I've spent the past few weeks obsessing. Obsessing more than usual, I guess I should say.
There are a lot of things in my life to obsess about. Like what to get the 13 year old boy in my house (who replaced the utterly sweet boy who used to occupy the room upstairs - last door on the right) for Christmas.
Or I could obsess about the daily reports from my first grader's teacher providing play-by-play details on the lunchroom scuffle, the puddle-stomping recess, the rock-throwing incident, yada yada yada.
Or how in the hell I'm going to get my house adequately clean enough and my laundry pile respectably manageable enough for when my 83-year-old grandma comes to stay with us for Christmas.
But no. I've been obsessing with how to get tickets to the BCS National Championship game. (Gail, that's a football game that the Buckeyes -- the football team from Ohio State -- will be playing in on January 8.)
The game has been sold out for weeks. The cheapest seats are going for $1000 EACH.
So, you can see why I'm obsessing. After jumping through some major hoops, bending the rules, and making a deal on the life of my firstborn (that wasn't too bad since he's turned into that obnoxious, secretive kid upstairs), I was able to buy four tickets for face value through OSU's Faculty/Staff ticket lottery.
Sure, a little good-natured forgery may have been involved, and my husband may have to impersonate his 78-year-old stepfather once we get to Glendale, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do, you know? I
didn't even go to Ohio State. My senior year of high school, I visited the campus and got a little overwhelmed with the place. I opted for a small, private school a little further (or is that farther, dammit) from home, where I could be involved in theatre and other activities.
But my husband did go to Ohio State. So did his brother. And his two sisters. And his four stepbrothers. His dad and step-dad were both professors, one of them Department Chair, graduation speaker, and honorary doctorate recipient.
I was born in Ohio and I grew up here. And there are a lot of people around like me. Buckeyes by default. That's good enough for me.
And on January 8 2007, I'm going to be in Glendale Arizona with my husband and my friend Jill cheering the team to another National Championship!
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Friday, December 08, 2006
Not so funny
I have a new boss, and a new boss's boss. I have a new job, too - which has turned out to sorta suck - but the boss and the boss's boss are BOSS. (That means that I think they're both great; stay with me on my hip lingo, will you?)
The job is actually okay, for the most part. I'm in a bit of a "situation" with one of my team members, though. And considering the fact that there are only three of us on this particular team, I'm not doing so well. Exactly one third of my team hates me. That's not good.
Today I sent my boss and my boss boss an email, ranting about said situation. Okay, I didn't really rant so much. I mean, I didn't send the email In ALL CAPS, with NO PUNCTUATION say, like this:
YOU NEED TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT QUEEN BIOTCH SHE DOESN'T LISTEN TO ME SHE TALKS TO ME LIKE IM A FOUR YEAR OLD WHICH IS DEMEANING AND BELITTLING I DIDN'T BUST MY ASS TO GET MY MASTERS DEGREE TO BE TREATED LIKE A JUNIOR HIGH DROPOUT
No, I diplomatically explained why things weren't working out and tried to add a little humor to the end of the email (which only took me three hours to compose on company time, of course). I told them that I am incredulous at some of the things Queen Biotch has said to me and that I had been writing them all down and was considering sending them to Dilbert.
Which I thought was pretty funny. But I have a technical writer's sense of humor, and I realized that my boss and my boss's boss may not have known that was a joke. So, I added (That was a joke) to the end of the part about Dilbert.
But even I know that if you have to say, "That was a joke" it probably isn't a very funny joke.
I'll let you know how it goes.
The only good thing about this whole situation is that I work from home. My boss is in Atlanta, my boss's boss is in New Jersey, and Queen Biotch is in Chicago. I've never met any of them (in person, anyway).
Which is a good thing, because I attend most of our teleconferences and net meetings in the nude. (That was a joke.)
The job is actually okay, for the most part. I'm in a bit of a "situation" with one of my team members, though. And considering the fact that there are only three of us on this particular team, I'm not doing so well. Exactly one third of my team hates me. That's not good.
Today I sent my boss and my boss boss an email, ranting about said situation. Okay, I didn't really rant so much. I mean, I didn't send the email In ALL CAPS, with NO PUNCTUATION say, like this:
YOU NEED TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT QUEEN BIOTCH SHE DOESN'T LISTEN TO ME SHE TALKS TO ME LIKE IM A FOUR YEAR OLD WHICH IS DEMEANING AND BELITTLING I DIDN'T BUST MY ASS TO GET MY MASTERS DEGREE TO BE TREATED LIKE A JUNIOR HIGH DROPOUT
No, I diplomatically explained why things weren't working out and tried to add a little humor to the end of the email (which only took me three hours to compose on company time, of course). I told them that I am incredulous at some of the things Queen Biotch has said to me and that I had been writing them all down and was considering sending them to Dilbert.
Which I thought was pretty funny. But I have a technical writer's sense of humor, and I realized that my boss and my boss's boss may not have known that was a joke. So, I added (That was a joke) to the end of the part about Dilbert.
But even I know that if you have to say, "That was a joke" it probably isn't a very funny joke.
I'll let you know how it goes.
The only good thing about this whole situation is that I work from home. My boss is in Atlanta, my boss's boss is in New Jersey, and Queen Biotch is in Chicago. I've never met any of them (in person, anyway).
Which is a good thing, because I attend most of our teleconferences and net meetings in the nude. (That was a joke.)
