Surprise!!! ( But not the Good Kind....)

This morning Dillon and I came home from our morning hike and I noticed something truly frightening!  Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a kinda slow moving light colored rodent scurry/saunter across the hallway and then under the couch.  Naturally, my keen self-defense instincts kicked in and I immediately froze in place and stared fixedly at the location.  Because I'm not stupid, I totally knew that the slow saunter it used to get under said couch was a well-thought out trap to lull me into thinking it was not a threatening rodent-like creature, but was rather a sleepy non-threatening monster sent by nature to inspect my furniture placement choices -- and was also likely under some sort of California State Law protecting its right to claim my couch as its natural habitat.

While I stood there frozen, I carefully considered my options and came to the obvious conclusion that I needed to burn down the house.   Cursing my inability to take up smoking and my subsequent lack of a fire starting utensil, I had to go to Plan B....send in Dillon to kill/scare/snuggle the creature.  Not wanting to unnecessarily cause Dillon to panic, I suggested he go "get on the couch and watch TV!"  Obviously, the option to watch TV is always the preferred choice and Dillon headed unknowingly toward the couch...

I'll admit I did have a small twinge of guilt for sending Dillon in unprepared, but that quickly passed when I remembered how Sunday was mother's day -- and also my birthday -- and Dillon didn't get me shit!  Sure, it could be that he doesn't know how to use the internet and/or that he has bad credit and, therefore, doesn't have a credit card because he's a dog -- but I think we all know it's really because he's an asshole.  So I let him go -- you know what you did Dillon!

So Dillon is heading toward the couch clearly thinking of how great it will be to watch re-runs of Animal Hoarders on DVR -- when out of the corner of his eye, he spots the vacuum that I had gotten out with the intention of actually using, but you know what they say about intentions....(let's just say my road to hell is now a four lane highway!)  So Dillon proceeded to do what he always does -- he freaked the hell out and ran into the bathroom to hide in the shower -- which is apparently the only place in the house that is safe from vacuums/sheets/recycling/garbage bags/dust-mops -- you know, all the things that would kill you if given the chance.. --  leaving ME all alone to face the monster that dwells under the couch!

Seriously Dillon??  WHEN has the damn vacuum EVER attacked you?  NEVER you jackass!

I stood there for a few more minutes waiting to see if it would attack, but then remembered that I had not had my cup of coffee yet - which totally trumps nature, FYI -- so I'm working up the nerve to make my way past the couch toward the coffee pot when I notice ANOTHER slow-moving animal coming from around the corner...and it was coming right for me! But slowly...really slowly.  So slowly that I yelled at it to hurry the hell up and get under the couch because I need some damn coffee! -- WTF nature!?  RUDE!!   So anyway, as it gets closer I realize that it's not a couch monster - it's a damn tumbleweed of Dillon hair!  AND, we weren't being invaded, we were just living in a dog-hair infested hovel because I never actually used said killer vacuum.  So the lesson here is that I apparently need to: (a) wear my glasses so I can actually see shit; and (b) vacuum the damn house.

So you may have noticed that I haven't been here -- or if you clicked on this link accidentally, just hit the back button...you'll be back to your perusal of catswholooklikehitler.com in no time.  However, if you were actually wondering; well, wonder no more.

I've moved to California!  Specifically, the OC!  Or, as my father likes to call it, "the land of fruits and nuts."  Which, before you get all Judge Judy on him, it's not an insult according to the people in his head.  Remember that he's from a different time--a time when life was simple and both racism and smoking was cool.  Back in his day, you walked to school barefoot; uphill, both ways -- and if you were not married at age 25, you were a spinster.  The outside was your garbage can, freedom wasn't free and jokes were never funny.

Not much has changed.

There are some downsides to living in CA; most notably that I really don't fit in and the smarties in Washington don't think I "need" diplomatic immunity.  I contend that if there ever was a location where the USG has posted me, I'm pretty sure CA is where immunity is needed the most!  First, I'm not really what anyone would call "caring" or "Eco-friendly."  And, I'm not healthy -- at least the CA definition of healthy.  I like beer, I like vodka, and I'm pro red meat.  Early on when I first moved here, I went out to dinner with some ladies from my hood, and by hood, I mean our small subdivision with the ocean views and roving security patrols in case poor people get in and try to look at our view.  The waiter brought the menus and I shit you not, the discussion went like this:

Buffy:  misquellen, I'm thinking I'm going to be bad today and get the fish taco appetizer!  We girls gotta live a little, don't we!?  Would you like to split them with me?

Me:  (horrified silence...did she say split?)

Anjelica:  Buffy! Her name is not misquellen, it's Miguel. Miggie, I'm going to get the goat cheese plate.  Would you like to split that with me?

Me: (the people in my head are going ape-shit!  Are they seriously going to split 2 small appetizers for their dinner for 4 people?!?  Who the hell is Miggie!?)

Buffy:  Oh sorry Manuel!  I'm so bad with names!  Hey!  I have an AMAZING idea, lets get both and just serve them family style!  Should we be bad and get a glass of wine?  I already had a sugar-free vanilla latte this morning!

Me:  (seriously?  am I giving off the latino vibe today?  Is my peasant shirt that authentic?)

Me:  I'll have a kettle one martini, extra dirty.  Wait!  Double.  I'll have a double.

(What?  I wasn't driving!  And I didn't have a sugar-free vanilla latte!)

I also do not share the state's apparent love for all God's creatures.  My love, if you will, is more shall we say, selective!!  Along the trail where I take Dillon on his daily hikes are signs noting how the trails are the "natural habitat of the rattlesnake" and how I need to respect their right to live and not disturb them.

 What. The. Fuck.  California!?!  I'll admit I scoffed at your assertion that coyotes are protected, not flea-ridden, rabies toting, kitten killers as I initially pointed out....but snakes?  I'm pretty sure even
God is on my side on this one.  They should be killed on principle!  They'd kill us if they could.


The above notwithstanding, I can say that I do love living in CA.  I'm in the land where the Cougar was invented and where there are blow-out super sales on cosmetic procedures!  I have about 2 years to learn how to mingle with the liberals -- keeping my work for the USG on the down-low because here, it's like admitting you enjoy kicking kittens.

Reposted: It was Like That One Movie about the Cuban Missle Crisis, Only More Exciting...and it Pretty Much Ended in Two Hours...Which Is Waay Better.

I was asked to send this post to a friend on Facebook, but I couldn't figure out how to link the stupid thing, so am just reposting and telling them to job open the blog and it should be on top...I'm a damn problem solver!!!  (IF, by "problem solver " you mean makes shit needlessly more complicated for myself, then yes!  that's totally me!!)

=======================================================

Okay, so today I sat through a 2.5 hour meeting -- which normally would put me over the edge and force me to verbally abuse the office intern for not knowing in advance that they should be on standby to interrupt any meeting where I might potentially be getting bored -- But I shouldn't have to TELL THEM when they need to show up.

It's an internship!! There is a reason we don't pay you (because you could probably sue me).

Anyway, so this meeting was like edge of your seat diplomacy!!! There was action, there was adventure..there were donuts.   Everything you need to brew up some sort of international incident.  HOWEVER, this time it was not an incident of my making...

Okay, so NO SHIT! There we were.  Sitting in the most importanty of importanty conference rooms (that I'm allowed to use) for what will undoubtedly be the most crucial meeting of the year (for our intern).  So a team of crack diplomats from Team America are meeting with an unnamed (you have to wait for the movie) foreigners talking about issues that are on the cutting edge of our national policy and/or security!!! (I'm not trying to be coy with that one -- I just honestly wasn't paying attention and have no idea why we were meeting with these people....)

So, naturally, because I'm a "seasoned leader" I realized that I am likely not qualified to actually speak for the USG in an official capacity -- So I ensured that the smart people were there to answer the questions after I finished pontificating.   So we're about halfway through the meeting and I am mentally congratulating myself for yet another international incident free day when the translator asks the Big Wig Foreigner (BWF) for clarification on what he means.  SUDDENLY, one of the USG smarty-pants leans in to clarify what he thinks the foreigner means (because that is always helpful!  Almost like when we lecture them on their culture and stuff...) and -- as if in slow-motion footage -- he lets out the most horrendous fart!!

I dont' even know how to describe it.  It started as kind of a high pitched whine and then ended with what sounded like rapid gunfire -- but only echo-ey (because we're in the big, marble, importanty conference room.   In the initial moments following the incident, the room was eerily silent -- as we all sat there wondering what the hell we were supposed to do now?

I mean, the international diplomacy handbook did not cover this type of situation, and I gotta be honest -- I was SERIOUSLY DYING.  I was literally experiencing physical pain trying to not only hold it together and not burst out laughing (because honestly...is there EVER a time when a fart is not funny?? EVER??  I submit to you, there is NOT!), but I was also trying to stop my body from erupting into the internal-hold-in-your-laughter convulsions.  In fact, I think I might have actually hurt myself -- my throat is STILL sore.

Anyway, following the initial blast and horrified silence -- the translator looked around -- as if he were trying to determine whether he should translate that; AND, if so...how the hell do you say that in Arabic!  The offender, whom we now call, "Gassy McPoopshispants" just kinda smirked and shrugged -- although he might have apologized, but i had to rapidly look away in order to control my impending outburst.

As I'm searching the room for somewhere to look -- the more junior members of the foreign delegation looked down at their notebooks, clearly a victim of the diplomatic shock and awe campaign.  However, the senior official looked me straight in the eye, cocked his head, and lifted one brow.  I gotta admit...at that point, I almost lost it.

Well played, foreign man...well played.

So I stared at the donuts in order to salvage any semblance of maturity left in me...And then I totally noticed that there was only one chocolate cream filled kind left.  And I could tell the intern was eyeing it.  THIS SOBERED ME RIGHT UP..and quickly!!

Distracted, I was able to move through the incident...however, after I finished my chocolate donut (ha HA intern!!) my glance fell upon the perpetrator of the incident.  We made eye contact.  It all came back....

In what was obviously a flash of genius, I interrupted the proceedings to suggest a "smoke break" (foreigners like to smoke -- Thank GOD!)  and the entire entourage leaped up and headed for the elevator.

As the doors closed, we all turned as one and looked at the perpetrator... and literally, lost it!  At one point, I put my head down on the table and cried -- I was laughing that hard!!!

Eventually, the foreigners returned and they calmly resumed the meeting.

My only regret:  I should have sent the translator withthem so he could tell us how hard THEY were laughing once they managed to get away from us.

However, rest assured, I have once again ensured that the US of A is safe for democracy!

Oh Sweet Jebus!!!

A number of people in the office have "encouraged" me to sign up for one of those online services that match you with a compatible person.   I've literally now met three people who have married their online match.

So I went to the website. It told me I had to fill out this really long personality profile.
So I logged off the internet and went downstairs and watched Glee.  Whatever, I'm pretty sure I can meet someone during one of my fits of road rage.  It'll be fine.

My co-workers pointed out that I am not at my best at 0500 in morning traffic.  So I went back online and filled out my personality profile.  It told me I was 12% done and it wanted me to list my "passions..."  So I listed how I'm "passionate about how I tend to hate other drivers.  It told me to list some facts about what I wanted my potential matches to know about me.  (Obviously, they didn't read my personality profile!!)

So I wrote about how I currently have 5 cats, 4 dogs, a parrot and 12 chickens in my home in Ashtuky, northern virginia and how I have been offered an exciting opportunity to interview for a television appearance on the show Animal Hoarders!!!

It told me I was 23% done.  

WTF!?  This is worse than the damn foreign service exam!  So I logged off and went downstairs to watch the Biggest Loser (God that show is addicting!  The really sad part is that I always want a snack when I watch it!! Is that wrong?)

The worker nazis sent me back to the website to "just finish it already!" and it was suggested that I not be flippant because not everyone will "get me'  --  So I added JUST KIDDING! to it.  Then it made me attach photos.  Note to self: hire someone to be my photo double.   This shit's humiliating.

So I hunkered down and after a mere 5 hours later, I was up and running and was delivered my matches!!  I KNOW! RIGHT!?!  It's very exciting!!! These people were hand selected by a random computer to be totally in line with my personality. 

(Do you think it matters that I put down that I really loved helping others and was actively involved in the community, a people person who is also actively involved in environmental conservation??? --   Well, I DID watch that one NatGeo special where the polar bear was swimming trying to find another piece of ice and the narrator told me that I was killing the polar bears which made me feel really bad - so I always make sure I turn the lights off now.  That counts.  Right?)

SO ANYWAY, I open up my first match....says the dude is from Leesburg, VA (which is not that far!! So I'm all...hey! I could potentially think about one day traveling to leesburg...One problem though:  the guy's picture is a LITTLE bit scary.  He kinda has this creepy smile and he's all leaning to one side. BUT, (because I'm such a good person) I tell myself not to just judge by the photo....and I scroll down....

Basic Information

Occupation:

Circus Clown

Age	45
Height	5' 11"
Wants Kids:	Yes
Kids at Home:	Yes

 I typically spend my leisure time:  Getting naked and taking deep, calming breaths.

SWEET MARY MOTHER OF GOD!!! 

So now I'm spending MY DAMN LEISURE TIME taking deep calming breaths and freaked out that the damn clown is going to find me!!!!

SERIOUSLY!?   A clown -- who everybody knows is a godless killing machine -- is my perfect match??? That's my option?!   

I'm TERRIFIED of effin clowns!!!  -- It's probably because they tend to kill people - random people - people who don't even want to see any clowns.  I'm pretty sure a clown killed my neighbor when I was young.  Although she might have moved to Iowa, but I never heard from her again; obviously clowns got her.

I'm going to rethink my initial 5 cats, 8 dogs and 12 chickens option.  It seems better somehow.

Divorce is Awkward

First off, I totally promise this is not going to turn into a "I hate men" site, because I don't hate men.  Well, I mean, I clearly hate some men.  But then I hate women too.  I'm an equal opportunity hater.  Just to be fair, I'll keep this like it always was...where I pretty much just hate other people.  (You know what you did.)

But you know what I really hate??   I hate it when people walk up to me, pat me on the shoulder and say, "How are you doing?"  with this pitiful expectant look on their face.  It's really awkward for me, I mean...there is a LOTTA pressure to feel heartbroken and bitter when you get dumped. My standard, "I'm fine.  How are you?"  is usually met with silence and then a "well, if you ever want to talk...."  which is nice and all, but it's almost like people are disappointed if you're not walking around with puffy eyes and a handful of kleenex.  Luckily, I am finally able to walk around sniffling with a handful of Kleenex -- unfortunately, it's because I have allergies - but for God's sake! Don't tell anyone...I think they're secretly relieved! 

I choose to look at my glass as half-broken!!  You know, so you can throw it out and buy a new one?? One that is all trendy and cool.  NOW, I am finally free to fulfill my lifelong dream of marrying for money!  You know, like they do in the movies...or in New Jersey.   Like that! 

Couple of small issues I have run into in my pursuit of this new dream:

1.  Rich men aren't usually looking for non-supermodel women of a certain age... a number that will never be mentioned on this blog...

2.  I don't know any rich men. 

3.  My friends don't know any rich men.

4.  I'm too lazy to do stalking research to find out where the natural habitat of rich men is located and then go get a hunting permit.

Obviously, that dream is too hard.  It has multiple steps.  Probably not going to happen. 

Liz is on the lookout for someone to set me up with, but so far she's come up with a trauma surgeon who works with her husband - but then the guy suspiciously deploys to one of the war zones for a year.  Coincidence??  Then, she says her son's 9th grade teacher allegedly looks like George Clooney.  So, after I confirmed this man does not intend to flee the country, she says, "But he might be married....  And he teaches Calculus."  

WTF Liz!?!?! I can't even SPELL calculus and we all know I can't do math!  I don't need that kind of pressure!   What if he asks me out on a date and says we'll meet after work, but then he points out that he works in Vienna, so if he leaves work in his car at 5 pm going 43 miles per hour and has to stop for 3 tolls and will encounter 7 lights along the route, what time will we meet? 

SHIT!?!?! There is no way to know that!!!  I'm just going to end up showing up at his school and slashing his tires so I don't have to do anymore story problems.  Then I'd have to flee the state and turn to a life of crime.  Once again, I think we've shown that nothing good comes out of math.  Nothing.

Oh, we should probably also confirm if he's married.  That might be a problem too.  I'm almost positive you can only have one wife in the USA.  96.7% sure. 

Damnitt Liz....Can't you see my puffy eyes and handful of kleenex?!?!  I'm obviously in a very vulnerable state!  Or, my allergies are really acting up.  Could go either way.  We'll probably never know. 


Whatever!  I don't need a man!  I have Dillon.  I'll just get a few kitties (I'll name them scratchy, stabby, bitey and squeaker) and a box of cookies.  It's all good.

Broken or whole, a cookie never rejects you.

So Much to Catch Up On....

Wow, you stop posting for a little while and you miss SOOO much!!! (Yes, I do realize that I have not posted in over a year, but still...define "a little while".... it's obviously open to interpretation!!! )

-- I went through the comment moderation queue and apparently, this site is EXTREMELY helpful to a lotta people's college papers.  I'm not really sure what it is they are studying, but I'm guessing they're probably not going to be that successful in today's job market after having graduated in whatever career training that could possibly be enriched by my rants -- but then, I fully admit that I haven't been to college in a long time and maybe it's all different now.   Maybe people learn using examples of what NOT to do rather than math and stupid science like they  made me do!   Lame. 

-- And if the comments are to be believed, this blog is also apparently very popular in China!  And also with escort services.  They totally like my work and leave a lot of comments.  Little known fact, escort service workers are very loyal readers.  We may have judged them too harshly.  Clearly, I must have said something that would draw the escort services --  and their potential clients here.  I'm like a match made in heaven for them.  You are welcome!!!   One guy asked if I could tell him how he could find an escort service in Israel, because he was headed there for vacation.  Ummm...no...no I can't.  However, I think you would have more success using google, rather than a blog - but that's just how I would find one if I were going to look for one in Israel.  I mean, it's how I found the guy who's coming over to fix the trim on the house.   Google.  I highly recommend it!!  So much more helpful (and timely) than I am.   

-- One commenter, "Zack" is dismayed that I could potentially really be a USG employee representing the U.S. of A abroad -- in fact, he is disgusted that our government would let me work in it's hallowed ranks and can see why our government and the whole country is basically a mess.  Although Zack has a point, I would just like to note that if Zack thinks this blog is what is wrong with our government and our country, I really have to recommend he branch out and do some other reading.  However, after thinking about it for a while, I realized that Zack is right.  This blog  IS exactly why our country is a mess and our foreign policy is a total disaster.  Zack is right.  It was me.  I have thought up every bad decision this country has ever made since 1997.  My bad.  Sorry America. 

-- "Anonymous"  thinks this blog is a poorly written rant and they couldn't even finish reading the post!  I can only image they had to cover their mouth so they didn't throw up all over the key board while they scrolled down to the bottom to write their comment...oh wait.  I'm rambling again.  Anonymous is right.  Damnitt!  Now I'm never going to help anyone's college paper!  NOW WHAT!?! 

Shit.


Other than that, I've been working, driving to work, then working, then my husband asked for a divorce, so I wallowed in self pity while I was working getting stuck in traffic, working, hating working, working and then last weekend -- I had to work.  Yeah.  It's been a sucky year. You should be thankful I wasn't here blathering on about THAT... Zack would have been outraged!!!

Well Shit! I'm a Victim -- or is it Violator -- of Osha!

Okay, so I'm back...returned last week! I feel like I was on a three hour tour -- ergo, I packed for two weeks and by week SEVEN during Ramadan in Kuwait -- I was ready to poke my eyeballs out with Bamboo shoots!   Plus, let's just say...I think the entire Embassy was READY for me to leave...NOT because they would ask me daily when I was leaving -- I'm sure they were just curious -- but because I distinctly think that the lady with the brown hair the Embassy burned in Effigy at that last happy hour looked DISTINCTLY like me ...and after the week of what appeared to be voodoo barbie dolls with pins in their head left on my desk during my last week there gave me the "impression" that maybe  they were as ready for me to go as I was...ANYWAY...it's over.   Let's just leave it at: "Kuwait during Ramadan at the end of Summer" is a-CLOSE-ED for Michel...

HOWEVER, I'm have a little bit of trouble  adjusting to working and living in the US too! Why, you ask?? WELL, I'll tell you:

So, I'm at work..pretending to work for literally 8s of hours of a day after I get back...right? (FYI, if you're not a literature major, let me just assist you here - I'M the protagonist in this story..the VICTIM, if you will...) So I am trying to HELP others after I get back, right??

I'm from the Government: I'm here to help!!

And I realize that my office is totally not feng shui - and it is bringing down my Chee -- or maybe my cheech -- or even my chong -- so I call in Dana and ask for her "professional' advice on decorating....(She's in her 20s, ergo, an expert!) and we both come to the obvious conclusion that my furnture needs to be moved.

SOOOO, I send an email to the secretary to let them know that I think i need to move my furniture -- you know, kind of like when law offices publish notices in the paper that they're about to file a lawsuit and you better step up if you wanna be part of the team -- I'm not a TOTAL idiot....(okay, yes...yes, I am)

So I give it at least threes of days for the elves to show up and move my furniture (NOBODY shows...Apparently GSO is in charge of this shit too and have likely received my previous "DEAR GSO" letters...and, also apparently, don't share my sense of humor...WHATEVEs...that shit was funny!)   SOOO, since I'm not a prima donna and am too lazy to write yet another email to the secretary - Dana and I decide we're moving that shit on our OWN! We don't need no stupid GSO to help us!!

(those of you who have experience with Federal office buildings are likely screaming, NOOOOOOOOOOO!)

So, we start trying to move furniture. 

Turns out,  my office is furnished with some sort of fake cherrywood that needed to be screwed together.  ALSO turns out, no diplomats carry screwdrivers around with them...SO, we call the Washington version of GSO.  I say, "HI! This is Michel....(trying to lull them into a false sense of security with my cheery-ness) my secretary called you a few weeks ago to ask you to move my furniture....and well...It seems to be bolted together..  I need some sort of tool to get it apart.  It's kinda big..." (HINT HINT...get your ass up here and move this shit!!)

So this large burley -- constructioney looking man brings me a screwdriver....and then leaves.

Whatever GSO! Who needs you freaks!! How hard can it be??!?!

We couldn't get the screws undone.

So I went to get some of the guys in the office.  However, and this may shock you - so once again prepare yourselves -- State Department men are ALSO not NavySeal type guys - they're more brainey-like...(which, frankly, when you're moving furniture - NOT SO HELPFUL!!)  However, we find someone to unscrew my screws.

Because he's a smarty-pants, he points out that he doesn't think I'm allowed to move my computer by myself. So in an effort to be CORPORATE and a good federal employee (for a change) I call the computer mafia and tell them I need to move my computer and asked whether they actually NEEDED to be there.

Extended silence on the line.

"When are you planning to move your computer?"

"What? now! That's why I'm calling you?"
"NOW!?  Did you say NOW!?  WHO IS THIS?  What office are you with?? Who gave you permission!?"

"Obama"

"Do you think this is funny?"
"Well, kinda...."

"WHEN is this move?"

"NOW! That's why I'm calling you!! Geez! If you don't want to do it, I can totally move it.  The cord seems like it's long enough.   I have a screwdriver. Whateves...It's no biggidy?"

Extended silence.

"where are you?"

So I hang up - and bitch about how unhelpful the "help desk" is.  They really shoud change their name to the "random accusation desk!' -- SHIT !Now that I've renamed it,  I could totally run that place!!! I throw out random accusations all the time!!!!

SOO, Dana and I start moving furniture...and -- because I'm a responsible manager -- I get a plastic cup to keep all the screws from the desk in...and we turn around...

NO SHIT! There are literally no less than 17 people standing outside my office -- the ringleader is holding a clipboard!! And not just ANY random clipboard...a clipboard that has that protecitve metal coating...you know to protect their notes in the event of a fire and/or terrorist attack - his form I-407 is safe!!!

So the ringleader tells me he is from "facilities" and starts to lecture me on OSHA regulations and how I cannot possibly move my desk around because it would block the exit of the doorway for a disabled person.

Naturally, (because I'm an ass and can't control myself) I say: "that's okay, I don't hire disabled people here! they clog the exits in the event of a fire" 

WHICH IS TOTALLY HILARIOUS!  You gotta admit..... THAT SHIT IS FUNNY!

and he starts writing in his magic clipboard...

 So now I'm scared...because SHIT! I don't have any PLI because who's gonna sue ME!? I'm a big ole nobody...but now the clipboard holds the key to my undoing....so in order to save myself..I'm like...

"DUDE! That was a joke. I'd totally hire a guy in a wheelchair...or crutches...even that scooter....I mean...he's not going to sit at my desk...OR SHE ...SHE is not going to sit at my desk and need to get out the door in the event of a fire...HE/SHE will make it...I've instructed the contractors that they're not REAL people and have to wait to confirm all us REAL fed workers are safe before they try to escape this asbestos ridden death trap...."

More writing in that damn clipboard.

WTF!?!?

So then I say..."ARE YOU CALLING ME FAT!?!?! ARE YOU TRYING TO IMPLY I WON'T FIT OUT THE DOOR?!?!"

CHECKMATE JACKASS!

So after a circa 2.7 minute lecture on Osha regulations and workplace safety (apparently, the furniture they buy will kill you if given the chance...seriously! don't relax in any federal building.  the furniture is just waiting to take  your ass out.  I think it might be an al-Qa'ida sleeper credenza....just waiting...)

Soooo...by the end of the day, the "facilities" guys have informed me that they will return on Friday with a computer generated plan -- or mock terrorist training camp -- for my new office furniture -- apparently, nothing from the old furniture can stay -- it has to be up to the new codes....

WHICH MEANS....the facilities people will likely send a $14,239.98 bill to my boss for my "new furniture."  And I'm going to have to explain how al-Qa'ida was behind this...

I JUST wanted to move my desk to the other side!! 

SHIT.  Maybe I should go overseas again!! I'm obviously not cut out for washington politics....