nobody puts kimli in the corner

It figures – as soon as I’m told I can’t do something, I’m all mad about it even though it’s what I wanted all along.

There’s a procedure at work that is usually done by the Advanced Gene-Splicing Team, but ever since I figured out how to do it, I’ve been just splicing the genes myself. It’s faster, I can ensure it gets done when I need it done, and hey who doesn’t want the chance to play god from time to time? Unfortunately, word got out that I can splice genes with the best of them and for the last couple weeks I’ve been finding myself splicing more and more genes at the request of others. It was making me very grumpy, as I wasn’t just doing the work of the AGST but also the Molecular Restructurers, the DNA Fundamentalists, AND the guy who ships out the body parts when we’re done with them.

I’ve been really spreading myself thin with these extra duties, and completely ignoring my actual job to do the work of others. Yesterday I was completely downtrodden and world-weary about the entire thing, and a morning meeting away from telling everyone that I would no longer be their bitch – all requests needed to go through to the appropriate departments and they would all do their own part. It’s only fair, after all. I was never meant to actually do all the stuff that I am currently doing.

When I returned from lunch yesterday afternoon, I had an email in my inbox from the leader of the AGST telling me I was no longer allowed to splice genes and that his team MUST be the splicers to guard against foreign antibodies invading the nucleus of the cells. That’s good; it’s what I wanted. Each department is responsible for their own work.

.. except I HATE being told that I can’t do something, and now I’m all pissy that I’m not allowed to splice genes anymore.

It’s not FAIR. I can totally do it. I’m good at it. I can check for errors; I know how. Is it because I’m a girl? Because I’m not white? Why won’t you let me splice genes? I’m good enough to be on the Advanced Gene-Splicing Team! LET ME DO YOUR WORK, DAMNIT!

Isn’t that stupid? I’m fully aware of how utterly irrational I’m being, but at the same time I am totally cranky about it all. I don’t want to do the work. Yesterday I had a mini freak out over having to do the work. I’ve been told I’m not allowed to do the work, and all of a sudden I am MAD that I can’t do the work that I didn’t want to do in the first place.

I’m blaming this on hormones.

rage makes my face scrunchie

rage makes my face scrunchie

horrible faux pas

We have a temp in the office whose name we shall say is Mildred Whire. Mildred needed access to a certain database, so I created an account for her as she was standing over me watching (as I was trying to show her how to find some information).

I created her an account in the name of Mildred Whore.

Now I feel bad.

Oops.

step one: fuck off

Few things fuel me into a rage of activity like having my job summed up as “making things pretty”.

By now it’s not much of a secret that I’m a technical writer – I make documents. Sometimes, I will take other people’s documents and clean them up so they’re a) accurate, b) easy to follow, and c) formatically perfect. Yes, I suppose this could all be dumbed up as “making things pretty”, but I do so much more than that – for example, I’m also a process mastermind. The reason I sit in on these boring-ass meetings isn’t because I’m here to take notes, I’m here to point out the ways in which you’ve fucked up and suggest an alternate process that makes life easier for a dozen people in the long run. And yes, I will document the processes I create when I’m done. I’ll even put some flowers in the margins, if you want it prettied up that badly. But when we’re in a meeting and you announce that Joe will do X and Ann with do Y and Fred will do Q and then “Kimli will just make it pretty”, you are an ass.

Also, I outrank you. So please fuck off, and thank you.

bad kimli, no biscuit

Things it is time to do:

  • Straighten up and fly right
  • Buckle down
  • Apply nose to grind stone; hold
  • Work hard for the money (so hard for it honey)
  • Find a way to translate “if you’ve got time to lean you’ve got time to clean” into an office setting – current contenders include “if you’ve got time to chat you’ve got time to install Red Hat” and “if you’ve got time to stalk your former crushes on Facebook, you’ve got time to take a look (at this month’s QA report)”
  • Climb inside box; think of things not presently in box with me
  • Burn a candle at both ends
  • Attempt to catch worm
  • Find book; fly by it
  • Get with the program

My boss inquired as to my working hours today, as he spotted me come in late and leave early yesterday. I’m routinely late – I have an issue with mornings – but I never leave early unless I have an appointment (as I did yesterday; new hair) and I don’t take lunch breaks so .. it all evens out, in my own head. Still, the stench of inquisition is upon me and I must change my ways to appear timely. I have a good thing going here, and I don’t want to fuck it up because I can’t get out of bed 30 minutes earlier.

My bra is incredibly uncomfortable.

indisposed

I’m in training at work for the next two days, and I suppose I should pay attention. As a result, I’ll be a little less verbose than usual – I know, it’s a damn shame. I suppose I could live blog this thing, but staying awake may be an issue here, let alone being witty on demand.

Thank goodness for expensive toys and caffeine.

die qa die

Quality Assurance tastes like blood.

I mean, it *could* be because I just bit my lip and it’s bleeding but I really do think that it’s the QA, and it tastes like blood.

I hate doing QA. I’m sure that being on the other end of QA isn’t any fun either, but manually wading through all this data makes my head hurt and look for distractions. For example, writing about how much I hate doing QA. No good.

I think I’ll just fail everyone.

That’ll show ‘em.

I am too busy to write any real content, so you should hate QA too.

Here are some pictures I took during the soccer innings.

carded

The Purple Monkey Dishwatergate Scandal was demoralizing, but I’m completely over that now – my new desk RULES.

I’ve taken over two cubicles in the row of three, and I’ve spread out and nested quite satisfactorily. Already this morning many people have come by to comment on the coziness of my Science Hole. The overhead fluorescent lights in this corner are out (IT people tend to shun the light), and my window has a blind that shields me from that nasty “natural light” phenomenon – I can work in total darkness, bathed only in the unhealthy glow of my two LCD monitors; or I can choose to work by Ikea desk lamp as I am doing right now. It is awesome. If I had something to eat, things would be darn near perfect.

The Mail Fairy just brought me a present – my Moo Business Cards! I let them breathe for a few minutes before I tore the package open, and it was worth the tantalization – they’re *gorgeous*! I hesitated when ordering them because you’re faced with two paper choices – the original (used for Moo cards), or the “green” method (100% recycled, different texture). The hippie in me won out and I chose the green cards, and I’m glad I did. They look awesome! The cards also come in a nifty little box with index cards to separate other people’s cards from your own. So cute! I was a little worried how my logo would turn out – I had a bitch of a time figuring out what size the image had to be for decent uploading – but it came out just perfect. I love Moo. Every single thing I’ve bought from them has just blown me away in regards to ingenuity and quality. Yay for Moo!

Boo, however, for terrible Content Management Systems that are maintained by monkeys and crash in the middle of an article. No, I didn’t need that document I spent the last hour working on. Go ahead, crash Firefox. See if I care.

Jerks.

relocation

The effects of the Purple Monkey Dishwashergate Scandal are fast and far-reaching – I’ve spent the morning moving my desk in The Lab down the hall, away from those I gone did done wrong somehow. I was always going to be moving, as my old desk belonged to someone out having babies and was due to return shortly; the scandal just moved things up a few weeks. My new spot is much better, actually. I have a whole row to myself, a window seat, and a ledge for my many, many toys. It is good.

That doesn’t mean it still didn’t sting to learn that people were in an uproar over something I allegedly did, though.

fuck

For somebody with such large and ugly feet and a relatively small mouth, the two seem to interact with spectacular results at an alarmingly frequent rate.

I may just never speak again.

justify my kimli

I’ve been stressing since yesterday afternoon about a Big Important Meeting with my boss that I accidentally missed. We had the meeting this morning, and SURPRISE! EMPLOYEE EVALUATION! Gah.

However, I am apparently awesome. The evaluation was glowing, none of my upcoming goals were a surprise, my boss is delighted with both my work and my pleasant odors, and I am just great. I work well with others! It says so in my review!

Take that, elementary school teachers!

Hah.

In other news, I saw a 6-storey Mr. Peanut on my way to work this morning.

I am not sure if I was hallucinating, or if it was real – it could have gone either way as I am now in hour 22 of a nasty localized headache. Everyone tells me it’s not a toomah, but what if it IS and it’s making me hallucinate giant corporate spokesnuts? I would not be surprised if the Michelin Man started waltzing through downtown Vancouver. In fact, I would welcome it.

My head hurts.

Also, Ed loves me. I know this because yesterday when I was feeling terrible he went to the post office to pick up my gay porn. Any man that would voluntarily fetch his wife’s extreme hardcore gay homosexual man-on-man porn collection without protest and with a smile is totally a keeper.