So for the last six weeks I have been living in a bubble of anything-goes-edness with my boss out of town and his number two out for a few of those weeks as well. Luckily number two is not a senileistic ( I'm pretty sure that's not actually a word) old man who should have retired before I was legally old enough to work without my parents signature. And then the bubble burst. The boss came back today and I'm still dripping with the shiny bubbly funk that is actual work. And now it's back to the reality that is (quite literally) the Crapper.

It's not so much that I dislike work in general. I mean I do, but I can deal if it's at least something that peaks my interest a bit. But selling, shitters and pissers and sprayers and anything else plumbing related, from augers to nipples (seriously, some plumber came up with the idea to call short pieces of threaded pipe nipples. and if you think that's awkward the black nipples are really going to get to you. especially when you have to sell a lady a pair of three quarter by four inch black nipples. I've almost been socked a few times for that). So if I at least had a job that interested me a little bit more it wouldn't be such a big deal for my boss to come back from a looong business trip. Because I would've been working just as hard with him gone as I do when he's there. But that was not the case this time. This time around the world (for him), I took advantage of the new baby and the plethora of excuses that accompanied him out of the womb.

I don't really think it's wrong to take advantage of the wonderful opportunities that arise from having a newborn.

"Sorry so and so, I'll be into the office in an hour so. The kid kept us up all night." (1 hour turns into 2-3 hours quite easily with this one)

"I'll be in by lunch time, my Wife's not feeling great and I'm on Papa duty."

"I forgot that little RQ had a doctors appointment today. I'll see you tomorrow."

(I've used all of these and more at least once.)

And then he's gotta come back and ruin everything. There is just something about the boss man coming back from a long trip, with a stack full of work that he is expecting to be done 3 weeks ago, that kind of takes you out of neutral and throws you into first as you start up the hill that is eight hours of your Monday through Friday. And you feel like all your good energy is gone by the time you stumble in the door. The only saving grace in this instance is the fact that it's the holiday season. And while I'm not necessarily the it's the most wonderful tiiime of the yeeeeaaar kind of a guy, I do enjoy the holidays. Assuming of course that we are celebrating the holiday on the actual HOLIDAY and not as a season. And I especially enjoy them because the scum guys that handle all the warehouseish duties at work are part of the corrupt, prickish, assholeistic prestigous Brotherhood of Teamsters. Why on hell I am thankful for that? well because they bring with them one awesome fucking holiday/paid time off schedule.

So yea, I have to start working hard again. And it'll totally blow. But at least I can look forward to the three, four day weekends in less than two months, that are headed my way. The only people who get a better deal are teachers, stay at home mom's, europeans.....Wait, am I getting screwed here? I thought this was legit.

So in another couple months. Well pretty much after the new year, I'll really be fucked. Then I'll have to really start working for real. Though I think there is already another trip scheduled for march. I need to get me one of those circularpaperlinkscountingthedaysuntilchristmas things that we all used to make in school before we went all religiously correct on the education system, to track when I can tune out for a few weeks. And then I can start getting all the inane shit I don't want to deal with at home, done at the office.

And I really shouldn't be bitching about my job in an economy where so many people are trying to just scrape by until business' start hiring again, but I like to bitch about work. So my apologies if this post just pissed you off. (And hell no I won't tell you the name of the company I work for so you can come gunning for my measly position.)

So yeah, I changed the way this here blog looks. I don't know whether I'm done with it or not, but I really did not like the one that I originally set up. I had just previously been to lazy to put out the effort to do anything about. Until tonight. And maybe tomorrow. So I hope you like it at least as much (but hopefully more) than the old one.

For the last three or four years a group of friends has been getting together to play a game of kickball on Christmas day. And let me tell you that heading out after the morning craziness festivities surrounding corporate bonus earning day the oh so joyful day, is a great way to forget that you have only been to half of the houses you are supposed to go to, and it's already 3:00, and you're already a bit drunk, and don't really want to go anywhere else other than home. Somehow heading out with a group of friends and kicking some serious fucking ball just makes it's more manageable.

So when this year we decided to add a date after the feasts of all feasts I was rather exited. We decided to do the game a couple days after Thanksgiving to give everyone enough time to digest, and recover from the hangovers (food and alcohol related). it meant that there were no parents/grandparents/aunts/uncles/brothers/sisters/children waiting on us, and we could enjoy the game without any time limits to abide by. No agendas to consider. So we went out and rocked it like we were in fifth grade all over again.

Uniforms were donned. Drinks were poured. Teams were picked. Chants were shouted. Team names were assigned (Boutonnieres vs. Black Spanish Boots). More drinks were poured. And then the balls started rolling. And boy did they roll. And fly, and get smashed, and deflate, then pumped up and fly some more. And there were up and downs all throughout. Psychological warfare was used. Brothers were pitted against brothers, husbands against wives (which is a bit awkward since the husbands team won). And then the trophy was awarded. Or maybe accepted is a better adjective since the other team was in no mood to award us for anything.

Yes we have a trophy. It makes it all the more competitive. And it's not the first trophy we've thrown into the mix of competitiveness among this particular group of friend's. We've also had a couple extreme croquet trophies circulated as well. The kickball trophy is of course the largest and most ornate of them all. It only seemed appropriate to make the trophy for the cup o nuts the best of the bunch. And as I typed a few lines back, the team with the husbands came out on top, which means that for the second consecutive trophy match (we just injected this trophy into the mix last Christmas), I have been on the winning end. Last year the trophy went home with me to spend the off season. This year it goes to a new home. I figured it was unfair for me to keep it for two years in a row, so our team captain is taking it. It was a good game. Because my team won. And it was fun. But my team won.

So now the balls are returned their sack until Christmas when once again that sack will be ripped open and the balls will roll!