CAD Monkey in the Cubicle Jungle

...and we're back.

2011-10-19T07:05:00.001-07:00

Germany was awesome. Unfortunately, we couldn't find work, and didn't have the time or money left to stay, so we're back in the US.

This means I'm back in the same situation I was in before: clueless as to what to do for money. Oh, but wait! There's a twist: now my architect's license has expired, so I'm even more unemployable in the field than I was before. (I knowingly let it expire, because I couldn't justify the $300 to renew it when there's little chance I'll get a job using it.)

I managed to make it to the age of 36 without ever being fired or laid off, so this has taken a major toll on my self esteem. The longer this drags on, the less confident I am in my ability to do anything. Even though I was in a field I absolutely hated, I am desperate to go back, because I feel like a complete loser being unemployed. It's a little too similar to an abusive relationship, except that with a relationship, remaining single is always an option. Remaining unemployed is not. (No, I'm not trivializing abusive relationships. I'm just bad at crafting decent analogies.)

As always, art is not a career option, because I like having health insurance. And money.

Not What I Expected

2011-05-16T10:53:00.000-07:00

I got laid off from my last architectural job in April of 2010. Although I hate the sentiment "everything happens for a reason" on a molecular level, I believe that having the decision made for me, in this case, was a really good thing. Given the choice between continuing on in a career field I hated to the point of physical illness, just to maintain a steady paycheck and some illusion of security, or venturing into the Great Unknown, I would have chosen the paycheck.

I was let go 2 weeks before a (planned) major surgery that would leave me unable to work for 6 weeks. When I was ready to start looking for a job again, I realized I had become permanently unemployable in the architecture field- I mean, who wants to hire someone who hasn't worked for 2 months? Such a person is obviously not a good choice, if nobody picked them up for 2 months (Sarcasm Meter set to "kill")!

I managed to obtain one interview for a Project Manager position, and put on my best (though completely false) "I'D REALLY LOVE TO WORK HERE" face, but they must have seen right through it. Applying for positions below my experience level have proven pointless.

This summer, on my birthday, my Architect's license will expire, and I have no intention of renewing it.

You might think, from reading this, that I am completely depressed and hopeless, but I assure you, that is the farthest thing from the truth. In two months, my husband and I are moving to Europe. I can honestly say I have no idea what we'll do for money past the 90 days' worth we have saved.

I can't wait. :D

What Do You "Do?"

2009-07-21T05:43:00.000-07:00

That question. I hate that question. How I pay my bills does not define me, much as I wish it could.

What do I do?

Why, I am a cerebral prostitute.

I whore out my brain for money, M-F, 8-5.

While my brain is otherwise occupied, performing tasks that slowly strangle it in a gray shroud of boredom, my body is forfeit, as it is forced to sit in a chair during that time; getting fatter, slower, more useless. A month ago I started Metformin, because, at age 35, I have insulin resistance. Despite the fact that I sit all day, I am exhausted beyond measure. This body is a carcass, transporting the golden whore-brain to and fro, rather than a living thing. My hands shake constantly. I can't even remember the last time I felt "right."

I am on the "last-resort" antidepressant, an MAO inhibitor. It comes in patch form, and every morning I rip off the patch, and a good portion of my skin, to replace it with a new one.

For the last several months, while I've been away, I made the mistake of listening to the slew of "follow your bliss" bullshit artists, whose line is "do what you love and the money will come." Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. By all rights, I should have gone even more insane from the stink of it. If I had in my possession the physical amount of bullshit I've wasted my time reading, money would no longer be a problem.

You know how they've managed to "follow their bliss and the money came?" They sold volumes of fix-your-life fallacy to suckers like me, who are searching for a little bit of hope.

I am that idiot who bought into the "get a real job, be a grownup, ignore every true thing about yourself" line; believing that being an artist would be the impossible way. Now, I will drag myself onward; waiting to die, always regretting having lived.

ARgh.

2008-08-05T11:40:00.001-07:00

Trying to fix template.

Not working.

Liking WordPress better all the time.

Always a bad sign

2008-08-04T05:54:00.000-07:00

It's always a bad sign when I start blogging at the office.

I (made the mistake and) watched a program about Alzheimer's disease. The show, and it being Sunday night in general, got me started on a pretty heavy doom spiral. Some days I feel like I'm just biding my time until I find out what is going to kill me.

The leading contender is stress, being overweight, not eating right; and the resultant heart disease.

From how my GI tract has been acting, cancer of the pooper seems a likely second contender (of course, that could just be related to the stress, as well).

Third, we have the whole vast list of unknowns. Alzheimer's (early-onset is the one I'm concerned about), cancer of various regions, etc., etc.

I'm doing my damndest to try and squeeze some joy out of this life, but Monday mornings just make it difficult. One good night of sleep just ain't doing it for me. (That would be Saturday night; since I'm still too ~~drunk~~ jacked up from work to sleep on Friday night, and Sunday is...well, The Day Before Monday.)

Well, crap on a stick.

2008-07-30T05:50:00.000-07:00

Things are just not going well today. The server at work has crashed- permanently.

I find it somewhat ironic that a similar situation caused me to start this blog; 4 years ago:

The server at work blew up.

Dammit

2008-07-30T05:21:00.000-07:00

I was trying to get rid of the damn AdSense bar, and screwed up my template in the process. This place will look like ass for a little while, until I can find my old template code, and fix it.

If I can find my old template code.

If not, a remodel will be in the works!!

The Plan

2008-07-29T07:48:00.000-07:00

After I quit writing on here in 2006, things actually got much better at Humongo. They were so much better, in fact, that I could actually see myself staying with the company for a good, long time.

Then we moved to Houston. I transferred to the Humongo office here. Things went into the crapper, quickly.

I'm not blaming Houston, because I really like it here. Even though this is the first time I have lived here, Houston gives me an "at home" feeling that I never got in Dallas.

The problem with the Houston Humongo office was, it had only been in existence for 2-3 months before I transferred in. There were absolutely no projects in the office. I can't stand the hectic workload I have now, but I can't stand having absolutely nothing to do, either.

I'm not a marketer- never have been, never will be. While the 3 senior guys were out chasing work, I sat, bored as hell, for 8 hours a day. On the surface, it sounds great; but let me tell you, it's awful. For a while, I took my sketchbook and markers in, and drew cartoons prolifically. However, the guilt over blatantly goofing off all day got to me- not that I had anything productive to do, but the guilt is a powerful force. I could think of nothing else but what I could be accomplishing if I weren't stuck at "work." I would wander around downtown at lunch, sometimes for 2 hours, alone. The other folks in the office, while really nice, all had at least 10 years on me. Not much to talk about after a while.

Also, I was the only one in the office who knew how to use CAD...so I wasn't liking where that was heading. During my 2-year hiatus from blogging, I earned some hard-won experience as a Project Manager/ Architect. Trying to stomach moving back down the food chain to pure CAD Monkey was not possible.

So I left, to go to where I am now, with the shiny new prospect of working with my best friend from college (definitely not Dude). Sure, I'd be taking a pay cut, and losing tons of benefits, but it'll be okay, right? Because I won't be doing healthcare work anymore, and I won't have to deal with big-office politics, and I'll be working in a more laid-back environment, right?

Those last three things are true. However. Dude is an ass. That's all I'll say about him for this post, because it's too damn long already.

Although I'm going to try my damndest to stick it out for 2 years, at the very least I simply cannot go back to a large company without having some sort of friends in this town. I know that sounds stupid, but when I think back to the worst part about Humongo Houston, it was the crushing loneliness. Currently, I have 12 architectural co-workers (the Dudes don't count), and 9 of them are kick-ass people. Socializing with them is often the only thing that makes going into work bearable.

Because I have become so thoroughly involved in all aspects of projects, there is great potential for me to make excellent contacts- and not just in architecture. For reasons I won't go into here, there are possible art world contacts to be made.

My plan, as much as I ever have one, is thus:

I'm going to stick it out until I can make some friends outside of work, so that I have a damn support system in place when I make yet another difficult career move. The last three jumps have been made on my gut, not with my brains; and they were tough.
I'm going to force myself to gradually work less each week, with an ultimate goal of 40 hours.
I'm going to force myself to not feel guilty about it (this will take some work), and not let Dude's idea of an acceptable amount of hours dictate how I feel about this.
I'm not going to let Dude get under my skin anymore. This may be damn near impossible.

Experience

2008-07-27T19:55:00.000-07:00

Dammit, Google.

Yesterday, I followed the "In Memoriam of Randy Pausch" link at the bottom of the Google start page, and watched the video of his "Final Lecture" at Carnegie Mellon (it's over an hour long, but it's totally worth it).

It is this kind of thing that makes me feel all kinds of crappy. This man had terminal cancer, and had accepted the fact that he was going to die. He was completely satisfied with how his life turned out. He made achieving all his childhood dreams sound so easy.

If I found out I had terminal cancer, I'd be pissed as hell. This is not the life I want to leave behind. I feel like I've been stuck in some sort of financial-physical-social stasis since 2004; and I've been powerless to get things moving again.

One of the things he said resonated deeply with me:

Experience is what you get when you didn't get what you wanted.

I've certainly been getting a lot of experience over the last few years. All of it has got to be worth something.

On the positive side, the video served as a pretty swift (if temporary, as always) kick in the ass. Ever since watching it, I've spent the entire weekend working on my art. I accomplished a lot. This weekend was good, and restful, and I'm ready to face tomorrow at work.

Which is good, since I'm thinking about trying to stay. I know, I know! I'm just a big ol' waffle. Running may not be the answer, for once.

I'll come back to this later. Too tired now.

Sweet Sweet Karma

2008-07-25T03:43:00.000-07:00

BWAHHAHAHAHAH!!!

[deep breath]

HAAAAAAHAHAHAHA!!!

Dude got a sticker put on his car window by building management, for parking in a Reserved spot one too many times.

Heh.

Ding Dong Doo

2008-07-24T03:47:00.000-07:00

I want to leave a flaming bag of poo on my boss's doorstep.

I have been absolutely infuriated with him, non-stop, since Tuesday. Over the course of the last 9 1/2 months, I've come to realize that he is an asshole. It took a little longer to figure out, because it's hidden beneath a slippery layer of "he seems like an okay guy." However, when I think about what has been pissing me off so badly about my job, Dude is what I keep returning to as the cause.

Lemme 'splain.

Codes, regulating agencies, and city officials; while often annoying; are in place for a reason. They're not my favorite thing, but I work with them. Dude, on the other hand, sees them (and rules in general) as things to be thwarted and dodged whenever he doesn't like what they're dictating.

Minor example: The first two floors of the office parking garage only have parking spots marked "Visitor" and "Reserved." The building management has asked that we not park in spots designated with either of those labels; we are instead to park in the unmarked spots on the third level. No big, right? Unless you're Dude. He insists on parking in the Visitor spots on the second floor, even though the management has already caught him doing it once, and asked him not to.

Major example: I'm working on a renovation project that began as carpet/ wallcovering/ millwork only, but has now grown into the need to open up and replace the ceiling. Dude has insisted from Day One that we wouldn't need a building permit for this project. Before the ceiling became part of the scope, I could agree with him. However, the city's permitting requirements clearly state (which I printed out and highlighted for him) that any work involving the exposure of framing- like, oh, I don't know, replacing the entire ceiling- requires a permit. Despite this, he has continued to insist a permit isn't required.

His initial reason for not wanting to permit was time-related, as the Owner wanted to get this job moving as soon as possible (the majority of the delays have been because of Dude, ironically). Once we received the engineer's drawings on what would be required for the ceiling work, Dude started to come around to the concept that, yes, a permit was going to be required.

Cue the Owner getting pissed off. One of the permit requirements is an asbestos report. I have to ask the Owner for this. The Ower asks, "isn't this something we could have gotten started with months ago?" Yep. It sure is, if I had been allowed to start the permitting process properly (heh, alliteration).

Additionally, Texas accessibility rules state that if your project is over $50k, you have to submit for accessibility review. The bids came in at $300k, minimum. I told Dude that we would need to submit to the State, but again, he resisted. His stance was, "it's only carpet and paint." The rules don't say, "over $50k, but not if it's only carpet and paint." Guess what? When the contractor started to pull the permit...the city requires an accessibility review registration number! Surprise!

Except not really.

I was so pissed off that even the "I Told Him So" dance didn't relieve it.

It's a Generational Thing

2008-07-20T09:09:00.000-07:00

Gar!
I just got off the phone with my mother.

I absolutely cannot (and should not) talk to her about work. She comes from a completely different frame of reference on all-things-work. When I tell her that Dude is a pain in the ass, she tells me I need to change my attitude. When I say I'm thinking of looking for a new job, because I'm tired of working 50+ hours a week for crap pay (yes, I know I did it to myself); she says I need to stay put, because "bad times are coming." Never mind the fact that most firms in Houston are still hiring prodigiously. Never mind that the reason I got a damn college degree was so I could have choices about where I work- if not exactly about what I do.

I know where part of my frustration with her comes from. For the longest time, I blamed her for not "letting" me be an Art major when I entered college- she told me "I'd never be able to make a living that way." Truthfully, I should be angry at myself for not having the huevos to pursue what I wanted, and stop placing blame on her.

The more unhappy I am at work, the more I venture into The Land of Regret- even though I know I'm too damn old to start over. Taking a small pay cut was bad enough. Starting over at $38k- and with student loan debt- would be impossible.

I constantly think of ways I can manage to remain in the industry (see above, RE: too damn old to start over). I believe I have narrowed down the 3 things I want out of a job- though I don't know where to find said job, or if I'm fooling myself by thinking it exists:

I want to work 40 hours a week, period.
I don't want to wear a damn business suit, or even "business-y type" clothes every day.
I want $62k, which, according to the salary report I purchased recently, is what I'm worth.

I know I can't realistically ask for "less stress," "less frustration," or "less jack-assy project schedules," so I'm not even going to bother.

So tell me, Houston Architecture World, does such a job exist?

Big vs. Little

2008-07-14T08:56:00.000-07:00

Over the last nine years of my "illustrious career," I've bounced back and forth between working for small firms (fewer than 25 people), and working for large firms (300-1000 people). There are good and bad things to both, of course.

Here's the breakdown on how the current place (17 people) measures up:

Good: The dress code is very relaxed
(not that we actually even have a dress code). I am allowed to, and often do, wear this shirt.

Bad: I have gained so much weight as a result of stress eating, that I couldn't wear any of my suits if I wanted to.

Good: things that I couldn't do at my previous, large-firm job, that I can do now:

take 90-minute to 2-hour lunches, and nobody says a thing
drink beer at lunch

Bad: things I could do at my previous job that I can't do now:

work 40 hours a week maximum
take vacation without having to answer my phone for a work-related call

Good/Bad: I didn't have Project Manager duties at my last job. I do now.
Bad: I'm getting paid less than my last job, though I have a whole lot more responsibility.

Good: I can cuss like a motherfucker, out loud, and it's perfectly acceptable.
Bad: I often have good reason to need to (see next item).

Bad: Things I had at my previous, large-firm job, that I don't have now:

in-house ability to print larger than 11"x 17"
(My first job while in school was at a firm of 7 people. They had a plotter.)
a copier and/or scanner that will handle larger than 8.5"x 11"
(we have a multifunction fax/copy/scan/print thing that is 5 years old, and does 90% of our printing)
access to anybody else's calendars
(We don't have an exchange server. Seriously.)
e-mail that will send files larger than 5MB
IT support
(We have a guy, who is friends with Dude, comes from a wealthy family, and only does IT as a time-filler for when he's not playing golf.)
access to MEP/structural consultants who are worth a damn
a boss who allows me to look at the project contracts
(I only care about looking at the contract to determine what our firm's project-related responsibilities are. Dude is concerned that the staff will see "the numbers," by which he means "what the partners are getting paid." I really don't give a damn about that.)
paid disability leave
a retirement plan
performance reviews
a clear-cut timeline of when I could possibly receive a pay raise
direct-fucking-deposit
(The absence of this, of all possible benefits, pisses me off the most.)

That puts the tally at 4 Good, 6 Bad.

But wait, should the last item count as one thing, or twelve? Some days it counts more heavily than others. For example, it was definitely a 12 during the week we were moving offices.

This is what our office felt like during that week:

What I'm Doing Right Now

2008-07-02T09:19:00.000-07:00

Sitting on my ass in a coffee shop...but, wait!

It's not what you think. I'm not really slacking.

Well, I am, but it's not my fault. I was forced into it, pathetically enough.

Our office is moving, and through a complete and fucked-up lack of planning on the principals' parts, we don't have an office space this week. In fact, we may not have an office space next week, either.

Our crap is packed up in boxes in a storage room, which is doubling as a sad little workspace for the three marketing people as they desperately try to issue an RFQ. Despite the fact that they have no e-mail access. Or phones.

Dude (my uber-clever pseudo for Principal #1) told everyone to basically take the week off. That would be great, except that I kind of can't. I currently have a project in construction, and it's of the sort (a renovation with an unrealistic schedule) that has anywhere from one to twenty Crises-a-Day. I often have to answer RFIs and turn around submittals the same damn day they're given to me, because it's for something the contractor is mobilized to begin the same day or day following.

This project was already several months behind
schedule when I got on it last October (natch). I tried, in futility, to
tell the Principals that this project was not going to be done by
the Owner's specified date of the following August. The Substantial
Completion date is now set at September 3rd. There's no way
in hell we're making September 3rd, either. But I'm not wasting my time
trying to tell anyone that, this time. I'm just keeping it to myself,
because they won't listen anyway.

In order to give the (%$@*^!&) contractor this quick turnaround, I really really really need access to AutoCAD, the project's files, my contacts, the intarweb, Adobe Pro, Excel, and a courier service. I thought I could manage most of what I needed to accomplish by piecing together a "mobile office" with a flash drive, my home computer, a 30-day trial download of AutoCAD, and driving things to the consultants my damn self. I'm sure you can see where this is going- I was grossly incorrect in my assumption.

I don't have a printer, ever since an incident, ironically, stemming from me trying to print something for work, killed it. No problem, I thought, I'll just print to pdf. Nope. I didn't have the pen table files, so if I tried to print from AutoCAD to pdf, it would be all the crazy colors of the layers.

I don't have Excel on my home computer, so I can't even open the RFIs from the contractor, because they're in Excel format.

I can't do anything design-related, because I'm not authorized to select even a paint color for the door frame to a toilet without Dude's approval. He's been "unavailable" because of the build-out of the new office space. He's been doing very important stuff- for example, he blew me off all day Monday because he was picking out carpet. Even though I've been trying to get him to sit the hell down and pick flooring for my project, which has lead time issues, for months. (Going back to the digression, this is part of why the damn thing was/is so behind schedule.)

My home internet connection is notoriously sketchy, and about the third time it went out yesterday, it resulted in me having a major meltdown of the FUCK IT ALL TO HELL variety. I decided I'm just not going to try so hard to work, when my employer can't even provide me a fucking workplace.

So I'm at the coffee shop, sponging off their free Wi-Fi. And I may go get a massage now. The project, the contractor, the consultants, and Dude can all just go fuck themselves. Tomorrow I'm on vacation until the 7th.

Except for when I'm picking up fabric sample FedEx's from my front doorstep in my PJs.

The Bitch Is Back

2008-05-25T20:24:00.001-07:00

Or the bitch-er, anyway.

The recap:

Still in architecture.
Still hatin.'
Moved to Houston. Like it here.
Left Humongo for a 12-person firm.
Still hatin.'
Took a pay cut just to get out of doing healthcare architecture.
Turns out that other project types only suck slightly less.
Went through two weeks of hell getting off the crazy drugs I was on, to get on Emsam. I love Emsam. If I weren't already married, I'd marry Emsam.
Had my two-year "hip-iversary" yesterday. Ol' Lefty is going under the knife sometime in 2009.
I actually have a place to do art- and it's no longer the dining room table. Of course, it's still just a single table, but- progress!
Got a kitten the day after Christmas '07. Cutest. Thing. Ever.
However. She's crazy and is licking her tummy bald. Go figure.

May start posting regularly, may not. Not even entirely sure why I'm posting now, other than to say "I'm not dead" to anyone still looking.

The Monkey Has Left the Building.

2006-07-25T05:55:00.000-07:00

I'm done, guys.

There's nothing left to do but complain, therefore, this blog has nowhere to go but down.
I need something positive in my life, and this ain't it.

I've had The Scarlett O'Hara Moment- As Jeebus is my witness, I will leave this profession! It won't happen today, or even in the next several years, but I will leave. I just need to set up a safety net first- and that takes time.

Anonymity has been...interesting, but I'm getting a clean start at TypePad- real name, real locale, real me. If I'm going to market myself (and beg for donations, heh) I have to learn to take direct hits to my ego; and have people know who I am.

If you want to follow, e-mail me.
If I know you in real life, I'll be updating you shortly- as soon as there's something to see.

Thanks to everybody for your comments and support over the last few years.

CAD Monkey

2006-07-14T08:58:00.000-07:00

Amusing things I’ve seen lately:

A man who apparently owns a vast array of sport jackets from the Miami Vice Collection. Monday was powder blue, Wednesday was peach, and this morning was mint green. Each of these was accompanied by jeans, a white shirt, and hideous loafers in cream-colored leather.

This is on a cutsheet for some automatic sliding doors: “Stacked” finger safety applied to stroke.

Mark of the Devil

2006-07-13T07:55:00.000-07:00

First, the refrigerator magnet did not hold.

Second, when people ask me if I am “glad to be back [at work],” why do they always look surprised when I answer, “not really?”

Third…

Intentionally or not, a certain architectural louver company decided to give one of their products the model number “K666.” I’ve been calling it The Louver of the Devil. I called a local rep to ask some detailing questions yesterday, and she replied, “oh, you mean the Satan Louver. I don’t know why they decided to use that number.”

Also, the GMP* set for the project we're using this louver for was issued on June 6th. Think about that for a while.

*Architectural Term o’ the Day: Guaranteed Maximum Price

Broke Ass

2006-07-12T09:53:00.000-07:00

So I guess I’ve owed you guys an update for a while now. Doing almost anything other than writing in the blog has seemed like a better idea lately. Over the course of the next few posts, I’m going to fast-forward past the previous entry, then rewind, then resume at present time. Strap in and hang on. It won’t make much sense, I’m sure.

My six-week post-op appointment with the surgeon was last Wednesday. I finally got to see an x-ray showing the screws in my New and Improved Hip. There are three 3” screws placed vertically, and a shorter one going from back to front. The hospital charged me $506 for them. I should have asked if I could bring in some lag screws from the hardware store. According to my surgeon, I’m doing even better than he expected. He basically said “rise and walk, my child.” I’m down to one crutch.

However.

My incision still hasn’t completely healed, and he said that may take another 6 weeks. He also showed me on the x-ray where I have a stress fracture in the inferior pubic ramus- also known as the “sit bones.”

Yes, I have a fractured ass.

I’ve reached the part of my recovery where I’m sick of being crippled, yet it will be another few months before I can expect to feel “normal.” I’m 80% pain-free, but I have the weird sensation of always feeling like there’s something in my right front pocket- even when I’m not wearing any pants. My leg feels like it’s crammed into the hip socket. I swear I can feel one of the screw heads through my skin, but I’ve yet to test it with a refrigerator magnet.

On Monday I returned to work. The good news is, they moved my cube while I was away- I am no longer anywhere near Hack n' Snort. Blissful, blissful silence.

CAD Monkey in the Hospital - Day 3 (Part Two)

2006-06-23T08:11:00.000-07:00

I know that I’ve been dragging this out forever.
What the hell’s taking so long, you ask?
Simply put, I had a crappy first few days in the hospital, and I’ve been reluctant to relive them. I’m frustrated with my recovery (it’s going fine, it just takes forever), and I just want the whole thing to be over- recalling this crappy day in painful detail just hasn’t been high on my to-do list.

May 26 – Best! Day! Ever! (continued)

Little did I realize that actually getting a potty would be so damn difficult. There was no way in hell I was making it all the way to the real bathroom, so the nurse said she’d bring in a bedside commode…45 minutes later, it still hadn’t arrived. My bladder was quickly approaching critical mass; my gas-filled stomach wasn’t helping things.

My mother went out into the hall to track somebody down to bring one in; she found nothing but tumbleweeds. I rang the nurse call (which I was quickly finding out was pointless), and asked, “will someone please bring a commode in here?” A random nurse walked in, and tried to get me onto a bedpan by rolling me onto my operated hip. On the verge of tears, again, I told her to stop, and get me a friggin commode. In the middle of all this, a hapless hospital administrator walks in, and says she’s “here to ask a few questions about how everything is going.” Mom, in her finest Mother Bear voice replies, “it’s not going very well right now!” She told the lady our plight, to which she replied, “oh,” mumbled something about finding someone to help, and then scurried off into the hall. Never saw her again.

Somebody finally brought in a commode. Then began the complete loss of the rest of my dignity for the day. For the first time in 30+ years, I had to have my mother wipe my behind, because I couldn’t support myself to do it…myself. Someone walked in on me with my butt in the air, and said, “oh! I’m so sorry.” I bet. It seemed that every time I got on the damn commode, somebody would walk in.

When the rehab doctor came in to find me on the pot, he became extremely embarrassed, and said he’d come back. When he did return, he asked if I’d saved what was in there. Ew. No. He told me they were planning on getting me transferred over to Their Side, meaning the rehab wing. You could actually hear the capitalization every time he said it.

The day got worse before it got better. My stomach had swelled up large enough that I could almost rest a glass on it. The nurse said I had to move my bowels. They’re very concerned about your pooping schedule in the hospital, I’ve found. She brought in the dreaded secret weapon…suppositories. The worst part was having to roll over; it was extremely painful- cue another round of tears.

Did I mention that my mother and my husband were in the room for all of this? And for the aftermath of the suppositories? See above, “RE: complete loss of dignity.” ManThing said we’d never speak of it again- yet he is the one who insisted I finish this story.

Things calmed down a bit after the suppository adventure. The doctor said I was still anemic, so they were going to have to give me another two units of blood before I could transfer to rehab. They were very reluctant to give me blood, even though my anemia wasn’t improving. I was of the opinion, “just give me the damn blood already!” My IV had to be changed to another location (apparently, veins “expire” after a few days) before they could do the transfusion. I lost my nice, neat surgical IV, and traded it in for a nasty, painful IV that turned my arm into a purple and red tie-dyed nightmare from the moment it was in.

By the time the transfusion was over, it was 10:30 at night. I figured I’d be staying put, but hospitals work on a different schedule- they transferred me to rehab.

Thus ended the hellish part of my stay.

CAD Monkey in the Hospital - Day 3 (Part One)

2006-06-20T19:53:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow will be one month since the surgery, so I figured I’d better get back to work on this before I completely forgot everything. As it is, I’ve already forgotten a lot.
Day 3 was, uh, eventful, so I’m going to have to break it into a few parts.

May 26 – Best! Day! Ever!

Day 3 started off with my now-accustomed runny-egg breakfast. I didn’t eat much, because my stomach was nearly full to capacity with lovely, painful gas. The doctor came in, and took out my drains. My fever was gone, and after I talked to the doctor, so was Nursezilla. She was supposed to be my nurse again for the day, but after I related the previous day’s events to him, he went out into the hall, talked to someone for a little while, and I got a new nurse.

Despite the two units of blood I’d received two days before, I was still anemic. As a result, I was still very weak, and my pulse was pretty high just sitting in bed. Nonetheless, physical therapy would start. The first person from PT gave me some exercises to do while lying in bed. Then he went off on a soooper-long spiel about crutches, crutch tips, what not to do, etc. I only remember pieces: anemic = loopy.

The next person from PT gave me some arm exercises to do with a Theraband. No problem.

The third person from PT, Lindsey, said it was time to get out of bed, and using a walker. She brought in this 1947-looking, rickety, green spray-painted, scary walker. (Now, here’s where my memory fails me. Damn me for waiting so long to write this. I know it must have hurt like hell to move my legs for the first time in two days, but I’ve already started forgetting.) I carefully maneuvered to sitting on the side of the bed. Since my butt was hanging out of the gown, she helped me put on the robe I’d brought with me.

Lindsey told me the first goal was to use the walker to go around the foot of the bed to the other side. My heart was already pounding, just from moving to the side of the bed. With a belt wrapped around my waist, and Lindsey pulling, I got into standing position. She told me to move the walker first, and then move my right foot forward a little. I moved the walker…and then didn’t move my right foot. The signals were leaving my brain, but my leg was out to lunch from the knee up. I had to use my toes to drag my foot forward.

By the time I made it to halfway to the other side of the bed, my heart was pounding in my ears, and I was sweating profusely. When I made it to the other side, I damn near passed out. I sat on the edge of the bed, with the vision in my left eye going a little black.

This is when the doctor from Pain Management came in to remove my epidural. While I was sitting on the edge of the bed, eyelids not quite working simultaneously, he just walked around behind me and pulled it out. Then, he started talking about...something. I sat there, sweating, vision going in and out.

After he left, Lindsey looked at me and said, “did you get any of that?”
“Nuh uh.”
“I didn’t think so.”

I have no idea what he said the entire time he was there- I was too busy concentrating on remaining conscious.

Sometime after my first pitiful foray out of bed, the nurse removed my catheter. This meant I would have to get my ass out of bed to use the potty. Oh, goodie.

Because getting out of bed had been so much fun the first time.

2006-06-13T14:04:00.000-07:00

So I haven’t made much progress on the “hospital story.”

But let me tell you how I am right now.

Right now I’m sitting, crookedly, because I have a block of ice under my right ass cheek. I also have a bag of frozen peas in a pillowcase wrapped around my right elbow.

I have officially reached the stage where I feel better enough overall to be annoyed that I’m not completely healed, and frustrated with the things I want to do, but can’t.

Out of an otherwise completely healed 12” incision, I have a ½” area that simply won’t close up. It will be 3 weeks tomorrow since the surgery. Close. The hell. UP. My skin is raw from pulling the tape off to change the dressing; it’s also covered in tape adhesive “leftovers” that I can only remove with rubbing alcohol- which makes the rawness worse.

One trip up and down the hallway outside our apartment leaves me panting, with my heart racing. This is also the reason I’m having to ice down my elbows- my weenie arms aren’t used to having to carry my entire weight. My physical therapist hath decreed that I shall make this journey five times daily.

I’m still waiting for it to become easier.

Any time now.

At least I have no trouble feeding myself. Like that was ever an issue.

CAD Monkey in the Hospital - Day 2

2006-06-09T11:54:00.000-07:00

I was good and had this all ready to post yesterday, but Blogger had "issues." Guess that's what I get for refusing to pay for a domain...

May 25 - Nursezilla

The night after surgery consisted of one- to two-hour increments of foggy non-sleep; broken up by my IV tower beeping (low battery, out of blood, I’m a pain-in-the-ass machine ha ha ha), the nurse coming in to check my vitals, and the tech coming in to empty my catheter bag and surgical drains.

That, and the spasms. All of my limbs seemed to have a case of the twitchies, which wasn’t so bad, until it was my right leg’s turn again. My whole leg would kick, sending a shooting pain through my hip that woke me from whatever form of sleep I had been enjoying.

Around 7:00am on Day 2, things started to look better: breakfast appeared on my overbed table. People started calling my mom to see how I was doing, and the standard answer was, “she’s got food in front of her now, so she’s happy.”

Given that my nurse the night before had been so cheerful and attentive, I had no idea what was coming. My nurse for the day seemed nice enough, if a little cranky, in the morning. By that evening, however, I wanted her dead.

I started to feel feverish at around 4, and I asked her to take my temperature. Nursezilla said she “already had taken my temperature” (3 hours before), that it was 100, and that they “don’t do anything until it goes above 101.” For the next several hours, I tried to nap, but I felt like my head was boiling.

I called for Nursezilla when the IV tower started beeping; saying it was on low battery. She didn’t come. A short while later, I called again when my epidural ran dry. She didn’t come. Did I mention that I was being given no other pain medication besides said epidural?

Finally, the charge nurse came in, and found me sobbing uncontrollably, and my mother with a vein about to burst out of her forehead. Nursezilla came in shortly thereafter, with the nurse who would be working overnight. They didn’t say anything to me at all; they just stood at the IV tower, trying to figure out how to get it going again.

Finally, Nursezilla took my temperature (I can only guess the charge nurse made her do it). 101.6. Suck it, Nursezilla. I wasn’t just whining after all! She gave me some Tylenol… and told us we needed to close the curtains, because it was the sun coming in the window that was making me feverish! Then she turned the thermostat down to 60 and left for the night, saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow!” I just groaned and lay back down. And froze my ass off all night.

My poor mother stayed with me all night- for the second night in a row- because she was afraid to leave me at their mercy. I appreciated it more than she’ll ever know, especially since she had to spend the night chasing down someone to empty my catheter bag and drains every few hours, before they burst.

CAD Monkey in the Hospital - Day 1

2006-06-06T12:31:00.000-07:00

I live!

I have been back home since the 1st; but there has been some craziness (which I’ll get to in a chronological manner), I’ve been exhausted, and my parents have just left this morning- all of which have made writing low on the priorities list.

Starting from the beginning…

May 24 – Surgery

My surgery was scheduled for 12:30. I was told to show up by 10:30…so I could then sit around until nearly 1:00. During these two and a half hours, I changed into a hospital gown (thus beginning the Week of No Pants!); read a trashy magazine; was grouchy because I hadn’t had food since 7:00 the night before; had my right leg “autographed” by one of the surgeons; and was offered an epidural for post-op pain relief- which I heartily accepted.

When I was wheeled into the OR, I remember the anesthesiologist starting the IV, telling me to sit up on the side of the table so they could put in the epidural, injecting something lovely into the IV…then fluffy, fluffy clouds.

I woke up in recovery; I don’t know how long after the surgery, or how long I stayed there. My mom said it was 8 hours before she got to see me again after they’d wheeled me away. All I remember is hearing the staff talking about how they’d lost my chart, and thinking, well, this is going great so far. At least the correct leg is hurting.

Boy, howdy, was it hurting. I still had the oxygen mask on, but I was pitifully mewling “eight” to anybody walking past, attempting to get someone’s attention. I was told I couldn’t have any pain meds until my blood pressure came up, and my pulse went down. This brought on thoughts of go up, blood pressure! Goooooo!! Mama needs drugs, now!!

At some point in recovery, my right leg started convulsing (seriously- no other word describes it better). One of the nurses tried to hold it down. I was told this was from the anesthesia wearing off. I wished it had chosen the other leg to torture!

Somewhere in the haze, I was moved to my room, via a painful transfer off the stretcher. They started to transfuse two units of blood into me over the next several hours. I don’t remember much else, except that my nurse the first night was really nice, and the tech became my best friend when he offered me two kinds of sorbet at 11:00 that night- my first “food” in nearly 30 hours.

2006-05-21T07:43:00.000-07:00

There seems to be some cosmic connection between my impending surgery, my immune system, and the suggestions of my coworkers.

Last month, my PA made the comment, “couldn’t you put this off for a little while longer?”

Ta dah! I got strep throat for the first time in 15 years, resulting in the surgery being postponed for another month.

This past Thursday, another coworker comments that I should be eating light, and trying to take off a little weight before the surgery. I won’t even go into how rude that suggestion is in itself.

Ta dah! That very night, I came down with a vile case of food poisoning, and have lost six pounds as a result.

I’m glad I’m not supposed to go back to work anymore before the surgery; I shudder to think what the next “suggestion” might inflict upon me.

In pursuit of the Wild Bagel

2006-05-18T09:06:00.000-07:00

Here in the Cubicle Jungle, we constantly get product reps in the office, hawking the latest cutting-edge technology in all things cut-pile, polished, and coved to the Interiors group. These reps often bring food, usually of the pastry variety.

Sometimes a fellow monkey will alert me to the presence of pastries; more often I hunt alone. Tuesdays and Thursdays are the best days for a hunt. Before the sun looms high over the Jungle, I watch the elevators for reps bearing boxes. The boxes will have curious markings on them like, “La Madeline,” “Corner Bakery,” or “Starbucks.”

Once a rep has been spotted, it is only a matter of patience. Interiors will nibble at a few pieces, and then leave the remainder out on the plain for the other animals. One has to move quickly, for there is a Rhino in the Jungle who has been known to take ice cream left over from birthday celebrations back to his desk- still in the half-gallon container.

As I made my way to the area this morning, I saw another monkey scurrying back to his desk, dropping a light spray of crumbs from the prize clenched in his greedy hand. Food is confirmed. A small huddle surrounds the box. Hands reach in, snag a piece, then skitter away to eat their find at their cubicles. As always, the Ostrich, wearing his bowtie,* turns up his beak at the whole affair. Nothing but crumbs is left after the feeding frenzy is done.

The Circle of Lard continues…

*a.k.a. “Designosaur.” ManThing has a gift for assigning animal characteristics to people. He hit it spot-on with this one. I snorted.

The way to his heart.

2006-05-18T05:24:00.000-07:00

CAD Monkey: How do you feel about free sushi for dinner...and you can eat it at home, without pants??

ManThing: This isn't from someone who wants to get rid of their fishtank, is it?

CAD Monkey: No, I went out to lunch with Big Boss and [two other coworkers] at [our favoritest sushi place]. We over-ordered, and had a waiter cool enough to "turn his head" and let us take the leftovers. I've got some volcano roll, some russian roll, salmon, snapper, mackerel, and white tuna.
W00t!!

ManThing: Sushi, pantslessness, and WoW! All my favorite things in one night!

Shameless

2006-05-17T06:23:00.000-07:00

Hot damn!

I still refuse to play golf as a means of ass-kissery, but I just found out the Managing Principal likes sushi. Sushi eating is definitely an acceptable form of schmoozing.

Guess who I'm having lunch with today? I ain't ashamed.

2006-05-17T06:05:00.000-07:00

I went to Starbux this morning for my usual double tall soy caramel macchiato. The barista made it with real milk instead of soy. It was tasty, but I will pay for it later.

[stomach rumbles ominously]

Oh, how I will pay.

2006-05-16T14:07:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, we all received e-mails that an independent survey firm might be calling some of us, as part of a study the company was doing on employee satisfaction and turnover. I read it, and then promptly forgot about it.

My phone rang today: “Hi, [CAD Monkey], I’m from BlahBlahBlah Survey Company. Would you have time for a fifteen- to twenty-minute survey on employee satisfaction and turnover?”

Awww, crap.

Sigh.

“Sure.”

Dilemma, Part the First: I hate the career I ~~chose~~ settled for (or at least I do this week, again). Going to lunch with two coworkers and engaging in a conversation that included way too many “and another thing!” statements didn’t help my frame of mind for the day, either.

Dilemma, Part the Second: This is a good company; so, do I give my honest opinion, or the opinion I’d have if I weren’t bitter and jaded against the industry?

Dilemma, Part the Third: Open cubicles make for difficulty in giving an honest opinion over the phone. I’d rather be overheard saying “hemorrhoids?!?” than giving my honest opinion of my office experience. Okay, maybe not. But you get the picture.

I settled upon the wuss-tacular answer set of “pleased with the company, outwardly optimistic of the future, with bitterness suppressed behind iron bars.” Then, I kept repeating “4” for the next fifteen minutes. (It was a 1-to-5 scale)

At least it got me out of working for a little while.

Funny thing is, I heard Hack n' Snort get his phone call a little while later. He asked if he could call the guy back from a conference room "for more privacy." Ha! It's probably so I wouldn't hear him say how great it is that all he has to do to get great assignments is play golf with the Boss Man.

Flossing is Fun!

2006-05-11T11:14:00.000-07:00

The weather outside today is gorgeous, so I sat in my car, windows down, sunroof open, to eat my lunch. As I continued to sit there, the prospect of returning to work became less attractive all the time. I even made a list:

Things That Sound Better Than Going Back to Work

Flossing my teeth over and over
Donating blood at the bloodmobile parked behind me, even though they'd throw it out afterwards (I lived in Germany, thus I fall into their "permanent disqualifications" group)
Faking a doctor's appointment
Faking a child, then faking that it was sick
Staging a "cat health emergency"
Faking my own illness (wouldn't be hard, as I ate my entire Chipotle burrito- and now feel barfish)

In the end, I settled on going back to work, and writing this list. That killed at least another five minutes.

2006-05-10T07:03:00.000-07:00

For the love of all that is decent and holy!!

Designosaur, who, up to this point, has had absolutely no concern for reducing the costs of the design, has “brilliantly” had the idea that we should lower the height of all the parapets on the two buildings to save some money.

Great. That’s just great.

I wish he would have thought about that before we started drawing the 24 wall sections that will be affected by this change.

Conversely, he is refusing to use off-the-shelf items for various other parts of the project. How much money are we saving there, huh? Huh?!? [pulls out hair]

2006-05-10T05:29:00.000-07:00

Monkeys drink more alcohol when housed alone, and some like to end a long day in the [cubicle] with a boozy cocktail.

Architect Porn

2006-05-09T09:07:00.000-07:00

Now that ManThing and I have rid ourselves of the mundane House of Monkey, and moved into a super-cool loft, I am one step closer to becoming an architecturally pretentious ass. Not that that’s a goal of mine, or anything.

ManThing and I love the new place. It is dripping with architect porn.* Today began the final phase of ensuring the loft is 100% cool, instead of just 94%: the nasty-gross carpet in the bedroom is being ripped out and the concrete beneath resurfaced and sealed (as it should be).

[arms crossed, CAD Monkey nods her head imperiously]

I have developed an intense loathing for carpet over the last two years, as a direct result of living in a house devoid of the fluffy menace. There’s just something attractive about not getting constant sinus infections as a result of your floor covering.

The bad part of all this is we had to disassemble all our bedroom furniture, and cram it into the master bathroom. In the process, I managed to smash both the foot and the big toe of my Golden Leg.** ManThing reminded me about how I’m not supposed to move things. Ever. For this very reason. Somehow, I can work a drill while half-drunk on mojitos, without incident, but can’t move furniture worth a damn. Guess I should stick to “drunken use of power tools” and leave “sober moving of large objects” alone.

*exposed concrete structure, an interior brick wall, primary colored paint (red), sealed concrete/ hardwood floor.

**My left leg; the one that has to support me for several months after my surgery, by itself, while the bones in my right hip are “setting.”

2006-05-05T06:24:00.000-07:00

First thing this morning, I discover Designosaur’s latest edict elevation sketch laid ever-so-sneakily on my desk. Just as I’m beginning to bang my forehead on the desk in frustration, a co-worker walks past my cube and asks, “how’s it going?”

“Fine, except I’m wondering how this is supposed to work.” I point at the elevation, where Designosaur has shown a light fixture mounted to a 2 ½” window mullion- which is surrounded on all sides by vision glass.

“Ah, that’s just a little thing.”

“Yes, but it’s one of so many other things.”

“As long as you’re having fun, that’s all that matters.”

“SNORF. Yeah, I’ll let you know when that starts.”

2006-05-04T07:59:00.000-07:00

There are clients touring our office this afternoon, so a few days ago we got the “clean up your ~~sty~~ ~~cell~~ cubicle” e-mail from the Big Boss. I never do too much cleaning for these events, because an empty desk is a sign of an empty mind.

Thanks to the power of the ‘net, you’ll never know whether I managed to keep a straight face while typing that. Heh.

Every time a client tour is about to come through, I always picture myself in a small room at the end of a dark corridor; behind a door which reads, “Beware: CAD Monkey Sector.” When the tour comes by, Big Boss warns them, “that’s where all the production people are. We don’t go in there.” One hapless tourist sneaks closer to the door to peek through the small window at what lies inside. He sees me, sitting at my desk, hunched forward, scowling at the monitor (life inspires fiction, no?). I turn my head towards the view window and snarl at him; lunging out of my chair, against my chains

The tourist scampers off, whimpering.

He can't say they didn't warn him.

2006-05-01T13:11:00.000-07:00

Something my favorite designer keeps forgetting about is that a building elevation drawing will never be seen that way in the real world. He keeps asking me to to things based upon how they line up on a flat piece of paper, where you see the entire face of the building straight-on, without perspective.
See, there’s this concept, called a viewing angle, which negates some things being seen from a normal person’s perspective. For example, a pedestrian will not see the mechanical unit on the eighth floor of a building from the ground, so why are we spending money (and my precious precious time) trying to cover it up with some whoopty-do fancy screening?
Someone standing in front of the building’s entry won’t notice that the mullions of the windows don’t line up between two faces of the building that are 40 feet away from each other. Yet, I keep finding myself being told to line ‘em up, anyway!
I would expect things like this from a rookie, but this is Designosaur we’re talking about here. He should know better.

2006-04-27T07:59:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I made the decision to kill off my other blog; you know, the worthless “weight loss” blog that I, like so many others, tried, in vain, to keep. Now, instead of not writing anything on two blogs, I can devote my full energy to not writing anything on just one blog!

You can hardly stand the excitement, I’m sure.

Denied!

2006-04-26T08:02:00.000-07:00

Oh, cruel twist of Fate!
Why doest Thou hate me so?

I was in the home stretch, getting my pre-op tests run yesterday morning. As I sat in the waiting room, the poor little lady with a walker next to me was told that her surgery was cancelled because her doctor was in a transplant surgery he couldn’t leave. I thought, “man, that sucks for her.”

Shortly thereafter, my surgery got cancelled because I had tested positive for strep throat over the weekend. Despite my bravery at taking a shot of penicillin in the ass on Saturday, the physician’s assistant told me “not enough days have passed for us to be sure the strep is gone. If we put in a breathing tube and the strep gets into your lungs it could kill you, blah, blah, blah.” I wish they would have had him come tell me that before they blew a vein in my arm while trying to draw blood.

So. After a crying jag; a call to Mom to cancel her flight (in which I used the word “clusterfuck”- yes, to my mother); and some leave-of-absence-paperwork cancellations; I’m back at work!

Yay!

Suspiciously, this was the first case of strep throat I’ve had in fifteen years. I blame my PA, who kept asking me if I couldn’t put the surgery off until June, so I could help finish our current project. Absolutely diabolical, the way he got his hands on a vial of strep to put in my coffee.

Oh yeah, and since I’m back for an unspecified amount of time, there’s been talk of me being able to help out on the value engineering for…Project B (a.k.a., The Worst Project in the History of Projects)! For those of you wondering, “what’s ‘value engineering?’”, (I have no idea where to put the damn comma/ double set of quotes/ question mark on that one. Suck it, Grammar Police.) it’s when you take a project and try to scale it back so that the budget goes down, effectively “crapping it up” so that the contractor can continue to make a profit at the expense of the quality of the building. I love this industry. Love it.

(When referring to "VE" in the architectural community, pay no attention to what Wikipedia says. It's "crapping it up," pure and simple.)

2006-04-20T11:51:00.000-07:00

Been moving. No internet at home. Sucks. Thus the abbreviated rant below:

I hate feeling like getting ahead at work has a whole lifestyle associated with it. In order to be seen favorably, you have to work overtime, play golf, attend industry events, participate in fundraisers, and/ or go to office parties. Can’t I just come to work, do a good job, and become recognized for…coming to work and doing a good job? Do I really have to spend all my free time trying to kiss ass and put on a good show?

Am I the only one who feels this way?

2006-04-13T12:46:00.000-07:00

Hi, it's me. I'm still as pissy as ever.

Did you miss me?

I didn't think so.

The whole theory of “paying your dues” is a bunch of crap. I thought, if I worked really hard to learn how to make “buildable” buildings; concentrating on details, and systems, that it would help me- one day- to become a GOOD DESIGNER. That plan was pointless. I will never be a designer, because I didn’t become one RIGHT OUT OF SCHOOL. Unfortunately, that depends on who you know; and I knew no one. Hence, I fell into the category: “Once a production person, always a production person.”

Why do I let this eat at me so much? I know this is a damn good job, and I should just shut up and do it- and do it well, as I am capable of. Perhaps even excel, a little.

Most days, I can picture myself being okay with what I do. I am hopeful that, with two properly working legs, I can begin to exercise away all this excess angst.

However.

Every time I hear the designers next to me whine about how they should have a section of the office to themselves; creating a “Designers Only” Ivory Tower separate from the shit fields of Production, I get pissed off all over again. All I can think is, no matter what my performance reviews say, I will never get to design- because of this attitude. If you don’t walk in the front door as a Designer from Day One, you WILL NEVER BECOME ONE. Crossovers just don’t happen. There is no credibility established unless you had it when you arrived.

The Designers don’t want my shit-covered feet all over their Ivory Tower’s floor.

Maybe it would be better if they all moved to some remote corner of the building, after all. At least then I wouldn’t continue to harbor these stupid hopes, only to have them destroyed again by the designers’ separatist bitching sessions.

The Planets Have Aligned.

2006-04-05T18:50:00.000-07:00

Finally.

After months of waiting, knowing nothing about so many aspects of my near-future life, all the information is coming together.

ManThing officially got his promotion today, complete with a stout raise.
I got my surgery date; in turn, we now know when we are going to move.
Chez Monkey is sold, and our mortgage principal balance is zero dollars.

I feel like I can finally breathe again (though it’s a little tough at the moment, because my belly is quite full of lamb from our celebratory dinner).

At work, I have made the conscientious decision to quit drawing with “smart walls,” start drawing with just lines, and to hell with the consequences. It is quite liberating. I had forgotten how good it feels to just draw; instead of trying to assemble a 3-D model using components that I don’t really know how to manipulate- it was like an octopus wearing high heels while trying to climb a mountain.

I feel so much better. I hope it will last. :)

Overheard

2006-04-04T08:00:00.000-07:00

Had a two-week break from Hack n' Snort. He's back now. Boy, is he ever. I heard the following when the IT guy called in response to a message HnS had left:

HnS: How many kay-bees is in a meg? Oh, a thousand is a meg? So I guess a 10,000 kay-bee file is too big to e-mail, huh?

I snorted. From the laughing.

Name That Client!

2006-04-04T07:53:00.000-07:00

Yesterday during a meeting, the PM told us the owner had said, "If this building wins a design award, then we've failed our mission."

That's right, folks! It's Project B!

I wish I could have been there when he said it, if only to ask if we should change "stucco" to "cow manure" to save additional costs.

Monogrammed, perhaps?

2006-04-02T05:37:00.000-07:00

I wonder if they'll personalize it to read, "Go the hell away."

How to Become a Better Person in Five Steps

2006-03-31T16:42:00.000-08:00

1. Find a blog to read, preferably one you find annoying.
2. Become annoyed with blog.
3. Leave irritating comment for blogger.
4. Return to blog to confirm that blogger has indeed become irritated by your comment.
5. Enjoy that blissful, warm feeling of "Holier Than Thou."

Just read this glowing testimonial:

"[This blog is] useful to me. I read it and I remind myself how utterly annoying a constant complainer can be to other people, and I stop. Therefore, your blog makes me a better person!"

You’re a Better Person.

Great. Congratulations. Glad I could help.

Now scurry off, and be a Better Person on someone else’s comment page.

I know I'm not supposed to feed them, but they're just so darn cute!

2006-03-30T17:42:00.000-08:00

Oh, goodiegoodiegoodie! I have caught a scaly little blog troll of my very own!

To celebrate this occasion, I have added a link to The Master Thwarter of All Trolls, The Misanthropic Bitch, to my blogroll.

My little troll-snack is served below:

I swear, I have never seen someone complain so much.

First, you have never “seen” me. This. Is. A blog. It is a slice of my life, not my entire life. It is a representation of my inner shrew; a place where I can complain every-fucking-day if I want to. I make the rules here. So suck it.

Second, visit that shiny new link I mentioned above. She has me beat by a mile.

Is there ever a day when you don't have a new ailment or something else to bitch about?

Yes, those would be the days between posts, when I’m off living my life, instead of leaving hatred-filled comments on other people’s blogs.

If you hate the work so much, get out!

If you hate the blog so much, get out!

You are making yourself unbearable, and I don't even know you!

No, you don’t know me, and I'm not sure why that would even be relevant. If the blog is “unbearable,” see above instructions; RE: Get out!

I only read your post to see what you are bitching about now (and, apparently, to leave this moronic comment), work or being sick or in pain.

So, that would make you...a masochist? In that case, you should be quite happy with what you read here- or unhappy, or however you psychos get off on self-inflicted pain.

Its amazing...Geez!

Yes, Anonymous, it is amazing that people must continue to flame on others in this manner, because they are too weak to say things like these to real humans in real life. What’s even more amazing is that you took the time to carefully pen this love letter to me, yet you couldn’t be bothered to come up with a more interesting pseudonym than “Anonymous.”

When I Googled the phrase “blog troll,” there were over 7 million results; with this amusing classification at the top of the list.

Twitchy McSpasm

2006-03-29T07:06:00.000-08:00

I fear that the twitch I keep having in my left eye may become permanent.

Eyelid Twitch
Minor eyelid twitches require no treatment as they usually resolve spontaneously. Reducing stress, using warm soaks, or correction of any refractive error may help. Some ophthalmologists recommend reducing caffeine usage.

Yeah. I’m so hosed.

I wish AutoCAD had a neck...for the strangling.

2006-03-27T11:19:00.000-08:00

I am, once again, working with the same old, crusty, needs-to-fucking-retire-already designer as on Project B. He is doing much of the same crap that drove me insane on the last project; such as putting transom windows above the doors to the electrical rooms, having windows the entire height of the exit stair towers, and centering window mullions on interior walls (walls that are between patient rooms, no less).

Also, Project PITA has some Labor and Delivery rooms, in which Design-o-saur has placed windows that go all the way to the ground. I hope you don’t mind having your “business” on display, ladies! We wouldn’t dare screw up Crusty Pants’s “design vision!”

I was working off of his sketches this morning, completely baffled as to why things weren’t fitting right, until I realized the scale was not 1/8”, as marked, but 1/16”. Idiot.

Retire.
Die.
Go get yourself stuck in a tar pit.
Whatever, just go the hell away.

In addition to the personnel fun, I am struggling with the software transition. Halfway through the 3-day long training, I almost started to change my tune about hating ADT. When the instructor showed how you could create an entire room schedule in less than a minute, I was nearly sold. Being able to put ceilings in the rooms with ease was a welcome change. I thought, “huh, maybe this stuff is ‘smart,’ after all.”

However.

The inevitable disconnection between “see how nicely everything works out on a rectangular, perfectly made from scratch model” and “real, live, actual project” is kicking me square in the ass.

Now, I consider myself a fairly smart monkey. I think, for the most part, that I pick things up pretty quickly. This, however, is not the case for ADT. Partially, I still don’t see the value, as some of the niftiest features aren’t even being used on Project PITA. We’re still drawing wall sections from scratch; ditto on the exterior elevations- instead of letting the “smart” software generate these for us. That means it is a complete waste of my time to enter the heights of everything if it’s only going to show up in plan.

Further, I can’t even get just the plans to behave. Whenever I get an interior wall near an exterior wall, it goes crazy and merges really strangely. I called CAD Coordinator to help me learn how to fix this, and his answer was, “Okay, select the wall. Now right-click. Pick (something) from the pull-down menu. Hit return. Okay, select the wall again. Right-click, then pick ‘reverse in place.’” The hell? I’m supposed to go through this retarded process (which only worked for him about 40% of the time) for every place the inside and outside walls interface?

I have had an inner monologue running on auto-loop all morning: “What the?!? Piece of! Fuck it, I’m leaving a gap between them! Moving on!”

2006-03-24T08:22:00.000-08:00

I am an angry monkey, all of the time.

I am angry with the fact that my career is in virtual standstill due to not being able to give my employer a surgery date.
I am angry that I am not a designer, and because I know that now is not the time to try to become one in this company, because of aforementioned surgery dilemma.
I am angry that I have so few contacts in the architectural community, thus I can’t get anymore referral bonuses from getting more people hired on here.
I am angry that the young designers who sit next to me are getting more of their young-designer colleagues hired on, thus bumping me farther down the queue to becoming a designer myself.
I’m angry with myself for not growing a pair during the round of interviews that lead me to this job; I was honest about my capabilities, like a weenie, so that I was saddled with the title Project Coordinator, instead of Project Architect, as I should be.
I am angry that I don’t know how to go about changing that, or if I even have a vote in changing it.

This is a good place, I know it is, but I’m afraid I’m hurting my chances here with all this anger. Things have the potential to get better, but it won’t be overnight, or even in the near future. Patience is not one of my strong points, and I’ve already been dealing with crappy assignments and frustrating tasks for over a year now- I’m surprised I haven’t snapped and done something really stupid before now, as a matter of fact. The way it’s been manifesting lately is in my tendency to snip away at the number of hours I work per week. Monday, I called in sick and played World of Warcraft all day. Yesterday, I snuck out an hour early. Today, I sat and typed this entry, when I could have easily found some busywork to do.

After returning from the convention the office sent me to a few weeks ago, I had a renewed sense of purpose. I was motivated and inspired, even though I was assigned, once again, to work on nothing but wall sections for my next project. Too bad it didn’t last. It only lasted long enough for me to commit myself to creating a presentation that I now don’t want to give anymore.

2006-03-09T18:33:00.000-08:00

Our office has begun the painful process of upgrading to AutoCAD 2005. An upgrade alone wouldn’t be so bad, if not for the fact that Corporate has insisted that we now use the ADT portion of the program for construction drawings- meaning everything is drawn in 3-D, using so-called “smart walls.”

I consider myself the last of a dying breed- those who once did actual hand drafting. Until graduation, I drafted everything by hand. Therefore, I have a tendency to use AutoCAD as a glorified electronic pencil. Because of Project B’s lingering for so long, I haven’t yet been able to attend the training for this software upgrade; this is causing much frustration on my part. I don’t know how to get the “smart walls” to behave themselves. If I try to move a door, sometimes it jumps into an entirely different wall. If I trim a wall, it moves a door that’s in the wall. Weird-angled walls (which the damn designers absolutely love to use) don’t fillet properly, causing gaps at the corners, and the appearance of an annoying “you’ve fucked up” red circle with crosshairs in it.

"Smart walls," my ass. Nobody has yet been able to show me what’s so friggin’ smart about them.

This whole concept was sold on the premise that it would give us the ability to draw all the walls, using wall styles, and then be able to simply “slice through the plan, creating an instant building section.”

In a meeting discussing wall sections for a project using The All-Powerful ADT, I asked a coworker, “are you using the ADT, or just regular lines to create these sections?”

“We’re creating them with regular lines.”

Nope, not seeing any “smart” yet.

I can see the relevance of drawing all the exterior walls in 3D, because those could be used to easily create exterior renderings and elevations. However, none of the project’s elevations have been created this way. We do have the ability to create a 3D rendering of the Housekeeping closets, though!

Whooo, “smart walls!”

In order to give me a task that I could do until I can attend training, I was charged with changing the wall styles in floor plan files from “standard style” to “Humongo approved style.”

Yesterday, the CAD Coordinator asked me, “How’s ADT treatin’ ya?”

“I hate it.”

CAD Coordinator assures me that, once I’ve had the training, I will learn to love ADT.

I said, “What I would love is if people would draw the damn walls as the correct style the first time.”

He said, “they couldn’t, because they didn’t know what wall types they were supposed to be yet.”

Let me translate: This means that, on every job, the walls will first be drawn as “standard,” then have to be changed to the correct wall styles later, next updated with the correct fire tape, and still have to be labeled with partition types.

Where’s the “smart,” again??

I hope whoever sold Corporate on the whole “smart wall” concept is enjoying his Hawaiian vacation. Or the absence of his soul. Whatever.

2006-03-06T20:03:00.000-08:00

I knew I was right not to like Diet C0ke.

2006-03-06T19:31:00.000-08:00

I have a temporary reprieve from Project B, while it's in the hands of the Contractor for pricing.

My latest assignment? Changing wall styles from "standard" to "Corporate-approved style" in floor plans.

I'm sooooo glad I got a Master's Degree, otherwise I couldn't do such stimulating work!

Maybe it's just me, but...

2006-02-22T06:28:00.000-08:00

If 95% of the office is using AutoCAD, and you're a MicroStation user, who has, to the present time, not made any effort to learn AutoCAD, and you are, therefore, absolutely no help to the drafting effort, you have no right to complain about how an AutoCAD job has been drawn.

Shut it.

I think I just set a record for "most commas used (badly) in a single sentence."

2006-02-20T11:28:00.000-08:00

Printing days are always fun (/sarcasm), but today’s printing is extra special, as the PA and her second-in-command are both out for the day, and I am “in charge.” According to the scant information I received from PA on Friday afternoon, I was to make sure all the disciplines printed their sheets, so that we could issue sets to the appropriate State reviewers this afternoon. This would mean two sets, maximum. PA would call sometime today, and tell us how many more sets were needed for the contractor, if any. These could go out tomorrow, no problem.

It sounded like a fairly easy print job, and it was, for about the first 20 minutes.

While gathering up everything required for the submittals to the State reviewers, I realized I needed several pieces of documentation. During the course of acquiring said information from Project Manager, he tells me “we don’t have that yet for this part of the project.” Since I can’t issue to the State reviewers without it; I ask, “Sooo, we’re not issuing today?”

Client Liason pipes up over the cubicle wall in a pissy tone of voice, “No, I need prints to go to the Owner today. I need three sets; no, four sets.”

I think: What you need is to sit back down and shut the hell up. And a clue.
What I say: “Okay, we can do that.”
“Thanks, CAD Monkey.”
I think: Cram it.

Okay, fine. Four sets are attainable by the end of the day, if I get everybody’s stuff by noon. The next task is wrangling the other disciplines’ drawings.

[the phone rings]
I pick up the phone, and answer, “This is CAD Monkey.”
It’s the plumbing designer. “Should the border read, ‘QC?’”
“No, it should say, ‘For Construction.’ You’ll need to update your border file.”
“But the one I just pulled up says ‘QC.’”
“Then you’ll need to update your border file, the current one doesn’t say that.”
“Okay, bye.”

[two minutes later, the phone rings]
I pick up the phone, and answer, “This is CAD Monkey.”
It’s the plumbing consultant. Again. “It says, ‘[Project Manager], underscore, .jpg…’”
“That’s for our architectural seal. Just freeze that layer.”
“Then it will be blank?”
“Then it will be blank.”
“Then I’ll need to wet seal it?”
[mentally smacks herself in the head repeatedly with the phone handset] “Yes.”
“Okay, bye.”

Firstly, this is someone who has been working a lot longer than I have. Secondly, it’s not like we haven’t been through all this on different packages of this project several times now. Thirdly, if it’s that damn difficult, hand it off to one of your interns!

It is lunch time, and I have one, count it, ONE discipline’s drawings on my desk.

PM comes to my desk, as I am hurriedly wolfing down some Monkey Chow, and tells me we need another 4 sets.
I reply, “okay, but it’s not going to get to the Owner until Wednesday morning.” He says that it really needs to get there by tomorrow morning.

[visions of reaching out and throttling PM dance through my head]

Client Liason won’t be there to distribute the drawings until Wednesday morning, and I never got any memo or e-mail saying what actually needed to go out, or when, so I don’t know where this “must go out” crap is coming from- but I have an idea.

Neither PM nor Client Liason ever seems to realize that printing sets is not an instant process. Let me say it again: this is not the first time we have gone through this! PM hasn’t even signed and stamped the specs yet; how can he expect us to have 8 sets in four hours?

Once I have the complete original set in my hands, getting copies is the next obstacle. For an office our size, we should, in all practicality, have three plotters. We have one. It is necessary to scan all of the plots before we can even begin making copies, and this has to be done by a print tech who can’t get anything out without several smoke breaks and the usual complaint, “why didn’t you get this to me sooner?”

I start repeating my make-it-through-this-week mantra, “Fuck it, it will get there when it gets there.”

2006-02-18T16:28:00.000-08:00

The mental picture my brain has assigned to my stress levels is that of a winch with a ratchet and pawl gear system. Whenever another problem arises, the pawl moves up another tooth, or several. When I can get some relief, like passing out at 7pm and sleeping until 6 the next morning, the winch unwinds a little, but does not release completely.

I don't know what it will take to let the winch unwind completely. Sometimes it seems like cutting the rope is the only option.

The Mark of the Devil

2006-02-13T19:49:00.000-08:00

More proof that Project B is evil. I ran an audit on a file I was working on, and I received this message in the text bar...

And for the day's final kick in the ass...

2006-02-13T19:04:00.000-08:00

I was told that I got the boot from my next project, which would have involved me going to user group meetings through design development on a really big, from-scratch hospital.

The reason?

I don't yet know the date of my surgery, and "they can't depend on me" because of that.

So.
I've been busting ass, and risking what's left of my sanity, on Project B for a damn year now, and my carrot-on-a-string just got yanked away from me. Because I want to walk without pain. Silly CAD Monkey! Career must come first!! I understand where they're coming from, but damn! Could the timing be any worse?

I feel like I'm going absofuckinglutely nowhere in my career. ManThing told me yesterday that sometimes he wishes I were more ambitious. With what seems like constant setbacks, it's hard for me to agree with him. Further, I don't think I really want to be more ambitious- or not in this career field, anyway. It seems a wasted effort. I don't even know if changing firms, yet again, would help. I'm firmly ensconced within my pigeonhole.

Meanwhile, a 36-year-old was just named associate managing principal of our office.
I'm turning 32 this year, and what have I to show for my seven years in the industry? Nothing- except for an architectural license, which is worth the same...nothing. The two designers that sit next to me are both 35, and neither of them have their licenses; yet, they are running their own design projects. Hell, even Hack n' Snort is running his own fucking project- sans license, and with less experience than I have! WTF?!? I can only assume it is because he has started playing golf with one of the PMs in the office. (rolls eyes)

Cube Neighbor's pyramid scheme is starting to look somewhat enticing...

2006-02-13T11:12:00.000-08:00

Jeez, I could have been the author of this forum post.

Why do Mondays always seem to have this effect on me?
I need to be moved the hell away from the "project designer" section.

Today's Misogynistic Tidbit:
Team meeting for Project B. Project Architect, who is a woman, is trying to gain consensus on an agenda item, and goes back and forth between the two options. Client Liason (who is worse than worthless) leans over to me and says, "they say it's a woman's prerogative to change her mind, right? Heh heh heh."

I'm hoping the look I gave him properly conveyed my non-verbal response, "eat shit, heh heh heh."

2006-02-13T06:06:00.000-08:00

I would sell one of my kidneys right now, if I honestly believed it would get me out of having to work on Project B for another two weeks.

2006-02-08T08:39:00.000-08:00

My life is in a sad, sad state of affairs when I’m overjoyed at the prospect of having a crown put on a tooth, simply because I don’t have to get an accompanying root canal.

But on a funnier note...

Last night I had a dream that I was over at the desk of one of our structural engineers. He told me to add something to one of our architectural drawings. Standing next to me, there was a very short man, wearing a black turtleneck sweater, black pants, a black knit cap, and sunglasses. He told me that there was no time for me to go back to my desk and add it to the drawing in CAD- I had to tape the engineer's sketch to the paper.

Or I'd be executed on the spot.

2006-02-06T05:51:00.000-08:00

I’m beginning to think that I need to stop telling coworkers about things in my life outside of work. The reason isn’t one borne of guilt, or inappropriateness, or even anti-social behavior (though that one is closing in on 2nd place). The true reason is I’m just tired of having to
A) repeat the same story 30 times; and
B) having to reply, “no, nothing’s happened yet.”

ManThing and I decided to put the house up for sale; and I unwisely asked around the office for a recommendation on a real estate agent. This brought upon an onslaught of people asking if I’d used their agent; was the house on the market yet; why were we selling; where were we moving; and, “don’t you want to keep your tax break?” Almost a month later, we still don’t have it on the market, yet the questions keep coming; and I have to continue to answer, “no, nothing’s happened yet.”

Then there’s Days of Our Leg (cue sweeping violin music) saga. I am becoming accustomed to the annoyance of having to wait a month after anything of relevance occurring with the course of my treatment. Go to doctor, wait a month. Go get imaging test, wait a month. Find out what kind of surgery I’ll have, wait a month for it to be scheduled. Unfortunately, nobody else knows this is the routine- so I get the questions. My reply, “no, nothing’s happened yet.”

Now, in my ongoing streak of luck, I am wearing a wrist splint because I have a ganglion cyst in my right hand. I don’t have to even tell anybody about this problem to get the questions; because, like the cane, it’s an outwardly apparent symbol of another injury/ disability/ pain in my ass. So I tell the story- 30 times.

Have I snapped and killed anyone?

No, nothing’s happened yet.

2006-01-30T06:23:00.000-08:00

The scenario:
Coworker B comes into the office.
Hack n’ Snort asks, “How are you doing this morning?”
Coworker B replies, “Not so great. I don’t feel very well.”
Hack n’ Snort says, “What’d she cook you? Wives are bound to make something that will make you sick at least once.”

WTF?!? Is this guy from the 50s, or what? If he’s so sure that “wives” are out to poison their husbands, he should cook his own damn dinner.

Shut up, Hack n’ Snort. Go blow your nose. Or a goat.

The "B" stands for "Blows Goats"

2006-01-27T03:32:00.000-08:00

Your favorite insomnia-suffering architect is back! Did you miss me?

Last night, I felt a post just positively bubbling up inside me, like so much acid indigestion, but I couldn’t bring myself to relive the day’s events just yet. Now, at 4:45 in the morning, with the last remnants of my cookie dough-induced stupor gone, I think I’m ready.

Project B has still. Not. Left. The building.

In fact, we just got another fucking extension on it. The extension is the ultimate double-edged sword. We desperately need more time, but I am so sick of looking at this thing, it’s a struggle to force myself to do anything productive each day. The light at tunnel’s end has been cruelly ripped away from me once again. This is the third (Fourth? Fifth? Who can keep up?!?) extension we’ve gotten.

The utter aura of stupidity that surrounds this project has caused me to have this damn song running through my head all day long.

You want an example, you say? Why, sure! I have one for you right here.

The Owner is an ignorant git who has made countless changes and taken forever to answer pertinent questions, yet still expects everything to remain on schedule. Mr. Client Liason- who hasn’t got a fucking clue how much work it takes to finish a project of this size- promised the Owner that the Contractor would receive a pricing set on December 15th. We issued it, even though the set was only 75% done, at best. Because of all the omissions in a set missing 25% of its information, we are now being inundated with 9-page long requests for information from the Contractor- most of which point out that “detail has no notes,” or “referenced detail doesn’t exist.”

No! Really? You don’t say, Mr. Contractor!

We are now working on Addendum 1. This means we have to draw a revision cloud around, and add a delta with a “1” in it, to everything that has changed since the last set of drawings was issued. The last set of drawings consisted of 680 sheets. 680 sheets that were missing a substantial chunk of information. Do you see how big of a pain in the ass this is? Yesterday, my PA hands me a copy of a spec section that reads, “Addendum 2.” Apparently, this is being issued so that the Contractor can use a substitution on a building material. My PA gave me a copy of it because it had been issued. Before Addendum 1.

I never thought I’d be eagerly anticipating hip surgery, but here I am. Next Wednesday, if my doctor says he wants to operate the very next day, I’m so there. I will totally bail on this project, like the sinking ship it is.

Morphine, take me away.

2006-01-11T01:02:00.000-08:00

Howdy, kids.

Since we’ve been apart, some experiences have been had, and decisions made.

ManThing and I are putting Chez Monkey up for sale. No, we’re not buying another house. We’re taking one step down on the “I’m-An-Adult-Now” American Dream Ladder, and going back to renting. It is amazing to me, the sense of relief I have had since we made this decision (which also tells me it’s the right one). Apparently, I am an architect who (gasp) doesn’t want to live in a house. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that we don’t have the money to fix it up to our standards. Perhaps it is because the house payment is draining us dry, so that we can’t afford to do anything but make the house payment. Whatever. I’m not going to go into it here.

For quite a while, I’ve been meaning to address some of the comments I received on this entry.

Anonymous said (Mikey, is that you?), “Find something to add joy to your life. Quit trying to make it architecture. That is a job to pay the bills. Some people live for their jobs. That is how they get in magazines. Screw that!"

Screw that, indeed.
In fact, I have come to realize that I want absolutely nothing to do with architecture or construction when I’m not at work. I’m even going to change the delivery address for my industry mags to my work address. There needs to be a clear separation between what I do to pay the bills, and who I am- “architect” is not as all-encompassing as my old professors would have me believe. The notion that you must be “passionate” about architecture at all times and in all aspects of your life is something I had shoved down my throat all throughout school. Well, ladies and gentlemen, it is a great, steaming pile of crap. I am good- no, excellent- at what I do for a living, but I don’t want to bring it home with me every night- or constantly spend long hours at work. Divorce and unhappiness await me at the end of that road.

I no longer care about trying to do some design work on the side, entering design competitions, or doing upgrades to my own house. I'm no longer desperate for people to ask me to design their houses, or anything else. In my off-the-clock time, I want to make art. Pure, simple, art- no codes, no clients, nobody to tell me it’s crap except me (and occasionally ManThing, shrugging, offering the opinion, “Eh.”). Would I like to make a living creating art? Sure, but then it would stop being enjoyable, much like architecture school killed my love of hand drawing.

Philip said, “You need one sustaining daily goal to get you through these rough times.”

Right now, my sustaining daily goals, in this exact order, are going to be: uncluttering the house enough to prepare for sale, getting my leg fixed, and cramming some art-making in wherever I can. I even sat down last night and hand-sketched something- and it felt good, for the first time in a long while. Tonight, I’m going to my first figure drawing class. I’m excited.

Art therapy rocks.

2005-12-31T01:21:00.000-08:00

It's 3:22 in the morning, and I'm awake- annoyingly awake.
What better time to find silly things to do, such as send an e-mail to my future-40-year-old self?

I've got your holiday spirit right here

2005-12-28T09:37:00.000-08:00

This is a little something for all the poor saps out there (like myself) who don't have enough vacation time to take off the entire week between Christmas and New Year's Day.

It's the crap-crappiest time of the year
With me “what the hell”-ing
When everyone’s telling me
“Be of good cheer”
It's the crap-crappiest time of the year

It's the crap-crappiest season of all
While my project’s a beating
At least there’s no meetings
Or consultants who call
It's the crap-crappiest season of all

Oh, there'll be details for cursing
And headaches for nursing
And waving my fist in the air
I’d rather go for a nap
Than keep drawing this crap
All while trying to make myself care

It's the crap-crappiest time of the year
My whole team’s on vacation
I have no motivation
But I am still heeeeeere
It's the crap-crappiest time of the year

Oh, there'll be details for cursing
And headaches for nursing
And waving my fist in the air
I’d rather go for a nap
Than keep drawing this crap
All while trying to make myself care

It's the crap-crappiest time of the year
I’ve go so much to do, yet
I want to say, “screw it,”
When deadlines are near
It's the crap-crappiest time
It's the crap-CRAPpiest time
It's the crap-CRAPpiest tiiiiiiime...of the yeeeeeeeeear!

2005-12-18T10:35:00.000-08:00

Oh, for crap’s sake. I need to stop this whole “dream interpretation” thing- I am falling under the influence of chicanery and silliness. There are no answers to the "meaning of life" in my subconscious.

But it's still entertaining.

Friday night, I had a dream where I actually woke myself up by screaming. That has never happened before. In the dream, I was in our house, cleaning up around the kitchen, when I heard the front door lock rattle. I thought it was ManThing, and went to go open the door for him. Instead, it was a female zombie, who came into the house, and started shambling towards me. That’s when the screaming started, and continued until I found myself awake (and a wee bit embarrassed).

I’m not too sure how these interpretations mesh with the terror factor of the dream, but, again, some of them are quite fitting with what’s going on in my waking life…

Is there some activity, which you used to find interesting and exciting, yet now are finding dull and boring?
Have you become almost overcome with boredom recently?
Do you feel under the weather and tired- walking around like a zombie?

2005-12-17T08:06:00.000-08:00

I have recurring dreams about losing a tooth, or losing several teeth. Wednesday night’s version began with me feeling as though I had a loose tooth. Then, I felt a small, foreign object in my mouth; a shard of a tooth that has a filling in it- in both the dream and reality. This was followed by more of my teeth crumbling, and me spitting the pieces and blood into a sink.

Out of curiosity (and a bit of boredom), I decided to look up what this might mean. I realize that trying to interpret “dream symbols” is hokey, yet it was a little unsettling when I came across the following explanation…

“When you have [a tooth loss dream], ask yourself where, in your waking life, you are not expressing yourself, or where you are holding back from speaking out, or where you are not being heard or where someone is belittling you and treating you like a child, not respecting your views. One of these is likely to be the case.”

How about “many of those are likely to be the case?” A little creepy, really, how close to home that hits…I have to keep reminding myself that dream interpretation is for entertainment value only.

Yesterday, I “allowed” myself to make some “frivolous” purchases at the art supply store, such as canvases and paint- but I have no idea what to make. It has been so long since I sat down and made art just because I wanted to, that I don’t know where to begin. My cat isn’t the most interesting subject.

I know that I have to just start something, and make myself keep going. Art is like music or sports; you have to practice, or you’ll lose the ability. I’ve been away for a long time.

I wonder if I should get a cape, too?

2005-12-14T05:24:00.000-08:00

I had written a post last night, about how there was cake in the office and I didn’t tell any of the designers about it because I figured if they get to have fun at work, they don’t need cake.

Then the stupid power went out because it was sprinkling outside, so I lost my tidbit of literary genius.

Cough.

So, instead, I present the following.

Beginning this month, TBAE has announced that it will issue every licensed architect a permanent plastic pocket card as proof of registration. I absolutely must find some opportunity to whip out that card while saying, “stand back, ma’am. I’m an ARCHITECT.”

2005-12-09T17:02:00.000-08:00

If I had a kid, I’d get 6 weeks off work, no questions asked. What do I get if I have a mental breakdown? Nothing.

I am losing the battle again. Last night I couldn’t bear to look at the latest Architectural Rec0rd. They had a piece on “emerging architects.” These are people my age, who are doing what they love to do. It was too much. In order for me to move out of where I am now, I have to work even harder; I have to do something on the side in order to prove myself where my “real job” will not allow such proof to occur. The problem is I have nothing left when I get home.

A few months ago, I stupidly joined the office’s design forum group. I thought it would be a good way to move me closer towards my goal of becoming a designer, but instead all it has done is turn me into a glorified secretary. It has also driven the wedge further between what I do, and what the actual “designers” do. Everything is focused upon either current in-house designers, or about-to-graduate hot shots from architecture schools. There is nothing for us wannabes.

There needs to be such a thing as an architectural therapist. I need someone to talk to who knows what the industry is like, who isn’t connected to me through my job or by friendship, and who actually has any interest in hearing all of my crap- even if it’s only because I’m paying for them to listen. I’m tired of bringing my friends down, and I’m afraid of who it might get back to in the office if I bitch too often or too vehemently. A regular therapist is ineffective; it’s difficult to just spew forth all the emotions when I have to stop and explain all the terminology, protocol, and hierarchies that are inherent in the job. I just wish I had someone to talk to about it all, when the drugs aren’t working as well as they should. Engaging in self-destructive behaviors such as eating cookie dough with a glass of wine only serves to make me fatter. It doesn’t solve anything.

I’ve been at the same place for a year now, and I still don’t have even a full week’s worth of vacation time built up. It’s my own fault, between trying to find out what was wrong with my stomach, getting my tubes tied, and now trying to get my damn leg fixed. It will require surgery to accomplish the latter, which will have the unfortunate results of using the remainder of my sick and vacation time, and putting us further into debt. ManThing remains optimistic that I can have the surgery, and we will still have the time and money to go to Germany next year. I honestly don’t see how that can be true.

Six months ago, I could walk without hip pain. Four months ago, I would have hip pain after walking more than a mile, but it would go away with some rest. Now, I can’t walk without pain. I can’t lie down, sit on the couch, or swim without hip pain. As of Tuesday, the pain has spread to my knee as well. The pain wakes me up at night if I roll over on my leg the wrong way. It burns while I sit at my desk. The pain has become such a constant part of my days that I’m thinking of naming it, much like Philip has named his stomach ailment.

I just want to be happy, but I’m beginning to think I don’t know how. Nobody can teach that; not even a “Happiness For Dummies” book. I keep anchoring my hopes to certain events that I think will make me happy; but then they pass and I feel the same.
Finishing architecture school was the first: I didn’t realize I would trade creativity and periods of daytime freedom for constant tedium and cubicle imprisonment.
Getting off the Pill was next: Nothing has changed. Still fat. Still moody.
Getting my MINI was the most recent: I absolutely adore my new car; probably much more than I should love an inanimate object, but it has resulted in $110 of additional cash outflow each month.
The current hope I am clinging to is the hip surgery. At this time, I don’t even know if I’m a candidate or not. I never thought I would simply want to walk without pain. Until a few months ago, it never even occurred to me that it would be an issue for me at age 31.

All of these things combined caused me to exhibit the compulsive behaviors of a bulimic or a drug addict today- I meticulously planned my crying fit so that no one would know. I managed to stave off the inevitable until lunch, so I wouldn’t waste company time. After blowing off a lunchtime design forum group meeting, I went into the restroom to gather paper towel to catch the downpour, then stealthily snuck down the back stairs to my car. My car is the only place I can be alone. I didn’t even care that it was cold. Though I really wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl into bed forever, I had my crying spell, then went back to the office to falsify “normal” for a few more hours before escaping into the relative comfort of a weekend. I will spend the weekend forcing myself not to feel guilty for not working, even though we have a deadline next Thursday.

I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.

The result of chronic creativity stifling

2005-11-30T18:54:00.000-08:00

Our office is being reorganized, so that we hamsters will fit more efficiently in our cubicles. HR sent out an e-mail this morning; the gist of which was, “carry your access badge with you at all times.”

This, of course, prompted the following smartass e-mail volley:

CAD Monkey: It’s just another way for The Man to hold us down!

Cube Neighbor: Strawberry fields forever!!!

CAD Monkey: [waves a burning roll of trace paper in the air] We will never surrender!!

Cube Neighbor: [sirens wailing in background. People rushing past through thick, billowy smoke with hands clasping shirts over their mouths. The power is out. You are disoriented. The rhythmic clatter of hard sole shoes becomes more and more pronounced. ~clap clap clap clap clap clap clap clap~ the police round the corner near the copier with pink slips drawn.]

Platoon…HALT! Ready! Aim! FIRE!

…and a martyr is born…

CAD Monkey: [grasps chest, sinks to ground] My only regret…cough…is that I have…boneitis.

2005-11-29T05:08:00.000-08:00

CAD Monkey: Someone is totally trying to mess with my reality. The coffee makers have had their pots switched, so that the “decaf” pots are on the “regular” machine, and so on. Does this mean I have to put regular coffee in the “wrong” machine?

Coworker: I think the cleaning crew just does that sometimes.

CAD Monkey: To screw with people like me!

Coworker: Uh huh. Yeah. [looks at me like I’m crazy. which I am.]

On another note, I think that K@shi should change the name of their "instant" cereal from "G0 Lean" to "Volcano in a Cup." I arrived at this conclusion after discovering that, no matter what size cup you put this cereal in, it will go from normal to volcanic in the space of two seconds- making it difficult to microwave.

I'm double-dipping with my other blog. Deal with it.

2005-11-16T05:26:00.000-08:00

Monday was horrid.

Yesterday was bad as well, as I went to the new doctor for a second opinion on my hip (or first opinion, as the other doctor told me nothing). I found out that I have congenital hip dysplasia, which, besides sounding something like a dog would suffer from, means that my hip socket and the ball of my femur are both slightly malformed.

Yay, genetics! You score again, bitch!

This causes my femur to hit the edge of the hip socket, instead of resting inside it like it should- in turn, causing an early breakdown of the joint’s cartilage. This equals pain, and an early onset of osteoarthritis. Check, and…check. He told me that I will eventually need a total hip replacement. When I asked why I couldn’t have it now, he said I was too young. Sigh. So, I get to have a super-fun 10-15 years of pain, then a hip replacement. Wheeee!

Oh yeah, and this guy did tell me, "Lose weight." No shit. I'll get right on that, asshole.

Then I cried all the way from the doctor’s office back to work. Yesterday afternoon, my blood work came back as positive for rheumatoid arthritis. So I have that to look forward to as well.

Last night, I told ManThing, “after today and Monday, things have got to get better!”
This morning, my face has broken out in hives, and I found some sort of larval insect thing in my pumpkin bread.

I stand corrected.

RAGECON

2005-11-14T10:08:00.000-08:00

I'm at level 3.

I only just managed to escape another Monday Migraine through the quick ingestion of additional caffeine. As it is, my pulse is way up; and my head is pounding with the force of it.

The way the project team management is trying to use me is like using an ice skate as a screwdriver. Sure, you can probably manage; but it’s not the best use of the ice skate.

Example #1 - Secretary and/ or Arbitrator:
Project Manager (PM) tells me to send out a meeting request, because our Client Liason (CL) “wanted to talk about plaster soffit details.” I sent out the meeting request, and electronically reserved time in a conference room. Just to be sure, I physically went and looked at the conference room’s sign-up sheet; and as usual, the whole day has been blocked out by someone who didn’t bother to put it on the electronic calendar. I booked another conference room, and resent the request. Then, CL declined the meeting. I e-mailed him back, asking what time he would prefer to have the meeting, since PM told me CL was the one who wanted the meeting in the first place. CL replies, “What I need to review with PM, Designer and Junior Designer is the entry design. If that is what is being discussed then I will come.” Thanks, PM, for making me look like an ass by not telling me what CL really wanted to meet about! Oh, and also? Send the fucking meeting request out yourself so this doesn’t happen!

Example #2a – Project Manager:
I am not, I repeat, NOT a Project Manager!! However, everybody still seems to think I am. The engineers are asking me for an addendum date on Project A. I don’t know; I’m NOT the PM! When I e-mail the PM for the answer, he’ll either not answer, or reply, “ask the engineers how long they need.” The engineers don’t work that way! They want a deadline! And why do I know this and you do not, when you’re the fucking PM?!?

Example #2b – Project Manager:
Project Architect (PA) wants me to find work for the employees that have been added to the job temporarily to help out. This project is so huge and complicated that I can barely figure out WTF I’m doing, much less bring someone totally unfamiliar with it up to speed. I’m trying to draw. I don’t have time to do markups.

Example #3 - Project Architect:
The CAD Draftsman is constantly bugging me for completed wall section sheets, so that he can work on the larger scale details off those sheets. I have little to give him, because I’m still trying to figure out how the damn building goes together. This is a process of 1) trying it the way I think it will work; 2) consulting the structural engineer; 3) getting PM’s “permission” to proceed; and 4) trying to get Designer to agree with the whole thing. That last step usually causes me to have to do steps 2 through 4 all over again.

This thing is supposed to go out, at 100 percent, in one month from tomorrow. It is not going to happen. PM is delusional about the amount of work left to do, evident by the fact that he keeps saying, “we will be done by the 15th,” yet he continues to add more and more details- when we already have a stack of details not yet drawn.

The poor PA is at home today, after having a hemorrhagic nosebleed yesterday- most likely brought on by stress. Her neighbor, who is also on this God-forsaken project team, took PA to the emergency room, and said that even though PA was faint from lack of blood, she couldn’t stop worrying about this project!

What is wrong with everybody?!?

2005-11-14T07:52:00.000-08:00

A week off?
Hell, I'd be happy with being able to take a day off at this point!

I, Nobot

2005-11-13T14:34:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, I made mention of the machine. At the time, I said it had been dormant, and was rusty. Now I’d like to clarify- the machine is dead.

I will not make any attempts to revive it.

During school, the projects were everything. I put off sleep, socializing, exercise, nutrition…everything. All so I could finish the damn projects. The longest amount of time I went without sleep was 36 straight hours. My body is no longer capable, nor am I willing, to recreate that feat.

Also, why should I?

As a salaried employee, I won’t get paid any additional money for working above and beyond 40 hours. Nor can I put forth a behemoth effort, then take a week off. There is no longer the threat of “grades,” which used to have a ridiculously important place in my life. Thinking back, trying to maintain the machine is one of the factors that caused me to check myself into the hospital for severe depression in the semester before my thesis. That fact alone makes it unworthy of revival.

But wait…there’s more. In school, the projects required me to think, create, build models, draw hand sketches and create colored renderings. At work, the projects force me to spend hours working on repetitive wall sections, calling out wall types, and drawing miles and miles of 2’x 2’ ceiling grids- all while sitting in the same chair, in front of the same computer, in the same cubicle. My brain can only sustain itself on menial tasks for so long before it starts shutting down.

The studio environment bred camaraderie; all of my friends spent as much time as I did in studio. Now, I need to get away from people in the office- I need a break (Hack n’ Snort, I’m looking at you). Also, I start to miss my husband, my cat, my couch. I have heard too many architects talk about how their wives nearly left them because of the amount of hours they spent at the office. No thanks.

I suppose that one reward of working 60 hours per week would be the acknowledgement of my "go-getter attitude," resulting in my moving quickly up the corporate ladder. Then I could be expected to work even longer hours, with even more pressure and responsibility! Yeah, sign me up for that.

I am so sick of the unspoken pressure to work 50+ hours every week. I hate it that Project Managers make promises to clients that undercut the schedule, in part causing the aforementioned pressure. Most of all, I hate the fact that I work- hard- for 40-45 hours per week, yet I still feel like I’m a slacker.

Buh-bye

2005-11-07T19:25:00.000-08:00

Over the past seven years, I have accepted the fact that there will always be some coworkers in my office that I simply will not like. Try as I might, I won’t be able to get along with, or even tolerate some people. It’s not my 7th birthday party anymore; I don’t have to get along with everybody. I know that these people will linger, and I will have to deal with them for as long as they or I remain with the company.

But sometimes…sometimes wishes come true!

Being married to an IT guy, I know that when you see the office IT guy hauling off someone’s CPU- while leaving the monitor and keyboard behind- it’s usually not a good sign for that person. I almost didn't believe it when I saw whose machine was getting removed this morning.

Ho-bag is no more. The fact that this makes me so damned happy is just another reason I’m going to hell in a pretty basket.

I feel vindicated that someone in the upper echelons didn’t fall for the Giggle n’ Jiggle routine she was working. Score one for us brainy girls. Every now and then, when I’m sure that the industry is every bit as bad as I think it is, someone will prove me wrong- and I’ve been overdue for some proof lately.

2005-11-06T06:06:00.000-08:00

While I’m sitting at my desk at work, I have so many ideas for posts; bright, and clear, and scathing. Then I come home, and see the couch. I think of how tired I am of sitting in front of a computer, and the only thing that is bright and clear is the pain in my leg. And so I write nothing.

But now, I am writing, for the same reason I do too many things in my life: not because I want to, but because I feel I should.

And I just lost the urge again. Sorry.

2005-10-28T08:38:00.000-07:00

I was trying to whine to ManThing this morning that I wanted to "call in dead," but instead I managed to say, "I want to call in stupid."

No shirt, no shoes, no architecture.

2005-10-26T09:57:00.000-07:00

As I was crawling around the floor on my knees at the flat files today, I once again became frustrated with the fact that I am expected to wear corporate dress despite the fact that I don’t have exposure to clients; and I may, at any time, be expected to cart around huge rolls of drawings- which causes me to become really sweaty, get funky blueline residue all over myself, and possibly smell like stinky old crusty sepia prints for the rest of the day. Additionally, it is uncomfortable to sit at a desk drawing all day when wearing the Uniform of The Man (of course, I should probably contribute that complaint to the ever-increasing size of my fat gut).

Those are also a few of the reasons why I have refused to let pantyhose anywhere near my body since 2001. I’d be much more productive in pajamas, I’m sure of it.

At least I don’t have to wear ties.

Note to Self

2005-10-24T12:23:00.000-07:00

Quit scheduling meetings on Mondays, as you know that you lack the mental capacity to be prepared for such meetings.

I don't care how much coffee you promise to drink. It's not a good idea.

But will it shrink inflamed Project Managers?

2005-10-20T03:03:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I read one of the worst print ads I’ve ever seen. I won’t reproduce it in its entirety, because I’m scared of the lawyers. The surprising thing was that it was in one of my industry magazines. Has spam now spread to magazines as well? If it weren’t for the fact that the company is based out of California, it would almost qualify as Chinglish.

It read thusly (my favorite part in bold):

"The [product manufacturer] offers any U.S. established business or public agency its money back after making an average of 4,200 gallons from its first gallon, if it regretted its purchase. Also $5,000 worldwide to the first product to beat it at activating, reviving, transplanting, growing, and perfecting. Long since, [product name] has helped 5 U.S. departments to win World War II. Over 500 park system chiefs have written that [product name] works best. [Product’s] record includes repeatedly averted bankruptcies, quickly reversing whole great lost plantings to beautiful winners."

Huh. I didn’t know WWII was still on.

The high-production-budget photo accompanying the copy is of a generic black barrel, with a piece of paper taped to the top half that reads:

“FOR 100% PROUD JOBS – ‘IMPOSSIBLES’ MADE EASY.”

The bottom half of the barrel sports a very busy sticker, which boasts things such as:

“Greatest Guarantee-Offer PROOF Ever.”

Sounds like I could use a tub of this stuff on Project B.

I need 4cc's of Damnitol, STAT!

2005-10-19T15:42:00.000-07:00

While still in school, if someone had asked me if I'd consider doing healthcare architecture, I would have answered, "hell, no." Now, not only am I practicing healthcare architecture, I've become a medical drama junkie to boot. If it weren't for my fear of puke, I'd just become a damn doctor already. I'm even starting to get the impression that I'm doomed to experience, as a patient, every type of medical facility I've ever drawn.

I've drawn a few GI labs; I had an endoscopy.
I've drawn some surgery suites; I had surgery.
I've drawn an MRI facility or two; I'm having an MRI next Wednesday.

At least I know I'm safe from "experiencing" the Labor/ Delivery/ Recovery suite I drew a few years back!

If one of my PM's tells me I'll be working on an oncology department, I may have a nervous breakdown. My luck is likely running out on not visiting an Emergency Department- I did one of those just last year.

In my own pen.

2005-10-18T19:40:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd try a new approach to the usual whining method.
(sorry, Mikey, it's not interpretive dance)

Needing some sort of catharsis from everything that has been weighing on me, I sat down and did a "purge sketch;" something I started doing many many years ago. This is where I just draw whatever is going on in my head.

I hadn't done one of these for several years, because I became intent on only making things that other people might think is art. I have a bad habit of not making art that speaks of myself. I worry too much that what I have inside my head isn't really art, or will make people uncomfortable.

But all I have is what's in my head.

I credit a documentary on Frida Kahlo for allowing me to think that what's in there is worth documenting. Screw "art." My neuroses are what I've got to work with.

In summary:

Hip hurts. Knee burns. Having an MRI.
Project B still sucks, still drags on, and invades my sleep- but I refuse to let it invade my weekends.
Digestive system still bad.
Still fat. Still look pregnant, though I am not.

Enjoy.

2005-10-13T06:12:00.000-07:00

In order to have even half a shot in hell of finishing Project B on time, I'd have to pull out the kind of effort I gave during school. I was a machine, going without sleep or decent food for 36 hours at a time.

People, the machine has been dormant and is rusty.

2005-10-10T06:29:00.000-07:00

CAD Monkey: Is it wrong that when someone in the office says, "good morning" on Monday, I reply with, "shoot me?"

Cube Neighbor: Only if it’s not Monday, man…only if it’s not Monday.

CAD Monkey: Then I was well within my ethical boundries.

Cube Neighbor: THE NERVE OF SOMEONE; TO BREAK THE UNWRITTEN CARDINAL RULE OF NOT SAYING “GOOD MORNING“ ON A MONDAY...(just another example of THE MAN trying to bring us down!!)

CAD Monkey: I mean, “shoot me” is much better than, say, “piss off,” which in truth, would be the more honest reply…

Cube Neighbor: I always say honesty is the best policy.

Right on the money.

2005-10-07T18:57:00.000-07:00

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

I'm not smiling. My jaw is stuck in clenched position.

2005-10-06T08:01:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was spent in a 6-hour meeting, wherein it became apparent that much of the work I’d already finished would have to be redone. It just goes to prove that being “self-motivated” on this project will only get me screwed.

I will be spending most of this morning adding 4” “bumps” to all the edges of the building elevations, to indicate the stupid-looking, poo-colored, bullnose-edge, brick banding the designer wants to put on the building. There are 22 bands running the length of each elevation. There are 12 elevations, with multiple edges in each. I hate the poo-brick.

All the while that I am doing this, I get to listen as Ho-bag is giggling and having a great time, working on a design team, DOING WHAT I SHOULD BE DOING.

I was THIS CLOSE to getting a $2500 referral bonus, for getting a former coworker of mine hired. He had ALREADY SENT IN HIS ACCEPTANCE LETTER, but then withdrew it, after finding out his current company “really wanted him to stay.” They “really wanted me to stay” when I left, also, but I did what was best for me. After talking to the guy who interviewed him here, all of the same problems that caused me to leave are still in effect. Idiot.

And the final kick in the ass…Hack n’ Snort is about to get a $2500 referral bonus. For a guy who has only done churches- no hospitals. Fucker. One more reason to dislike him. Maybe he’ll use the money to get his fucking sinuses Roto-Rootered. I can only hope.

Why?

2005-10-03T15:58:00.000-07:00

Just...why?!?

Introducing Ho-bag

2005-09-26T11:20:00.000-07:00

There's a fairly new girl in the office, whom I've decided to call Ho-bag. She annoys me to distraction. ManThing doesn’t understand my (infrequent, but sometimes strong) need to be catty.

What is the anonymous blog for, if not that?

Ho-bag is the type who wears the cloud o' perfume that I can literally smell from four feet away.

She is the epitomy of What You Shouldn't Wear To The Office. Her pants are so tight you can see thong-line (which is kind of against the point?!?). She favors the shoes that have straps that wrap up your leg. Today she has on a long skirt- with slits halfway up the thigh on both sides.

She's a touchy-feeler; when she comes over to say hello, she runs her hand down your arm. Guys and girls. Ew. Get off me.

She's not terribly bright, either, and perhaps that is the real reason she annoys me so much. Supposedly, she has seven years experience (the same as me), yet she royally screwed up REFLECTED CEILING PLANS which I then had to do over. 74,000 square feet worth.

She dots the “i’s” in her name with little circles. Gag.

Recently, she got in a car wreck on a Monday, and hurt her leg, yet didn't file a police report or go to the doctor. She asked me about a doc-in-a-box four days later, because her abdomen was hurting, but then wanted to know if they were open on Saturday. Go to the doctor, idiot!

Also, because I'm stuck on my current crappy project until December 15th, I missed out on the chance to be on a design team for the next project. Guess who is on the design team.

The female PA that Ho-bag and I are currently working for doesn’t like her, because she does crappy, half-assed work at a snail’s pace. One of the male PA’s in the office has said he “just loves working with her.”

Gee, I wonder why.

Even though, in architecture school, I once was told I needed to "draw more like a man," I hate to play the "woman card." But, I also hate it when floozies like Ho-bag waltz in and get what they want; while I'm working my ass off instead of shaking it.

Stupid male-dominated industry. Underneath all that fancy edumacation, they're still just a bunch of good ol' boys.

2005-09-22T12:05:00.000-07:00

Hack n' Snort has dubbed himself a Hurricane Rita expert after looking at the Weather Channel's website. He keeps pontificating on Rita's path to anyone unfortunate enough to get too close to his desk.

Shut. The fuck. Up.

2005-09-22T10:14:00.000-07:00

I’m really fucking tired of living from paycheck to paycheck.
I’m sooooo glad I got my Master’s Degree. (/sarcasm)

To give you an example: I get paid tomorrow. My entire check is going to the house payment, and I won’t get paid again until the 7th. I have negative $48 until then.

I'm getting misty here.

2005-09-16T06:13:00.000-07:00

I have been given my first design assignment here at Humongo.

Drum roll, please...

A covered walkway.

This is serious business. I have the office’s copy of Drastic Standards, and everything.

I’ll be sure to make everyone proud.

Project A will never. Leave. The damn. Building.

2005-09-14T12:43:00.000-07:00

Today was supposed to be the third attempt at getting Project A out of the building.

It is now 2:40.

Electrical guy's not yet done with his drawings. Once he is, we still have to print 11 sets of his stuff and assemble them into the rest of the 11 sets.

The PM hasn't told me where/ to whom the drawings are to be sent to.

I have to have the drawings ready by 4:00 to get them in the overnight mail.

PM is in a meeting until 3:30.

Do the math.

Sigh.

I was so wrong.

2005-09-13T05:17:00.000-07:00

Coffee.

Baby.

How could I have even thought of giving you up?
Can you ever forgive me?
Will you please take me back?

You will?

C’mere then, you sexy bitch. Let the make-up sex begin.

2005-09-12T12:22:00.000-07:00

One of the major skills in slacking effectively is moving the mouse just often enough so that the screen saver doesn't come on.

Oops.

2005-09-12T07:01:00.000-07:00

Starting over on Project A, again.

Kill me.

Seriously.

2005-09-12T06:52:00.000-07:00

Never mind.

2005-09-12T05:29:00.000-07:00

My evil plan has been foiled!

I arrived at the office at 7:00 again this morning, only to discover that Hack n' Snort was already there! Damn him! He usually doesn't make it in until 8:00. I wanted my hour of snot-free peace!

To add to the pain of Monday, I'm not having any coffee today. The weekend caffeine withdrawl headaches are getting to be bad.

Think good thoughts for me.