Duh

Our server was upgraded at work over the weekend.

Somehow in the process, the genius(es) responsible didn't buy enough licenses for the number of clients connecting to the server.

As my friend at work said, "NICE. With a capital DUH."

Mind your beeswax

Conversation this morning:

Old Biddy: "Just keep getting lower and lower, huh?" (looking at my sweater)
Me: (astonished) What are you talking about? This is a tank top. (Pointing to the tank top I'm wearing under the sweater, thinking maybe she's so insane she thinks my bra is peeking out)
Old Biddy: Laughs indulgently, walks away.

Did she just call me the office whore? Did she just comment that my tops were getting lower and lower cut as if I was skanking it up?

What the fucking fuck? Seriously, I'm sorry, should I also make sure my elbows, knees and ankles are covered at all times? I wouldn't want to drive the menfolk mad with lust.

Holy fucking Christ you are totally out of your mind.

Things that are not my fault, for the record

1. That my cellphone didn't ring when you called it, though it was sitting on my hip with a full signal.

2. That one of the owners of the company is up your ass today.

3. That someone else who works for you didn't do something you expected them to do a week and a half ago.

Therefore, please do not take your frustrations out by being rude and snippy with me.

Thanks.

Mail is hell

You know what shouldn't take an entire fucking afternoon? Opening and stamping received stamps on one day's mail. That's right my friends. One day.

It's wrong. Very very wrong.