To Everything, there is a Season

I just realized I should have kept this for a post about cooking and called it, for everything, there is a seasoning. Oh well, too late.

Things come in cycles, they say. I must be on mine, because this is an odd time. On the bright side, we picked up the vivarium on Sunday, and it is awesome! The downside to that: after the beating Carly took in the play area last night, I doubt Minnie and Emmy will tolerate her in there. Also, I attempted to order a totally cool feeding station, only to be notified this morning that they’re not shipping anything right now. Then again, my dad called yesterday to let me know the piggie castle for the play area will finally arrive in the next couple of weeks. Yay!

Apart from that, I really can’t wait to get out of the job. Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but not only am I really tired of working this crap job, I’m getting seriously p.o.’d with my company which has now decided to double-tax me instead of streamlining the pay process. At this point, I just want to leave. Let me go back to PetSmart, at least, I enjoyed working there.

And since Sunday, I’ve been largely immobile due to incredible back stiffness. I guess those two slamdowns in the past three years were not appreciated by my spine as much as I had hoped. I’d like to report that I’m doing appropriate exercises for that, but since I can’t move, that’s a bit tough. Might be time to find a chiropractor.

The Week’s a Bust

I don’t know what it is this week. Since Monday, people have been nothing but naggy, unprofessional, unfair and generally fucking anstrengend. Yes, dear readers, it has come to this, I’ve finally broken and given in to my cussing inner schweinhund. Really, that says a LOT about the quality of this week.

Sadly, it’s all work, too. I think if somebody complains about the same easy-to-correct-yourself thing for the 200th time, you should be allowed to take them down with a taser. Let me get with my procurement department on that. The bad thing is, when a colleague gets treated unfairly and basically downright mobbed by someone you can’t do anything about, you can’t do anything about it. Well, maybe hire someone’s cousin Guido to give that asshole a good talking to. Too bad I’m not really involved in the Italian community. If I never have to come to this doggone place again, it’s too often. Grrrrrrrr!

On the bright side, at least there is one. A bright side, that is. Last weekend was awesome. The piggies are doing well. I had a nice birthday and was treated to a wonderful dinner at my, let me think, yes, favorite restaurant. And thank, er, whoever you want (because if you really think the divine hotline is still in service, you’re sadly mistaken), it IS finally Friday. When I have some time to breathe in this muddled mess which is my office life, I will take two days’ leave. Don’t call me, I won’t call you.

And that’s all I have to say about that!

Goodbye, Natasha

A few days ago, actress Natasha Richardson suffered a head injury while skiing in Canada with her family. According to reports, at first she got up again, leaving everyone to believe that she had gotten away with only a bump and a scare. But shortly thereafter, she began feeling nauseous and checked herself into the hospital. Because she was diagnosed with severe head trauma and internal bleeding, she was flown to a hospital in the United States, where sadly, she succumbed to her injuries and passed away.

Natasha Richardson was one of those actresses of whom you thought little (as in, not often) until you saw her. She had a lovely, lively yet quiet screen presence. Her private life seemed to very much reflect these same qualities. Married to Liam Neeson since 1994, she was the mother of two boys. Their marriage was never cause of speculation. They always seemed very happy with each other. It is a tragic loss the Neeson family has suffered. I’d like to offer my condolences.

Other than her role in “Nell”, I couldn’t even tell you why she always stood out for me. But a few years ago, after purchasing the DVD collection of the “Adventures of Sherlock Holmes”, I got an unexpected treat: there was a very young Natasha Richardson as Miss Violet Hunter in the tale of the “Copper Beeches”! Even next to the formidable Jeremy Brett, she easily held her own. It remains one of my favorite episodes to this day.

Weekend Success

Left my passport, couldn’t go to Switzerland, went to plan B instead. Went pet shopping, had a great time at the sauna, slept soundly almost all night. Accompanied the dogs on a walk, visited the spring bazaar, tore up a pair of pants and even had time to squeeze in two episodes of “House” in all of this. Yup, I’d call that a successful weekend!

Bad Vibes

Those of you who share my passion for CSI have probably already watched Season 4 (of NY, of course), which is what I’m watching right now. So if you’re up to date, read on. If not, you definitely want to skip this post. Big time spoilers ahead!

I always say that change is inevitable. Sadly, it’s not always good. And whilst I’ve enjoyed the first four episodes I just sucked down like last night’s pizza, I’m not entirely happy with the show. First, they’ve changed the title song. Oh, it’s still The Who, but who needs that techno crap version? Then they’ve changed the title sequence. Fine. Characters develop, things move on. THEN they’ve changed the CSI logo. And the DVD packaging. Am I even still watching the same show?

Well, with Flack’s girlfriend, they’re recycling actors from previous CSIs. Danny and Lindsey still don’t have more than sibling chemistry. And then there are Mac and Peyton. Or rather, then they’re not. Where at the end of Season 3 Mac accompanied Peyton to London to meet her family and they both were quite in love, now Mac has picked up an anonymous stalker and Peyton inexplicably dumps him. I guess they couldn’t figure out how to develop that storyline. Perhaps they should’ve watched some NYPD Blue for pointers. So, lovely Peyton is gone. But at least Stella is being pursued by a guy who looks like a shorter, younger version of the boyfriend she ended up killing. Guess all’s well then.

I should consider myself lucky that I have big changes for Danny to look forward to in Season 5. How do I know this? Because Carmine Giovinazzo has said in an interview that Danny finally gets to lose the glasses and move to contacts. If that’s not a sign! Well, give the man a break. He is a blond, after all.

Think I sound a bit like a sourpuss? You’re darn tootin’! I hate extraneous bullshit. And if all these fancy cosmetic changes they’ve made are to gloss over the fact that the writers ran out of ideas for the lesser characters, I’m in for a rough ride.

My Conscience Beating Me

Oh, it’s bad. It’s killing me! Yesterday, a colleague of mine tossed me a printout. It had an ad for a guinea pig. Seems that a family in K-Town purchased the poor thing for their young son, who -who’d have expected it!- isn’t taking care of it. So they’re trying to get rid of it. It is all alone, probably in a too small cage. At first, I just tossed the paper back. After all, I really don’t have room for a big herd. Then I woke up this morning. And now my conscience is gnawing on me. I have horrible visions of this little piggie getting passed from kid to kid, ending up a frightened, neurotic sad animal. So the question is: what the HELL am I going to do about it!?

If I Were Dennis Miller

If I were Dennis Miller, then writing a rant would be a funny thing. He has such acerbic wit. Adam Sandler would be ok. He’d turn the rant into something goofy. At the end, you’d be left wondering why you were all pissed off to begin with. But really, the best thing would be to have Dave Barry write a rant, because then it would turn out truly bizarre to the point where I’d “swear I’m not making this up.” Sadly, I’m just me. And I’m simply mad and not feeling one damn bit humorous.

Today, I was having a good morning until I got to my place of employment. I work for an organization which stresses its safety greatly. By this, they mean regularly harassing regular people who come to this drab and dreary and entirely unimportant and uninteresting place to sit off their nine hours in their offices and then go home. Nobody on this installation is anyone of any importance. If they closed us tomorrow, hardly anyone would ever know.

But obviously, we’re all being watched. Paranoia is becoming part of our genetic makeup these days. Some have it in their blood more than others. Sadly, one of these somes rules this roost. And because this one overinflated ego apparently lives in fear of everyone, our security folks do more vehicle inspections than at any other place I have ever lived. Seriously, I have lived near many companies that carried a lot more weight than this place. At some of those locations, I lived for years. Yet, the number of times my car, roughly the size of a large bathtub, has gotten inspected more often here than in all the years I lived in, let’s say, Maryland!

My driver’s license, which was issued in 2005, has become nearly unreadable due to the fact that I keep having to pull it out of my wallet. On the other hand, since I spend so much time being scrutinized, I have had the opportunity to observe a few things: more than 90% of inspectees are female. One might say, this merely reflects the constitution of the local workforce. However, I’ve also seen this: two cars in each of the check-in lanes, the first two were male, the second row had one man, one woman. Who got pulled into the bay? Yup, you know it.

Secondly, for the longest time they would target host nation vehicles. It is getting more difficult, but whenever possible, they still do. So, if you’re a carpenter or a mover or a bricklayer or just the garbage collector, I will see you in the bay, no matter how many weeks you’ve come here to work. They do mix things up a bit when the guards get too bored. Apparently, yesterday was “white car” day. A colleague of mine got pulled over three times as part of this brilliant scheme. One guy blatantly admitted that he chose my wheeled bathtub because I have an out-of-town license plate. At least they’re not profiling. We all know how wrong that would be.

Crap like that makes me mad. So, I’ve decided that this is the year when I win the lottery. Then, I’ll quit this job and never come back here again. I’m not making this up!