didn't care how I looked, but I guess I do, at least a little.

It occurred to me that it's at least possible that I have something that fits in the downstairs closet where I keep the out-of-season clothes. I haven't looked in a couple of years because I have been going through a prolonged fuck-off phase. That's right. I've just been wearing the same three identical faded black tops over and over since at least 2008, maybe 2007. So I went and checked and lo and behold I discovered a whole stash of long-sleeve shirts in all of my favorite colors that I could have been wearing all along. Oh well. But even better, I also have a stash of non-faded, non-stained short-sleeve tops that I can wear this summer. Bonus! And half of them fit! Double bonus! I don't have to buy new clothes after all.

Indiana and Dogs

Lucky, lucky Dirtbunny. She has to, I mean she gets to, spend next week in fabulous Indianapolis at a mandatory conference put on by the Teeny Tiny Government Entity. Some people were hoping that it would get canceled on the account of the economy, but no. So I will be gone next week. I got me my plane tickets. I got me my special soap and shampoo so I'm not stuck with hotel soap and shampoo (I'd pack towels and a pillow if I had space). I got me my safety cup (so I can drink the brown water that hotels call coffee without spilling). I got me my Ipod loaded with learn-to-speak-Italian stuff. I got me my knitting projects (or I will decide which ones to take). I have programmed the DVR to capture the Champions League, Bundesliga, Serie A, and La Liga matches that I would otherwise miss. I have started the laundry.

Aside from hotel conference room chairs, hotel conference lunch buffets, hotel conference "coffee," and fabulous speakers on fabulous topics, I get some forced socializing with the people I work with every damn day. I can't tell you how much I am looking forward to that, because it's spring time, and spring time is when Dirtbunny's depression likes to hit the skids, so socializing seems like an impossible task. But I also get the following amazing perks:

One: I will not have to cook my own dinner. This means I won't be having anything good for dinner until I get back, but still.

Two: Beagle-free time. I love them, but it will be nice not to have Tiki clawing at my boobs and Kirby kicking me in the back all the time.

Here we have Mr. Don't-Touch-Me using the object of his scorn as a pillow...

...as he stretches out and demands a belly rub.

He has it rough, poor little dog.

[sleeping in The Man's spot, as usual]

No beagle time means no more daily trips to the vet to drop off Kirby, and then second daily trips to the vet to pick him up. He's done with his radiation. I took some photos of his "graduation" (gag!) on his last day. I wasn't going to post them because they are out of focus, but then I decided that they capture Kirby's special nature perfectly. So here he is coming out after his last day of cancer treatment:

[kinda happy, as you can tell by the prancing front foot, but also, what are you going to do to me now? Where's Bunny? Where am I? What's happening?]

[There you are Bunny. Can we go?]

[I said let's go! Why aren't we going yet?]

Yes, they gave him a bandana to wear. Don't ask me why. His side effects are supposed to kick in while I'm gone. While it might be comforting to be around when they are happening, because I would have the illusion of control over the whole thing, I have to say that there's an upside to not being there while he's suffering. Poor little guy. We are going to do a treatment dress rehearsal tomorrow, so The Man will know The Correct Way We Do Things Around Here (tm), but if he decides to do things his way, well, what I don't know won't hurt me.

The Bianconeri play the Calabrians (Reggina) tomorrow, but it is not being broadcast. Reggina is dead last in Serie A, so the Zebras actually have a shot, but I won't get to see it. Oh well. To soothe myself, here are some photos that make Bunny happy:

[Gigi speaking the international language of "Who? Me?" to a Hibernian he recently flattened]

[Capi looking like he's about to beat the crap out of that wanker, Iaquinta. I'm not sure what Capi is really doing, and Iaqunita probably needed to have the crap beaten out of him--he usually does--but somehow I doubt that this is actually what is depicted here. Still, a girl can dream.]

[Mr. January offering you a platter of prosciutto, because he works part-time in the deli, and if you would just spend your tourism dollars in Emilia-Romagna, you might just bump into him. Yeah. Right. Please note that the German word for "parmesan" includes the root "cheese." In other words, in German, "parmesan" is "parmesancheese." And you wonder why German words are so long.]

And here's ADP sharing an affectionate moment with his protege-slash-groupie, Sebastian Giovinco. ADP is not a large man. He's listed as 5'8", which means that maybe, MAYBE, he's 5'7 1/2" with his boots on. Look how tiny Little Sebastian is. He's fast though. When he learns to defend and to finish his shots, he's going to be a humdinger.

In Which Bunny's Horrible No-Good Day Ends not so Badly After All

Oh, Man, but yesterday sucked.



First, I dreamed that I was living in a one-room rat-infested apartment with The Man and Bossboy, only there were leaky pipes in the walls, so water was spouting forth from several places. Dream Bunny, of course, was expected to handle this. Nice.



Then, I hit the snooze two extra times before I could get up. Twarnt easy. I seriously considered just lying there and trying to disappear. I eventually rousted myself by asking WWADPD? ADP would get his perfect Italian ass out of bed and get it to training and if he ran into any fans, he would smile and sign autographs and not be a dick. That's what he would do. Thus, Bunny must also get up and get through the day.


Then, I puked. This is not terribly uncommon for days when I have to go to the office, but I really prefer not to barf, given the choice.

I decided to wear my Prince of Darkness costume (black pants, black top, and black sweater) except for these:










and a pair of shoes that may or may not be forbidden under our dress code. "Is grey area" as coach said in The Cutting Edge. (I know. Shit movie, but we love it.) These socks made me feel like John Belushi in Animal House, in the scene where he dresses in his cat burglar outfit and white socks to go spy on the girls in the sorority house.



I dried my hair. It came out uncommonly big:



because I always use too much or too little product. Boy do my highlights need a touch-up.



Since I was wearing the Prince of Darkness suit, I decided to go all out and wear the Raccoon eye makeup. Why not announce to the entire world

I AM GRUMPY

without even opening my mouth. Sometimes I do it this way:





That's Bunny Bitchface at an office Holiday Party. Guess who didn't want to be there? Guess who didn't want her photo taken?


So, raccoon. Problem, though, because I ditched all my old eye pencils, including the black one, and the new grey one is too subtle. I want a message that screams:

KEEP AWAY!

and a tasteful grey was not going to cut it. Bummer. I did, however, have a new sapphire eye pencil. Nothing subtle about that. So I drew great big smeary blue circles around my eyes, and then I added some glittery pink eye shadow and a dark pink lip gloss for that bigmouth look, and I put on my earrings that don't match (earrings are not covered in the dress code) and thus attired, all

BACK OFF. DO NOT TOUCH!

..I trudged off to Mordor via the Black Gate, I mean the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge.




Everything is supposed to be magically better now because we have President Hopey-Changey, but I'm still fat and grouchy, and traffic is still crappy, and 17th Street was still partially blocked for the unending renovation of the Old Executive Office Building--now with cinder blocks 18 inches into the center lane in addition to orange and white striped traffic barrels!



But H Street is clear now that new POTUS-HC has moved out of the hotel and into the White House. They finished the renovations at St. John's church, so it was easier pulling over to let out The Man for his short walk to the Department of Bureaus, or whatever I call it. The AFL-CIO building had a giant banner facing the White House that said "Welcome Sasha and Malia!" and all the other union HQ buildings along 16th Street had new "Yay for Unions" banners hanging up.


And so I get to the Teeny Tiny Government Entity and I enter the parking garage and here are my first two thoughts:



1: The seat belt is pinching my boobs. Ouch. Ouch ouch ouch. I can't be the only person with boobs who drives. Can they not design a seat belt for people with boobs? Why? whywhywhy



2: And I parked in my usual spot that I choose because it's never blocked by the valet if I want to leave early, and the Big Banana has gotten there before me and taken the space next to mine and I recognize his car of course and I think: We used to be friends, but now he hates me.



That's right, people, my first work-related thought is an involuntary one about how Banana hates me. Great attitude. Not at all like ADP.


But I get up to the lobby and there's this:

New POTUS photo. That's good. And --Hey!-- my plants didn't die over the long weekend when I forgot to water them. That's good. But I have trouble making coffee and end up with a mouthful of coffee grounds. And then I see one of my many therapists and get a most unwelcome lecture about how I don't eat enough protein.

And stuff happens at work. My last draft was only mostly perfect, not completely perfect. I, naturally, go all Diva all over the place. They hate meeeeeee! They are trying to crush Dirtbunnyeeeeeeee! Bossboy handles this pretty well, because, as eggs go, he is a good one. But Bunny has to finish sulking before she can comply with her marching orders.

So she tries to stop sulking. But she can't. She is too worked up. Too pissed off. Protein, my ass. Grump grump grump. Plus, way too much caffeine today.

Dirtbunny puts in the IPOD ear bugs and starts blasting music of insolence and alienation, and she takes one of her emergency back-up happy pills for those times when she is irrationally worked up and can't clam down by herself and she stomps around in her tiny little office pretending that she is crushing people under her feet, and gradually, she feels a little more powerful and a little more clam and then she thinks,

"If only Banana would love me again"

and that thought sets off another wave of self-hatred. Oh. My. God. I. Am. Such. A. Whore!

But it also shocks me into a get-over-yourself sort of place. Come on Bunny, try a little. And I get over it, and I do what I am asked to do, and I do it well, and I move on.

Ok, then. I am good at my job. I am Pinturicchio. I turn the IPOD to my bagpipes playlist. Bagpipes always make me feel like kicking someone's ass, so I commence to kicking ass by finally, finally, finally, finishing a case in a box that has been NO FUN. OK, then. I am Pinturicchio.

And that, my friends, was a full fucking day, so it was past time to go home, and I went and watched the replay of the Coppa Italia game that the cable ate yesterday, and Daniele De Rossi is growing out his hair and Alberto Aquilani got some playing time for once and Old Man Panooch didn't get to play but Big Swede scored another goal and Inter won but it's not a league game so it isn't bad for Juventus, and I eat some ice cream and clean Kirby's ears and all is well.

More about the office

I've got my job on the brain and not much else to say. How about if you all pretend that I have just written a highly entertaining rant about work.

There. Wasn't that amusing? Better than reading an actual work rant.


This is a photo of the big bookcase in Bunny's office. Back in days of yore, when we still had a "backlog" and were ordering furniture, Bunny was carrying a caseload of 30-35 cases. Bunny needed a place to put all that stuff, so she selected a nice tall bookcase to put it in. Now the backlog is gone, and Bunny is carrying a whopping two cases today. Sometimes, it goes all the way up to four! So no need for the big bookcase. There's still some work down there at the bottom, but mostly it is filled with toys and supplies.


I have an apple and a banana. I have the travel mug from the morning commute. I have my dinosaur, Hose. He's good for holding rubber bands around his neck and he makes a good paperweight.

Up there on the top shelf, I have my Cat Lady and her assorted kitties in repose on a stack of subversive books (one of them is a dictionary of corporate bullshit that defines terms like "team work" and "thinking out of the box"). I have some plastic spiders up there and a contraband candle. I'm pretty sure that I am not supposed to have candles. Here's the thing. No one actually cares about my stupid candles as long as I employ common-sense safety techniques. Therefore, no one is telling me that I have to ixnay the candles. However, if I were to ask for permission, permission would have to be denied. This is all a chickenshit sort of don't ask don't tell. I like the candles. They smell good, and I need something that will mask the stench of my neighbor's cloud of White Linen. I used to wear White Linen myself, but this person soaks in it. I can smell it in my office with my door closed. Hell, some days it's so strong I can taste it. So the candles help with that. Also, I get a petty little boost from the whole forbidden aspect of it. What? I said it was petty.

What else? Oh, my nutritionist is always nagging me about not getting enough protein in my diet, so I have a Giant Can Of Protein Powder that I sometimes mix with soymilk to make a protein shake. Or I did. That can now lives at home and I use it in smoothies.

Finally, but most importantly, I have my coffee-making apparatus. I like coffee really really strong and I don't like going out to get it and the coffee club at work is not an option flavor-wise. So I have my own French Press, and I have a can of regular and a can of decaf, and I use hot water from the water club machine and make my own about three times a week. I get about a cup and a half of dark, sludgy stuff, with caffeine or without as my whim might be, and the only downside is The Man isn't there to clean up after me. I have to do my own dishes. That bites. But, since I'm the only one who uses it, it only has to be clean-ish, not clean. If I want it clean, I take it home and run it through the dishwasher, probably about once a week.

Where it all happens

This is Dirtbunny's office. This is where she makes all the money that is required to keep The Boys in kibble and medical tests. This view is from the door looking in.



Bunny's office is small, even compared to some of the other offices, but it is nice, and it has a great view. Out the window there and across the street is the National Geographic building. The building is terraced and has plantings along the terraces, and a courtyard with trees and sculpture. For a city view in Our Nation's Capital, there is actually something to look at. Not an alley, a real view.

One of the guys/gals over at "The Geo" has a row of Emmy awards sitting on his/her windowsill. Bunny does not have a row of Emmys. That person gets Emmys when he does his job well. Not so much for Bunny.

Bunny has put a sun catcher in the window. Also, her peace lily is there. The peace lily used to live at home until Kirby started to nibble on it. Lilies are bad for dogs. Whether that includes peace lilies as well, I don't know. I'm not taking chances. So the peace lily came with me to work. There is an empty Diet Pepsi bottle next to it. I know someone who has an extensive collection of empty soda bottles in the office, along with a great many other objects that most of the rest of us would consider to be trash. I'm pointing out my single Diet Pepsi bottle just to let you know that I use it to collect water for the peace lily, every Friday afternoon, and not because I keep garbage in my office.

That big orange box on the left is censoring something that you don't need to know about. I'm too ashamed to tell you what it is today.

Bunny has an ordinary office chair. A few years ago, we had a big pile of end-of-year funds to spend and lots of people got fancy new chairs. They put models in the break room for people to try out. The problem was, all the chairs had names like "Freedom" and "Liberty." God knows which government contractor manufactured those things. What appalling names. I could not bring myself to choose, so I did not get a fancy new ergonomic chair. In retrospect, that might have been a mistake. At the time though, I just couldn't. Who names chairs things like "Freedom," "Liberty," and "Patriot"? It was a philosophical choice and I stand by it. But it would have been nice to get a new chair.