Just say No

I know, I know, it has been quite a while since I last blogged. I'm sorry, but I've been busy. Ok, truthfully now, I haven't blogged because as many of you know, I knock up these illiterate ramblings during my working hours whilst my boss is picking the kids up from school, placing her full trust and confidence into her team that we are all responsible enough to carry on with our daily duties uninterrupted by her absence. Obviously, this trust is somewhat misplaced, and I have been what you could call "busted". I don't call it busted, as I haven't actually been caught out yet on account of my self believed incredible slyness, however I am now forced in a routine of having to document every task I've done complete with start / end times and detail of task. I guess I'll have to start writing these in my own free time like everyone else, just until she gives up trying to catch me out, or I'm sacked, which ever. Said boss however, has phoned in sick today (bless) so it's back to business as usual for me (hoorah!).


Well, while the cat's away, and all that…

Annoyingly, now that I have the opportunity to blog away uninterrupted without expectations of doing some actual work getting in the way, I find myself with little to write / rant about, even though I have been involved in not one but two, TWO separate but almost equally strange "road rage" incidents over the last couple of days (since when did they start handing out driving licenses to the blind and retarded?) but alas, I am without enough mental material in which to form a lengthy rant about. Strange, since I actually enjoy these instances usually, and even allow extra time on my journeys to engage in such opportunities where presented. No, I haven't been taking valium, before you ask.

All this talk of work, plus some annoying bint this morning attempting to engage with me in conversation by means of informing me that there are only 12 days 'til Christmas (yes, I know, I've opened the door on my advent calendar this morning, now fuck off. Conversation declined.) reminds me that this week brings the arrival of the office Christmas party plus the much suffered Team Meal. Neither of which I will be going to. I recently overheard a colleague say "my husband doesn't let me go to work Christmas parties, he says they are just overflowing cauldrons of sexual tension which has been built up all year". This woman's husband must really love his wife, even if she did inadvertently share his dominance and trust issues with all in earshot, as he clearly (and rather wrongly) believes that somebody would wish to not only take the drunken opportunity to crack on to her at the Christmas party / orgy, but actually finds her remotely attractive whilst of a sober disposition the rest of the year. He may very well view her through rose tinted glasses and see the woman he first met all those years ago, where as I have the benefit of not being so deluded, and can see her as the rest of the world does; she's not pretty. Not only is she pear shaped, she is actually shaped like a pear, literally. Her backside is so spectacular, when I picture her in my mind (which I inadvertently find myself doing as I write this) there are no legs in my image, as she has the tapered form of some sort of illegitimate love child of a Russian doll (the big one, obviously) and a Weeble. I'd like to be given the opportunity to reassure this woman's husbands that she will be very safe from having to beat them off with a stick, so to speak, as not only will there be no stick, I can absolutely guarantee there will be no "them".

Fears of having to beat off the drunken advances from the departments 'women' folk and fight my way out from smothering under a pile of bingo wings and floral polyester frocks whilst my eyes burn with the stinging musky fragrance of the best perfume Avon has to offer, although sickening to even contemplate regardless of how highly unrealistic the scenario, is not the reason I am not attending this years corporate festivities. I simply do not want to. Even though it can be quite amusing watching the pervy Finance managers drool all over and eventually approach for the entertainment of all who witness the attractive female staff they hired on the self believed merit of "being in there" based on nothing more than the provocative style of dress adopted for the interview, no amount of stifled hilarity at the expense of other's sexual failings or company paid for alcohol and dried out turkey can persuade me to spend my own free time with the very same dregs of existence that challenge my previous best levels of despair whom I tolerate surprisingly well for 7.5 hours a day Monday to Friday. There are a few individuals within the company who I do enjoy chewing the fat with and putting the world to rights over a free pint*, but unfortunately this number is miniscule in comparison to those who I just cannot justify to myself breathing the same air as where avoidable, so until this number is balanced a little more evenly, my answer remains as No. Just no. Whilst disappointingly there was no option on the reply to the email invitation to the additional team meal out for "you cannot possibly imagine the immensity of my sheer lack of desire to witness you chew food" I had to make do with simply Yes or No. I made up for this by hitting the "No" button firmly, four times, just to get my point across.

I have however, surprisingly to some it would seem judging by the stereo chorus of "You're in the secret Santa? You're in the secret Santa?", opted in for the office (you guessed it) Secret Santa event, and as blind luck would have it, I pulled the name of someone from the hat which I actually quite like (and by "like" I mean I once smashed her to the floor at a works bowling night) although admittedly I'm a little disappointed to miss out on the previously thought out opportunity to purchase and gift somebody a dog turd in a bread bun (there is actually a website that will do this for you, fact!) safe in the knowledge of the scheme being "secret" as the name suggests, although by process of elimination / nosey gossips who haven't participated but insist on bugging the crap out of everyone by persisting to ask "who did you get then?", I'd probably be found out, and would have to rely on the excuse of my "sick" sense of humour to get me out of the shit.



Because nothing says Merry Christmas like "Eat Shit"



The question now is, what do I buy someone I quite like / don't hate for the sum of £5.00?



*Disclaimer: In the unlikely event that someone from work is reading this, I am probably not referring to you.