Find amusement wherever you can

Quite often, when I meet someone new, and tell them I’m an architect, I get the reaction, “oh, that must be fun.” (I also hear, “you must make a lot of money.” Don’t even get me started on that one.) Fun isn’t exactly the word I would use. Interesting, challenging, creativity-based, yes.

Fun?

Read this over a few times and tell me if it makes ANY sense to you at all:

CORNER LANDSCAPING AREA means an area of any shape abutting the intersection of two right-of-ways equal to the area on a surface parking lot covered by a triangle formed by connecting together the point of intersection of adjacent right-of-way lines and points on each of the right-of-way lines 12.5 percent of the length of the surface parking lot's right-of-way frontage from the intersection, but in no case to exceed 225 square feet.

Huh?

Someone actually got paid to come up with this. Further, it is indicative of a lot of code language. Woooo. We’re having fun now.

There are, however, funny moments and tidbits to the job. For example, I am working on a breast imaging center; where they will scan for cancer, and perform mammograms and biopsies. I have to type various e-mails regarding the project. Every time, Microsoft Word puts its little sqiggly green line beneath the word “breast.” It wants me to pluralize it. Every time, I think, they’re not going to shove both breasts into the mammography machine at the same time; leave me alone about it!

And there is also this: I found this beauty while searching for a rear-discharge, floor-mounted toilet. The seat has horns on it. They scare me. 

Fun with search words!

Now that I am building a wee bit of steam, and have actual readers [insert maniacal laughter here], I recently have had some referrals that weren't from Blog Explosion.

Several people reached my humble page through...(gasp)... search engines!

Apparently, someone came to my site by searching for monkey breath. I brush twice a day, thank you. I don't even want to know why you're looking.

Some other poor soul found me while searching for cubicle workspace depression. Yep. Get a little of that here, sometimes. Mostly, I’m trying to alleviate it with snarky goodness.

Someone else was looking for a cubicle office layout. Sorry, you won’t find that here, but you will find me apologizing for a crappy design I once did. I put some thought to posting the finished design, to share how much it indeed sucked like a Hoover, but thought better of it.

Prepare yourself for one of the most ridiculous things you will hear today: I am afraid of learning to speak and read German.

“Nouns! Vocabulary! Grammar! Eeeeeee!” [runs away screaming]

After matriculating my way to a graduate degree, I am comfortable in my ability to use, or abuse, the English language at will. I speak fast, and often say big words. I have a sizeable vocabulary at my disposal; and I can either speak intelligently, or dumb things down, according to the situation. In most ways I wish to express myself, I am comfortable using English.

None of these things will be true once I begin to learn German, and it disturbs me. I feel that I will be rendered stupid by a foreign language.

This will not stop me from attempting to learn; it is just the reason why I have procrastinated thus far.

However, I have already learned how to say one thing: “Ich bin eine dick Tasche von scheisse.” That would explain how I feel about myself after lying around on the couch for two days in Lubbock.

And no, “dick” does not mean what it means in English.

Deep Breaths

While I have kept my promise not to alienate any of my coworkers, I have recently experienced some “deep breath” moments. You know, the kind of moment where, if you don’t take a deep breath, you may end up throttling someone? Yeah. That kind.

As of today, I have found the antagonist within my new cubicle jungle.

It is not who I at first thought it would be. It is not Designer Whiny Pants; his whininess has lessened greatly, and truthfully, we have gotten along just fine from the start.

It is not the guy two cubicles down, who has a whiny voice that I constantly hear, as he makes ‘whipped phone calls to his wife on a terribly regular basis, and who has phlegm issues that I hear too much of (and not because he’s talking about them, if ya know what I mean). No, despite the fact that I overhear him say things like, “[Joe] ‘rogered’ what I was saying, so I thought we were agreed,” he is not the one.

Nor is it the woman, two cubicles further down, with the croup-tacular cough, and who refuses to “release” her sneezes at the end. It is not this woman, even though a few days earlier, she left to pick up a sick child from school, and now obviously has what the child had- and she is spreading it to us all every day. Thanks, lady. Go the hell home.

My antagonist is a fellow healthcare planner. He is senior to me; at this point in my career, damn near everybody still is.

It started out innocently enough. He started a department layout, and it was assigned to me to flesh it out with actual room sizes, handicapped accessibility, etc. As I’m starting to put it into CAD, he strolls past and asks, “Are you using lines, or walls? You should use walls. I think you’ll like it better.” Hey. Who is the CAD Monkey here? Leeme ‘lone.

This, in addition to him walking by, nearly every 15 minutes, and stopping to ask, “how’s it coming?” It would be going a lot faster if you’d go the hell away and stop interrupting my train of thought, jackass.

He then takes my completed layout, and changes it completely. It now looks nothing like what I drew; not to mention the accessibility problems it now has. I feel soooo productive.

Today, I had one assigned task to accomplish- rearranging the layout of another department. This is a task that would have taken me the whole day. At lunchtime, he takes it away from me to finish it himself. To add to the fun, he has, in the meantime, completely changed the shell of the building- which isn’t even the part he’s supposed to be working on! PA and I have been the ones working on the shell plans, trying to get the square footage numbers worked out, and this yahoo just changes it all without any background information as to why it was that way in the first place. There are now problems with the fire exit paths, and he completely got rid of the building lobby. PA was on vacation today, so I had no recourse, because I’m the new kid- I pretty much have to shut up and take it if PA’s not around to back me up. Then, Mr. Healthcare Planner goes over to DWP’s desk and starts sketching his version of what the elevations should now look like (which is apparently ass). Again, this is not his area, as DWP is in charge of the elevation design. DWP wasn’t around to witness this- [snorf]- art taking place.

So there I sat, planned work for the day gone, and the building completely changed by a guy who was only supposed to plan the insides. He offers me another department to plan. It is now 3:00. It is implied that it should be done by 5:00. No freakin’ way- it will take at least a whole day. Hell if I’m staying late tonight- the office is closed tomorrow.

For the next two hours, he passed by six times to ask “How’s it coming?”

[deep breaths]

***

Go and check out the latest link I Work With Fools. I came across it while looking for a better way to explain how Croup-tacular lady sneezes. Didn’t find the explanation, but the site is kinda funny!

Embrace the Dark Side, Mikey

CAD Monkey note: Another has come to the dark side…my friend Mikey has joined The Man and become a city employee. Mikey, Lori, and I all worked in the City Planning Office where we went to school, at one time or another.

Mikey: Well, I now have a good job... good pay; medical, dental, union benefits, and a retirement plan. I'm working at the City of [Mikeyville] this time. I'm a permit tech, for the public works engineering "team." The people here are pretty cool, and the job is slack, but I just can't get over the damn "I'm back at the city" feeling. Plus in typical fashion I've gotten 3 other job offers in the past month. I figured that I'd go for pay. The only positive thing is that it's a limited duration so if I don't want something else in the union I can leave.

CAD Monkey: That's so great! I know you may not be completely overjoyed by it, but selling out to The Man isn't so bad- I did it, finally! There's something to be said for having benefits and good pay. The rest is what hobbies are for. I'm doing fine here, working my butt off in order to try and provemyself so I can slack in subsequent years.

Lori: Sounds wonderful. Nothing like working for the City... no matter where it is.

CAD Monkey: Yeah, *we* don't get union benefits, sheesh.

Mikey: I just saw my newest favorite office piece of paper- a "Paperwork Burden Disclosure Notice." It basically is a federal notice saying that this is shitty paperwork, and it's going to take you 3 hours to fill out. This one’s for a flood hazard certification form.

And yes, it requires a coversheet.

CAD Monkey: Oh man. You gotta send me a scan of that.

Update: Mikey sent me that form…and it actually tells you “the public reporting burden for this form is estimated to be 3.0 hours per response.” Blech.

Dadddeeeee? Why is Santa acting like a spaz?

Sushi Saturday

ManThing left today to attend a day-long bachelor party, and since the Dog puts on the “Woe is Me” Show every time her daddy’s gone, I decided the lesser of two evils would be to go shopping the last weekend before Christmas. In order to make this harrowing task more tolerable, I decided to bribe myself with a sushi lunch.

Instant endorphins, in raw fish form. Ahhhh.

Finding out that my first choice doesn’t serve lunch on Saturdays either (you suck for that, Blue Fish), I went to the contingency plan: Mr. Sushi. In stark contrast to the uber-hip, pretty people atmosphere of Blue Fish, Mr. Sushi is a mom-and-pop operation. I think it may have been “mom” who showed me to the table. There wasn’t anything outwardly noteworthy about her appearance, except for her eyebrows.

They were completely drawn on, and they were…purple. I tried not to stare. Too hard. I think I at least managed not to have my mouth hanging open.

Once at the table, I pulled out the sushi order sheet, and started putting down the old standards; one order each of fresh salmon, white tuna, yellowtail, and smelt egg. Each of these were around $6.50 for two pieces. ManThing and I had tried toro for the first time when we ate sushi last, so I decided to get an order of it as well. It was at market price, but I figured, eh, can’t be too much higher than the others, and put it down. Shortly afterward, I look at their specials board, and see that toro is $12.00, for two pieces. Oops.

When my order arrives, I pull my travel bottle of wheat-free soy sauce* out of my purse, and pour it into the little dish to mix with the wasabi. All the while, I’m getting curious glances from the Chinese lady at the table next to me. (I’m not being non-PC by not calling her “Asian,” she was speaking Chinese, thankyouverymuch.) At Mr. Sushi, when they bring you the bill, it’s always accompanied by a little origami paper boat with dinner mints in it. When this woman received her bill, she started fidgeting with the boat. I was preparing to be impressed as I watched her shaping the paper into something that seemed to have ears, and then magically became…a paper boat again. Another stereotype down the drain. When I got my bill, it was nearly forty dollars with the tip. Oops again.

That’ll teach ManThing to go to another all-day bachelor party.

*If you want to know why I carry my own travel bottle of wheat-free soy sauce, go see my other site.

Now that I've reached 1400 visitors, I can slack, right?
Just a little bit to tide you over until I *cough* formulate a new thought, or something.

Everybody play along!

Leave your answers and questions in the comments and I'll answer anything (don't be nasty!!).

(A) First, recommend to me:
1. a movie
2. a book
3. a musical artist, song, or album

(B) I want everyone who reads this to ask me three questions, no more, no less. Ask me anything you want. However, see above, RE: nasty.

(C) Then I want you to go to your blog/journal, copy and paste this allowing your friends to ask you anything & say that you stole it from me.

I stole mine from here. The reason why I'm resorting to posting a meme is that I've been reading her site voraciously, from the beginning, and I've just now caught up to "current time."

1400 visitors

1400!!!

It's a nice, round number. Thought I'd celebrate!

Sweet!

I think I have found the blog I've been looking for: one that will chronicle an American expat's experiences in Germany, which ManThing and I hope to emulate some day.

Can't wait to start reading it!!

Adventures of an American Girl in Germany

My First Humongo Rant

CAD Monkey note: Those of you who know me (or even those of you who have read enough of this site) realize that, try as I might, I can’t stay on the Sunshine and Roses path for too terribly long. It isn’t natural. I could explode. While I still really enjoy my new job, the following situation has had me feeling a Bit o’ the Rant. It’s a good one; two weeks in the making. Enjoy!

The project I was assigned to, upon my arrival at Humongo, has proven an ever-shifting, changing beast. In that regard, it is absolutely the same as every other project I’ve worked on.
Said project began its life with one designer working on it, and was then assigned to another designer. The reason for the change arose from a need to shift workload between departments. The former designer was too busy to take it, and the current designer’s department has been slow, thus, the current designer was asked to design this job.

He has, in the world of CAD Monkey, earned the name Designer Whiny Pants, because the Project Architect keeps telling me this designer is being a whiny little bitch (my words, heh) about all the site restrictions and things we’ve done in order to better accommodate the highest income-generating, primary first floor tenant.

The site of our project is diagonal to the campus of the project’s owner (and major referral basis). Therefore, one might think our building should, architecturally, address this diagonal relationship; perhaps by emphasizing the corner facing the campus. DWP is angry because the symmetry he so badly wants isn’t going to work out without a ridiculous amount of forcing- and looking like it was forced.

The building is going to be a 7 story tower. We’ve had to add square footage, to just the first floor, in order to meet Important Tenant’s space needs. DWP is sad because of all the one-story elements around the perimeter.

In what I thought was a stroke of genius, I moved the other first floor tenant (a coke-and-chips retail area) to the front door of the building, so Important Tenant could have more contiguous space. DWP is upset because this gives the retail space “more prominence in the building.”

PA told me that every time he goes past DWP’s desk, DWP is mumbling and complaining about how ugly the building is going to be, and how the symmetry is all messed up, blah de blah blah, and so on. Dude, suck it up! You’re a designer! It’s your job to make it NOT ugly! If you don’t want to play, give it to me! I’ll make it not be ugly, and I’ll take the frickin’ symmetry and chuck it out the window, where it belongs!

Sure, this project has its limitations and problems, but I have yet to see a “real world” project that was perfect in every way. It’s so much better than the pitiful excuse for a hospital I worked on at El Hellhole. This is going to be a seven story building, most likely built out of precast concrete panels. It has so much potential for cool. I’d love to design such a thing. I keep telling the PA, “If Whiny Designer Pants doesn’t want to do it, I will!” I say it jokingly, but I’m really not joking. DWP is slated to be out of town for a majority of the schematic design schedule, whereas I will be in town from here to eternity- conveniently available for all your designing needs.

Here is my hypothesis on DWP’s proclivity for whining. Since he is a 60-ish year-old man, he has reached that stage of his career where being asked to design a building is no longer a privilege, It Is His Right for surviving the industry long enough. Obviously, DWP has forgotten what it feels like to be denied the privilege of designing anything. For the entirety of my architectural career, I have hungered for the design scraps I have been given: nurse stations, plan layouts, restroom wall tile patterns, or even a fleeting acknowledgement of my opinion on an exterior skin. Yet, I know I will continually be denied anything further because I am not a 60 year-old man.

I took this job because I had finally given up on the hope that I would be asked to design an entire building before another 30 years have passed. When I see someone, who has the opportunity to design buildings on a daily basis, whine and mope and complain about the process I want to participate in so badly, it makes me a little angry.

bad wife

I am a bad wife.
ManThing horked at work, and he is going home.
I find myself wanting to ask Mo out to dinner so I can minimize my exposure to the hork germs.
And the actual horking.
Can't handle it.
I feel like shoving a bucket in his general direction and hightailing it to a hotel.

And people ask me why I don't want to have children. Do I sound like a good "nurturer" to you?

Employee of the Month

My work ethic has returned, with a vengeance. Not once have I logged on to Blogger at work. I frantically try to fill every space of every day with work; if not project-related, then administrative or training related. Last week, I was given the task of reviewing a 22-story building for ADA accessibility, and was told I had four days in which to complete it. It took me 7 hours, including the typing of the 3-page memo. I am insane. The other night, I had a dream that I was given the Employee of the Month award. I’ve only been there for two weeks. Calm down, subconscious.

Some may wonder when the crabby CAD Monkey will return. Though this job is going extremely well overall, I have had some moments of annoyance. Chalk it up to lack of sleep, for the most part. I’ve just been too busy to do a write-up of minor annoyances, and there haven’t been any major affronts to my dignity thus far. I’ve been trying to spend some time with the people who listened to me being a pain in the ass the whole time I was at El Hellhole. I’ve lost my funny, crabby, angsty mojo, for the moment.

Scariest. Snack. Ever.

The holiday glutton-fest has begun in earnest in the office. Each day, four people are supposed to bring some sort of snack to share with everybody. Most of it has been the usual; chips, cans of nuts, cookies, etc. However, one of yesterday's offerings was kind of scary. It appeared that someone had attempted to make Rice Crispie treats, but deviated from the usual ingredients by using Cheerios. They also apparently wished to clean out their pantry, as the other ingredients included raisins, M & Ms, and pistachios. Instead of the usual squarish form of Rice Crispie treats, these were just globbed onto a plate, pretty much in one big lump. I gave the concoction a wide berth.

Today, I have several of my toes wrapped in band-aids because of yesterday's new shoes combined with too much walking and standing. By the end of the day, my feet were burning nubs of fiery pain, and today I have blisters. However, that's even a positive thing, because it means I'm actually meeting with clients again, so I have to wear nice shoes.
Shoes that kill, but nice nonetheless.

I know it seems like I'm just mailing in these latest entries, but I'm frelling exhausted still. I haven't been sleeping well. I sleep too lightly, and once I wake up in the middle of the night, I can't get back to sleep because of the dog's constant slorp…slorp…slorp…bitebitebitebitebite…*snarf*…(scratches for five minutes)…slorp…slorp…slorp. ManThing also snores. Sucks to not have the ability to sleep like the dead. I could use that right now.

And, once again, Special Thanks to Blogger, for making it a pain to post, as usual. No, no, that's alright, really. I don't mind wasting more of my time waiting for your page to load, especially after working a 12-hour day. No, it's fiiiiine- reeeeeally.

I dub thee Sir Honks-a-Lot

I am completely frustrated with my worthless, wireless internet connection. My frustration has reached the point where I can almost see myself, in an adrenaline fueled fit of rage, grabbing the monitor, lifting it above my head, and hurling it out the front window with a hearty primal scream. But then I wouldn’t finish this post. Of course, Blogger itself may keep me from posting this post, but I’ll do what I can, faithful readers- all four of you.

I have come to the conclusion that, upon becoming married, my life has become painfully boring. I love my ManThing more than I can say, but sometimes I miss being able to entertain the masses with my disastrous dating mishaps (I don’t particularly miss experiencing said mishaps). I am kicking myself for not writing down all the horrible dating stories of my past, because they are now gone. And I had some doozies.

Ah, what the hell. I’ll see what I can recreate …

The Crack Fiend
A short story, really. This was a blind date. I met him for lunch. We met at a sushi place, and my biggest concern was making an ass of myself by getting smelt roe all over the place. Somehow, during the first fifteen minutes, the topic of his former addiction to crack came up. Call me judgmental, but I ate my sushi, graciously thanked him, and never called back.

The Coworker
This was the first and last time I made the following mistakes, alllll rolled into one: coworker, smoker, and a pothead. Whew. I’m so very grateful I didn’t have to date several different guys to learn all those lessons. We were good on paper- in real life, however, we were a train wreck. A train wreck that happened sporadically for 3 years.

Okay, that story was supposed to be funny, but it just kind of sucked- as it did in real life. So, I’ll end with the piece de resistance:

The Honker
The Honker was a guy I met through mutual friends (who, as a result of the Coworker debacle, are no longer). He was your average affable, slightly geeky, but amiable enough kind of guy. We went out once, had some beers, had a good time talking. We didn’t kiss on the first date. If we had, it may well have been the end right there. On the second date, kiss contact was established.

Um, yeah.

Ever see a lizard with its tongue quickly darting in and out? I had managed to find its human counterpart. But it gets better. The reason I dub him the Honker was because, from roughly a foot away from me, he reached out with both hands and “honked” my breasts. While actually saying the word, “honk.” Slack jawed; I asked why he did that.

“I just wanted to touch ‘em.”

And … good night.

I give you...excuses

Uh, yeah.

I'm determined to not post at work, because I don't want any connection at all to be made between this blog and me. The problem is, it's wreaking havoc on my writing. I'll have an idea, and won't write it down, or start a Word file about it, and *poof* it's gone. My short-term memory has gone to crap over the last few months for whatever reason (I don't want to believe my brain hit the expiration date when I turned 30).

Also, when I get home, I am hesitant to attempt a post because my 'net connection has been a pain in my ass. Most of the time, Blogger won't even load, or I age considerably before it does. I get frustrated, and give up.

Sorry. This is a completely crap entry.

I think that somehow, losing some of my job-related angst has put a damper on the need for the outlet, as I feared it might.

I think I'm gonna like it here

Today was my first day at Humongo. Already, the difference between this place and my last job is astounding. I sat through two and a half hours of orientation- which sounds like pure torture, but it's actually a good thing. The fact that they have their shit together to the point where there is that much to tell me is a great thing. The HR lady led me around the office and introduced me to everyone. Everybody I met was really nice, and seemed glad I was there. Sure, they could have been blowing smoke up my ass because they were smacked up on coffee, but I'm going with "benefit of the doubt" on this one. I'd say I met around 40 people, 90% of them men (which is the norm in my profession). Only two of them did the "boob check" before looking me in the eye. So far, so good on the Pig front.

My supervisor took a coworker and me to lunch. He bought. Now that's what I'm talking about.

Aeron chairs are the standard in this office. While there are a lot of people out there who don't particularly care for them; I am happy to have a chair that's not older than I am, has decent back support, and that doesn't look like someone repeatedly spilled their lunch all over it or used it as a chewing gum-rest.

Humongo has several people whose only jobs are to handle IT, and some who only deal with CAD standards. They have people who are HR staff, and not just one of the principal's wives. They have honest-to-gravy supply closets. They will be going to AutoCAD 2005 in the spring. And, importantly, I am back in civilization again- there is a Starbuck's on my way to work.

Then I got to leave at five o'clock. Not six. The sun was still partially up. Ahhhh...

I did the math...it's not pretty

It’s that time of year again, to decide whether or not I will renew my AIA (American Institute of Architects) membership. The AIA has a fee system that requires you to pay for National, State, and Local chapter fees. All three. Not just one or two. In a profession where pay equity with other professions is sorely lacking, I find this ridiculous.

For the combined National, State, and Local chapter fees; and some ambiguous “past due balance,” my total comes to $666.00, exactly. I kid you not. Ignoring the satanic associations, that means I am paying $222.00, per letter, to put the title “AIA” behind my name on my resume, business cards, etc.

Let me take you on a journey where I break down the fees for each chapter, what each chapter does for me, and how much I am in the hole.

National Chapter
The National chapter acts as my Continuing Education (hereafter called CE) bookkeeper, which I could just as easily do on my own. ($0)
While my State licensing board only requires me to have 8 hours of CE per year, being an esteemed member of AIA means I need to have an additional 10 hours of CE. I can get most of these hours, for free, through product luncheons that the vendors offer. ($0)
What I can’t get through product luncheons, or through the State’s yearly convention, I can get through the AIA’s magazine- by filling out a self-report form and paying $10 per CE hour.
As of right now, I have met- and exceeded- the State’s CE yearly requirements. ($0)
According to AIA, however, I still need 4 more CE hours. Since the State convention has come and gone, I will need to get the remainder of my CE hours through the magazine. ($40)
The National chapter is responsible for sending me the AIA’s magazine, Architectural Record. I can get my own yearly subscription for ($64).
When I was looking for a new job, the national AIA website was worthless. There were absolutely no listings for my area- although I know companies here are hiring.
Also, they send me a ton of junk mail.

National Chapter Fees = $266 + $40 = $306
My fees for the same services = $ 64
Amount In The Hole = $296

State Chapter
Of the three, the State chapter has done the most for me thus far. They are the ones who hold the yearly convention, where I get a great deal of my CE for the year. However, registration fees for the convention are not covered in your State AIA dues. ($125)
I also receive a magazine from them, bi-monthly. I could subscribe to it on my own for ($25).
I posted my resume on their job website, and did receive a call about it…two weeks after I’d accepted my new position. The jobs listed on the site were few and dismal.
Also, they send me a ton of junk mail.

State Chapter Fees = $205 + $125 = $330
My fees for the same services = $125 + $75 = $200
Amount In The Hole = $130

Local Chapter
Now we come to the most worthless of the three. I used their employment website mercilessly when conducting my job hunt, but this is a service I can use, regardless of my membership status, for free. ($0)
When I physically went to their office to see if they had additional jobs besides what was posted on the website, there was nothing. Most of the CE classes they offer come at a price, usually $10 apiece. I can get the same thing from Architectural Record magazine, and not have to give up a lunch hour, take time off work, or give up precious after-hours time. I am not a networker, nor a schmoozer, nor a volunteer-type person; so all of that is lost on me.
Also, they send me a ton of junk mail.

Local Chapter Fees = $195
My fees for the same services = $ 0
Amount In The Hole = $195

In conclusion, for the AIA’s services and use of their title, I pay a total of $831.
I can obtain the same services, minus the title, by paying $264, putting me $567 ahead.

However, if the company decides to pay for my renewal fees, I’m all about the AIA. I’m now a corporate whore, remember?

Edited on 12/2/2004 to add:
Score! The company is totally paying for my renewal fees! They even have a policy that they'll pay 100% for employees with less than twelve years out of school- they must realize how long we remain poor-asses!

whore (hôr, hor) n.
A person considered as having compromised principles for personal gain.

For the duration of my job search, I made a valiant effort to get a job where I would no longer practice healthcare architecture, because I really want to work on a different project type. However, since I apparently have no other marketable architectural skills, I will be doing healthcare at the new job. I am selling what’s left of my architect’s soul for a pay raise and Dental. I simply couldn’t hold out any longer and wait for a job that wasn’t healthcare. And that makes me a whore.

Today is my last day at El Hellhole. (After giving myself a hefty dose of paranoia at Dooce, you’d think I’d stop writing things like that) Although this place was bad news from the start, there are things I could have done to make it better for myself- I simply made the quick decision that I wasn’t staying, and acted accordingly thereafter. I have to make this new job work, and stay at it for a few years (or at least one), to repair the damage to my resume.

I present to you my New Job’s Resolutions:

• I will not do anything to alienate myself from any of my coworkers, no matter how annoying I may find them.
• I will not confide in any coworkers about personal frustrations in the workplace. Especially about other coworkers.
• I will actively try not to complain. Upon failing that, I will try not to complain too much or too loudly.
• I will, at the very least, bring a picture of ManThing to put on my desk, to signify that I plan to stay for a while.
• If a superior does something that makes me angry, I will address it right then, and not let it fester into seething hatred.
• If aforementioned superior continues to do these things after I’ve addressed them, I will document them, so I may sue the J. Crews off them at a later date.
• I will not (outwardly) become touchy and bitter when the subject of my food allergies must be disclosed. (I didn't want to say "brought up," because...ew.)
• I will put more money in savings. If, by some unfortunate karmic twist, this job doesn’t work out, I can take the two-month break I have needed for over a year in order to refresh my attitude towards architecture before looking for another job. So that I won’t consider Container Store a viable option again.
• I will not distract myself by constantly checking hotmail/ other people’s blogs/ my site stats. Not even at lunch. (Wonder how long that one will last)
• I will suppress my attention-craving tendencies, and will not verbally, nor via e-mail, tell anyone (else) about this site.
• I will not post at work.
• I will not post at work.
• I will not post at work.

Lederhosen Dreams

In an unexpected twist to my diabolical plan, both BossManF and BossManJ are out of the office Monday through Wednesday of this week. Wednesday is my last day. Hee! I am free to surf and play with absolutely no very little guilt, and then “buh-bye!!” The last few days at a job are always difficult- I can never seem to just suck it up and work hard right until the end. Don’t wanna. Since they aren’t here, it’s safe to say I ain’t gonna!

Yesterday, as part of my daylong surf-fest, I started doing research into our trip to Germany next year. We’ve decided we’re definitely going, we just aren’t sure where yet. My parents and I lived in Germany when I was between the ages of 7 and 10. Just looking at pictures of some of the places we’d been made me excited and nostalgic. I even found a webpage about Geilenkirchen, which is where we lived. I didn’t remember a single thing, but Mom said it looked like it had changed a lot in 20 years.

A week or so ago, I came across the blog of a military wife in Germany with her husband. I was excited at first, because I thought her blog would be exactly what I was looking for- an American living in Germany, and her take on the experience. Soon, however, I became disappointed, as it seems that she doesn’t venture beyond the military base- or doesn't write about it, anyway. There were lots of posts about traveling several hours to go eat at an American chain restaurant, or about the abundance of American grocery products available at the commissary- but no tales of the local culture. I read a small snippet about Nutella, but that was the extent of local culture references. ManThing suggested that I leave a comment, suggesting she talk about the “German experience” more, but I can’t figure out a tactful (or effective) way to make the suggestion, “Hey! Leave the base for once, will ya?”

I consider myself lucky for the experience I had living there. The base where my father was posted was small, and had no housing. We lived in an apartment building nearby. There were grazing fields outside, and every night a farmer would lead his cows up the street and into his barn. (Hence, I learned the meaning of the phrase, "until the cows come home.") My mother learned to speak German. We shopped in the local grocery store, ate in the restaurants, and rode our bikes along the Wurm. I played with the kids in our apartment building. Mind you, I didn’t have a freakin’ clue what they were saying, but I played with them nonetheless. Nearly every weekend, we would go someplace new: Aachen, Cologne, Munich, and Wiesbaden, just to name a few.

*Sniff* Give me a moment. Nostalgia…

Okay. Better now. Can’t wait to go back!!

Maintenance

There hasn't been much going on in the Cubicle Jungle lately. I'm riding out my last few days as the Worst Employee Ever at this job; waiting to start fresh.

I'm doing a bit of clean-up on the site; changing/adding links, etc.

I've added a link to Sour Bob. I spent a good chunk of last night reading through his stuff, and it's very, very good. On more than one occasion, I nearly snarfed beverage out of my nose because of something he wrote. Especially this one.

I was hesitant to put a link to him after reading this post, however, because I complain about my job. A lot. Even though it's the kind of job I really shouldn't complain about. I am risking Sour Bob's wrath, however, because his stuff is so good that I want other people to enjoy it like I did.

Hopefully he won't come and kick my ass.

CAD Monkey Reloaded

Yes, yes. Could I be any more trite?

Just wanted to announce the unveiling (after much teeth-gnashing) of the new, improved template! I really was uncomfortable with sharing the same template as a grandmother and a recipe blog.

Viva individuality! I certainly don't get a chance to show it at work!

Grammar Rant

This entry is link-heavy, only because I am using the links to substantiate claims within the post. Sort of a lazy person’s footnote system, if you will. Yes, I know the previous sentence is a fragment, thankyouverymuch, MicroSoft Word. I never pretended to portray myself as perfect.

BEGIN RANT

I’ve been getting the itch to write a grammar/ spelling rant, and this post at All Right Here? prodded me into action. It’s an excellent post, by an English teacher, discussing the book Eats, Shoots, and Leaves.

When did everybody forget the concept behind contractions? I’m not talking about the kind that precedes a birth! It just annoys me to no end when I see the misuse of "it's" and "its"- and "it's" misused everywhere! “You’re” and “your” are two completely different words with completely different connotations. They are not interchangeable.

A piece of nit-picking that ManThing and I share is the use of words such as good vs. well, and less vs. fewer. Sometimes, when speaking, I find myself paying extra attention to the use of good vs. well, so that I won’t leave an opening for ManThing to tease me mercilessly. For several weeks, there was a billboard I saw every day on my way to work. It was for a major company, and it read: “Less calories. More yum.” Each time I drove past I would feel the need to yell “FEWER!!” Another billboard offender on my daily drive was: “Mother Nature. With a couple revisions.” This, of course, elicited the yelling of “It’s ‘a couple OF revisions!’ OF, damn you!!”

I am a spelling snob from way back. This began when, in second grade, I beat the pants off of all the fifth graders at my school’s spelling bee. It only got worse after that. Once, I got into an argument with one of my teachers over the correct spelling of the word "judgment." I thought it had an "e." She disagreed, vehemently, and we looked it up. We were both right, though she was “more” correct than I; I’ll admit that now. Some spellings are less rigid than others. Some are definitely not; for example…"definitely." It is not spelled “definately,” as I so often see it abused. It is an expansion of the word definite- do you see an “a?” Neither do I.

When one sits down to eat, it is not in a “dinning room.” It is supposed to have one “n.” ONE! Dining! One letter can make the difference between eating and just making lots of noise. Conversely, what you are eating is not “diner;” unless you are very, very hungry.

The following is particular to the architectural world, and the reason I remember it is because a professor made a big show of pointing out anybody who got it wrong: fluorescent lights. If you see something written as “flourescent,” it probably belongs in a bakery.

“I am loosing my mind.” Really? You are releasing it into the wild? Fascinating. Was it bred in captivity? Or, did you actually mean “losing?”

END RANT

I Have Pelizaeus Merzbacher Brain Sclerosis, I'm Sure of It!!

I don’t want to be this hypochondriacally inclined person I am now. I am constantly trying to diagnose myself with something; to put a name (and a drug) to my problems. Last week, my doctor called to tell me I had an abnormal Pap smear, and after a quick trip to WebMD, I’d already decided I had cervical cancer.

I’m done with having Depression. I had my first (official) bout with it in 1997, and was on and off medication until this year. It runs in the family, so it’s very valid that I would suffer from it; and I feel like crap most of the time, which is definitely a major symptom. The several different medications I’ve been on don’t work for me. I also hate the way I feel while on antidepressants just about as much as how I feel without them.

In my latest Self-Diagnosis-of-the-Week, I’ve decided I have ADD. I took a quiz on WebMD (evil, evil!!), and scored a 26. Scores 25 and above were qualified as "very severe ADHD behaviors"

These are the things in particular that I'm worried about:

Home life
* You often feel overly active and compelled to do things. (Except exercise, apparently)
* You have difficulty unwinding and relaxing at home. (Because the dog pisses me off?)
* You often feel restless or fidgety. (Snoring husband?)
* You tend to worry and feel that things won't work out for you. (Read my old entries about my job- track record, people!!)

Work life
* You often avoid or delay starting tasks.
* You often make careless mistakes.
* You are easily distracted.
* You often have difficulty getting things in order.
* You sometimes have trouble wrapping up the final details.
* You sometimes have difficulty keeping your attention on work.
* You often fidget or squirm when you have to sit for a long time.
* You have changed jobs frequently. (Oh, yeah)
* You feel that you should be further along with your career. (Like retired already!!)

Do I really have a problem, or do I just hate work?

Here’s what Lori said:
“I scored a 14. Which doesn’t concern me because I believe that a lot of the questions most people would have problems with. ‘Do you find yourself tuning out people speaking especially when they are talking directly to you?’ Yes because in our business there are usually a bunch of blow-hards that talk waaayyy too much.”

I think I just want to take a pill to make the Pain of Architecture go away.

Here’s what Mom said:
“These are things that we all go through. If you believe everything on the internet it will make you crazy!!!! I had myself convinced that I had uterine cancer, since all the information on the internet said if you had abnormal bleeding after menopause that you had uterine cancer.

Quit taking internet tests and if you really think you have the condition, go to the doctor!”

Right. Virtual Kick-In-Pants received and acknowledged.

ManThing took the quiz, and called me afterwards:
“25 and above is ‘severe ADHD symptoms,’ right? I scored a 44.”
“SNORF! That’s hilarious! It doesn’t surpise me; but I know you won’t do anything about it.”
“Actually, I’m going to try to go talk to a doctor. If he wants to put me on medication, I’ll try it out and see what it does to me. I just hope they don’t put me on anything that’s going to make me slow down; I kind of like that I move around quickly.”
“I think they put you on stimulants to treat it.”
“Sweet! Have you seen me on stimulants? I’ll be like Daffy Duck- woohoo woohoo woohoo…”

Why Am I Such A Worrier?

My decision has been officially made for me. As much as I want to be a designer, I know I need to give up that dream. It’s just not going to happen for me, or at least not before I’m 50.

I got my rejection letter from GWH on Friday; and I sent in my acceptance letter to Humongo on Saturday. I know I need to stay at Humongo for at least two or three years; as I already have the crimson red mark of a “jumper” on my resume. I’m trying to get excited about starting there, but the fears are setting in already. Humongo was the only firm that made me an offer, just like when I took my current job- is that a bad omen? What if BossManF wasn’t just yanking my chain when he said Humongo is “a hard place to work?” What if I end up working for a jerk- again? What if I absolutely can’t stand any more healthcare architecture, no matter what they’re paying me? Are they going to make me travel all the time (which I can only handle in limited quantities)? What if I hate this place like I’ve hated the last two? What if I can never fit my fatass into any of my suits again??

That last one applies no matter where I’m working, unfortunately.

Blog Explosion, Part II

Generally, I like Blog Explosion, as it has been the sole reason my traffic has increased so much. As I’ve used it more, I’ll admit I do have some beefs with it, though (hopefully they will remedy some of these after they’ve been around longer).

For example, I wish I could block whole genres from my surfing; a limit of 25 blocked sites just isn’t enough, kids- especially as Blog Explosion continues to grow. I really don’t care about SAHMs, or other people’s political views, or religious views, or blogs that were apparently written by eight year olds (not sure what category that last one would fall into).

**Edited 11/16/04 - Okay. I knew I was gonna hack somebody off with this paragraph, but let me 'splain. SAHMs: I have great respect for what you do; my mom was a stay-at-homer until I was eleven. I just don't want to read about poo, or look at 20 pictures of your kid per page; and that's the caliber of what I've encountered thus far. I still stand by my opinions on the political and religious blogs, however. -CAD Monkey **

Do I have to look at seven different blogs by the same person? In a row, no less? Does that mean this person, in turn, will be forced to look at my blog 3.5 times? Probably not.

I’m not even going to look at what I’ve been “rated,” because it would probably just make me angry. There is no clarification on whether the rating is based upon content, visual quality, etc.- not that mine would win raves on either.

This one has more to do with the bloggers than the administrators: quit begging for iPods! You’re embarrassing yourselves, and when I see the “free iPod” thing on your site, I immediately lose interest in anything else you have to say. Ask Santa for one. Leave the rest of us alone. There, I’ve said it. Commence Flame War.

And this last item, which is purely my own fault…it’s too much like having a pet! I feel like I have to keep nurturing it (by surfing) in order for it to grow (have people look at my sites). I really shouldn’t be surfing at work; I just nearly got caught looking (staring…rowrr) at a blog with an underwear-clad male model on it. Hee.

Corporate Whoredom In Seven Months Or Less

Sorry for the tons of posts today, but it's been a rollercoaster-y, emotional day!

When I came home from El Hellhole today, there was a package waiting for me. It was from the Humongo firm (3000 people, all offices counted) I interviewed with last Friday. Inside the seemingly indestructable Tyvek envelope was a nice, supple, leather bound notebook. Inside of that, there was an offer letter. On the offer letter was a big, luscious, juicy number.

Part of me is still waiting for "GWH" to call, because that position was purely design-oriented. However, I'm only waiting until Monday before I become a corporate whore and accept Humongo's offer. I'm not going to string along the Sure Thing for too long- and I fully realize that jumping quickly is what got me into my current mess. The difference this time is, I can make this one work. They already do healthcare architecture, have done it for many many years, and aren't just now trying to break into the market by grabbing a couple of crappy developer projects. The benefits are better, and the pay is much better- to the tune of a nearly 5k raise. And in writing, even!

After much doing of math, and figuring out that there's absolutely no way I'm getting paid for Thanksgiving; I decided to turn in my resignation tomorrow. That is the only way I'll be able to give my bare-bones 2 weeks, without having to do something silly like come back in for 2 days after a 4-day weekend. I'm absolutely giddy. Squealy, high school girl, "OHMYGAWD" giddy.

Would it be wrong to take my letter to work in that nice leather notebook- that has Humongo's monogram on it?

Retail Revisited

CAD Monkey note: Sometimes I really hate Blogger. I had a good post, all written up and ready to go. I hit the "Publish Post" button, it timed out, and now the post has gone poof. I'm a glutton for punishment, though, so I'm going to try and recreate it in all its angsty goodness.

I am putting way too much stock into getting this job; I know I am. I really want it, and I'm making it into the (final) Great White Hope, and I'm setting myself up for a fall. I'm trying rally hard to not talk about it in past tense right now. If I get the Bad Phone Call from them, it will mean I have to start revamping my job hunt drastically. My plan (as of this five minutes) is to send out a lot of revised (deleting the damn "AIA" from behind my name) resumes to small firms with the objective of landing some hourly work. I figure that way I can get some of this damn "experience" everybody keeps saying I don't have enough of. If I'm going to be somebody's bitch, I'm only working 30-36 hours a week, dammit. I'm also going to contact *gasp* a headhunter, and have them do some of this crap for me.

And, I'm going to apply at The Container Store. Yes, for the sales floor. Yes, during Christmas shopping season. Yes, even though I worked at Wal-Mart in a past life and hated every bit of it, especially during Christmas shopping season. Oh, shut up. Drastic changes, I say!

The problem I'm having right now is I don't know when I should resign. Should I wait until I have another job lined up? Should I quit, without another job, and just hope against all hope that I get something soon after? I've already made up my mind that my current project will be my last project here- do I give my notice two weeks before the final deadline, or say to hell with it and give notice this coming Monday?

To stick it to The Man or to go out like a trooper...it is a nagging question. My problem (or a good quality, however you look at it) is that I tend to want to leave on good terms no matter how crap-tacular a place has been. Right now, for example, I am feeling guilty because I know I'm going to quit and they just bought me a new box of business cards with my new name on them. This is a stupid reason to feel guilty in the first place; even more so because they bought the whole office new cards because of the new phone system.

Do you want to hear the worst part of it all? This is the part that makes me feel not like a married, 30-year-old, registered architect with a masters degree, but a big ol' loser: I'm scared to death to tell my mom about what I'm planning. Especially the Container Store part. I don't want to hear the lecture about how I'm wasting my education and wasting my life. Most of all, I don't want to hear the disappointment in her voice. I don't know what I'm trying to figure out with all of this right now; I sure don't want to justify it to anybody else- especially not Mom.

I feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind. I’m having an American Beauty moment. I can’t focus or concentrate, I can’t force myself to care. I want to scream, to cry, to leave. I don’t see a way out of here that won’t put me in another similar situation. If anybody feels the need to comment, “hang in there,” don’t. Just...don’t.

It’s a stupid, worthless sentiment for a poster with a sappy kitten dangling from a tree branch; not a mantra for dealing with my life.

I've Got Your "Sweetie" Right Here

Things have been almost okay for the last several days, because BossManJ and BossManF have been out of the office. Today, BossManJ comes back at four-frippin-thirty and starts giving me hell as usual- "why didn't you copy me on this e-mail?" "Where is the latest set of prints?" etc., etc.

And then he calls me "sweetie."

There are no words for the anger. No words at all.

Rubbernecker Rant

I was driving to work on the Tollway this morning, when it annoyingly came to a complete halt. Dammit, I’m paying my 60 cents; I want to go fast now!! Sitting up as tall as I could in my seat- which ain’t much, I’m only 5’3”- I saw flashing red and blue lights up ahead. A wreck. Never good. As we inched closer, I saw that it was a pretty bad one- but it wasn’t even on our side of the barrier! This annoyed me further, because that meant the reason we were slowing down so much was so that people could rubberneck. I always hate this.

Do you really want to see some carnage? Do you really? If you do, then go watch some episodes of ER. That’s not real. That’s not an actual person in actual pain, and you can stare at it all you want. Slow it down, even, if you want a really good look.

On the road, however, you’re not helping a damn thing by staring and slowing down traffic so you can (possibly) get a glimpse of some blood and guts. If you're on the side of the barrier with the wreck, you're holding up the emergency crews trying to help the people. If you're on the other side of the barrier, you're annoying the ever-living crap out of someone like me.

Drive, damn you all! Mind your business! Don’t cause another wreck because of your stupidity!

Idiots.

Also, in addition to the plotter at work being down (read: unplugged) for a week, now the little b&w printer is...wait for it...out of toner, and we're all (25 of us, folks) supposed to print to the color printer. Somebody is printing a big color job today, which takes a minimum of 10 minutes per sheet, so I will not get my little paragraph of text for who knows how long.

AAAARGGHRGRGRGRGRHHH!!!! Hate this retarded, small-time, ass-backwards place!!!

CAD Monkey - The Musical

I am fully aware that this is NaNoWriMo, but I'm not quite ready to jump in fully. I'm going to hide behind the Fear Of Rejection that has been roused by my job search. The following is a bit o' text I've been playing around with- I lost some of it while trying to *ahem* remove the evidence from my work computer. If I can somehow recover the rest of it, I'll add to it.

*Blink*
AutoCAD just dies. No warning, no chance to save her file first. It’s just…gone.
“Ahhh- CRAP!! Stupid AutoCAD!”
She slams a fist down on her desk- a folding table someone used as a drill block in its former life. She is trying to maintain good posture to ease the pain in her shoulders, with headphones half off one ear so she can hear the phone- or more accurately, Kathy screaming that she has a phone call holding, since she doesn’t actually have a phone at her desk. After attempting, twice, to use the excuse "I don't have a phone!" when Kathy yelled out that there was a call holding, she realized Kathy would continue to send calls her way regardless of her phone-less status. Meadows was nice enough to share his phone with her. It was his direct line, though, so the "scream-paging" continued. She looks up the “temp” file to see how much damage has been done.
“Dammit! I lost most of the room number tags I just put on!”
So much for efficiency, she thinks. She sighs and stretches; wincing at the bright, pinching pain in her shoulder, and starts the highly tedious task of putting room tags in the plan...again. Meadows leans back in his chair, poking his head around the side of his cubicle wall to talk to her.
"We're not supposed to be wearing jeans today."
"What? Whatever. You're kidding, right?"
"No, Jason came through the office last night around 5:30, telling everyone.”
Today was Thursday, and she normally didn’t wear jeans until Friday, but decided on the “fuck it” approach this morning. The only thing special about this Thursday was the prospective clients coming through the office for a project interview. She somehow thought the trash pile near the kitchen would impress them less than her jeans.
“Whatever. They can fire me. He should have sent an e-mail or something.”
“Well, you know how they always think of this crap at the last minute.”
Meadows leans forward again, disappearing behind the cubicle wall.
“Whaddya mean, ‘UNKNOWN COMMAND _XCLIP’?!?! You don’t just forget commands all of a sudden! You sorry piece of crap!”

I'm Married...I'm Not Supposed To Have To Date Anymore!!

The job search continues- obviously. I don't know that this blog will survive, should I find a job I'm happy with. After all, isn't its premise to rant about how my job blows goats?

With every interview that passes, my mind keeps wanting to compare the job-hunting process to dating. You get all dressed up, and sit nervously while waiting for them to come retrieve you and begin the encounter. You put on your best manners, and try to say flattering things about yourself- but not too many! You don’t want to sound conceited.

After it’s all over, you go home (or back to work) and start waiting to get the call for the second “date.” And you wait. And wait. At the time of the actual interview, you thought everything went well, but the more time that goes by, you start to remember the stupid things you said. The things that could have been construed as desperation.

Every time you like a firm, it is unrequited. The firms you couldn’t care less about are the ones who like you back. You find yourself wondering, “should I say ‘yes’ to the less attractive firm, who wants me now; or hold out for the more attractive firm- and possibly be left without a date to the dance at all?”

“Should I forego a 'relationship' in favor of cheap thrills and just do hourly work somewhere?”

*sniffle*

“Why am I so ugly??”
“WAHHHHH!!!”

And then I start sending out resumes...again. I like getting hurt.

Blog Explosion

Eleven...o'clock. Must....stop.....need bedtime...

In my need for the world to experience the CAD Monkey lifestyle, I signed up for Blog Explosion. Now I'm writing silly posts like "50 CAD Monkey Things," and staying up way past my bedtime. Okay, eleven's not that late, but I have a sinus infection, for crap's sake- I could really use some rest!

--edited to add--

I am realllllly tired of all the political blogs. I know that blogging is a way to express one's opinion, but does everyone have to have an opinion about the same stinkin' thing? If I want to read about politics (which I so don't), I'll go to cnn.com, thankyouverymuch.

50 CAD Monkey Things

1. My favorite color is red. It used to be green. Not sure when the change happened.
2. Harry Potter’s birthday is the same as mine- July 31st.
3. One of my favorite numbers is 12. This is because of a period of time in my high school calculus class where the answers kept ending up being “12.” My friends and I started saying, “Twelve is the Answer to Everything!” Yes, I know this is a crappy “thing.” They get better. Stay with me.
4. After making a D in college calculus twice (you had to get a C for it to count), I got out of having to take it a third time by going to the School of Architecture’s Assistant Dean (who was also my thesis advisor) and saying “c’mon, you and I both know I’m never going to use calculus in architecture, ever.” He signed it off on my transcript.
5. Until I moved to Dallas, I was convinced that Starbucks Coffee tasted like ass. I later found out this was because the only place I’d had it before was the University Center at school, and the UC was notorious for screwing things up. They were incapable of making Pizza Hut or Chik-Fil-A palatable. The town I went to college in didn’t get a real, freestanding Starbucks until 2004- five years after I’d vacated the place.
6. Air Force ROTC awarded me a full college scholarship. I found out ROTC sucked, and they wanted me to major in civil engineering instead of architecture. I gave up the scholarship after one semester.
7. I can never be an officer in the military now. They made me sign a form and everything.
8. It took me 7 years to finish college. I attribute this to starting out in civil engineering first, changing to another 5-year major (architecture), and having to work all throughout my college career.
9. I am the first in my family to finish college, much less with a Masters degree.
10. I have absolutely no student loans.
11. I’ve had a job since I was 15.
12. When I graduated college, I had never used AutoCAD before. I taught myself, on-the-job, in one month.
13. I used to like to draw, by hand, as a hobby. Not so much after architecture school.
14. I didn’t have my first alcoholic drink until I was 21. My parents bought it for me. I thought it tasted nasty. I’ve since learned better.
15. I’ve only been puking drunk once. I was 29.
16. I have the alcohol tolerance of a mosquito. The 2-Drink Wonder, that’s me.
17. I began drinking coffee when I was 16. I started swiping it from the teachers’ lounge at my high school.
18. I have arthritis in my right hip. Sometimes it's so bad, my leg will nearly buckle when I stand up. I will likely need to have my hip replaced one day.
19. I have a Rocketeer figurine suction-cupped inside my car’s windshield.
20. The sun has faded him so much; from the outside he looks like he isn’t wearing any pants.
21. I have never been pulled over and have never had a traffic ticket (as of this writing, anyway).
22. I have never been in a car accident, not even a minor one (same modifier as above applies).
23. I have a “freckle constellation” of the Big Dipper on my right forearm.
24. Though I am right-handed, I absolutely cannot snap with the fingers on my right hand.
25. I can’t stand bell peppers. I will pick them out of frozen meals, even.
26. I currently wear a 38DDD. I didn’t buy them, I didn’t ask for them, and if there were such a thing as a “donor program,” they would be gone. And I will probably get tons of porn spam now, as a result of having “38DDD” written in my blog.
27. Although I’ve gained a lot of weight, somehow my feet have gotten smaller.
28. Halloween is my favorite holiday.
29. I don’t really like Christmas. It annoys me. The fact that people keep trying to start celebrating it concurrently with Halloween especially annoys me.
30. Until I married ManThing, I had a horrible last name (sorry, Dad). People would always mispronounce it, misspell it (even after I’d spelled it for them), and mangle it in general. I had gotten to the point where I would answer to a reasonable facsimile of it. It was 5 letters long- not that difficult!!
31. I’m an only child- the family name ends with me.
32. No, I’m not spoiled.
33. Dream job? Artist. Not a poor artist.
34. Second choice? Professional gardener. Also not poor.
35. Until this whole celiac/ no-dairy thing came to a head, I used to eat anything without wondering too much what it was made from. I spent a week in China in December of 2001. I have no idea what I actually ingested that whole time. It was great. I miss that.
36. I’ve donated blood only once in my life.
37. The second time I went back, I was no longer allowed because I’d lived in Germany between 1982 and 1985 and the Red Cross now thinks that means you have Mad Cow Disease.
38. I’m a cat person, through and through.
39. My cat is a “balcony baby.” I found her, on my balcony, pitifully eating the breadcrumbs I’d left out for the birds. Instant love.
40. People have often told me I have a strange accent. This came as a result of being told by my high school drama teacher “no one will find you believable with that Texas accent.” I got rid of the Texas accent. Not sure what accent I ended up with; people have said I sound like I’m from Michigan. I don’t know what “Michigan” sounds like; I’ve lived in Texas since 1985.
41. I’ve lived in Texas since 1985 (yes, I know that’s cheating). Can’t think of any other state I’d rather live in.
42. ManThing and I are thinking of expatriating ourselves to Germany a few years in the future.
43. I don’t do church. Not much of a believer.
44. I tried to go Wiccan for a little while, but I found out I don’t believe in that, either.
45. Even though I drive a teen-einsy car (Honda Civic 2-door), I can’t parallel park worth a crap.
46. Quite often, I snort when I start laughing really hard.
47. I have a bad temper (when provoked) that has inspired ManThing to call me the “Little Ball of Fury.”
48. I don’t want to have children. Ever. “Are you sure?” Yes. “You’ll change your mind…” No, I won’t. “It’s different when they’re your own.” No, it isn’t. “But…” No.
49. Brought this up with ManThing on our second date. His reaction: “Not have kids? I didn’t know that was even an option. Huh.” Love this man!!!
50. I once had a date with an idiot who grabbed my breasts and said “honk!” This was, obviously, not ManThing!!

The Showdown

Lately, I've spent more time writing than working. If I could get paid for it, I'd write full time. However, as I am, in reality, paid to draw for The Man, I've had to make a deal with myself this week to not post while at work (slipped up yesterday, oops).

BossManJ stopped by my "desk" one day last week and asked if he had left me a note telling me to send a site plan to a consultant (he hadn't). He got snippy when I told him as much, as it was quite clearly my fault that he hadn't left a note. As I began to write myself a note on the subject, he asked where another plan was, intimating that it, too, was on my desk.

Let me, once again, explain my "desk" situation. I had been, until today, sitting at a folding table for about a month and a half. The majority of this folding table was taken up by the ridiculously gargantuan, 100-pound, 42-foot deep monitor of my computer. I had no desk space, so I hadn't been keeping anything more than what was necessary on a daily basis. Ergo, I didn't have the plan. He got snippy, again, telling me to look for it (when I already knew it was on his damn desk the whole time). Then he left. Sigh.

That particular encounter inspired the following:

She opens the front door, takes the step up, and firmly plants her booted feet in a wide stance. Rolling her neck around, she readies herself. Her right hand twitches at her hip.

The light at his desk is on. A tumbleweed of transbond paper rolls across the floor before her.

Wao, wao waooow, wah wah wah
Wao, wao waooow, wah wah waaaaah.....

Gypsum dust crunches grittily beneath her feet as she approaches his desk; his back is to her. As he turns to face her, she reaches for her back pocket with lightning fast speed- her weapon is in her hand in an instant.

"Read it and weep, cowboy."

She hands him the resignation letter and promptly walks back out. :)

Happy Fun Make-Believe World!

CAD Monkey's note - I tried to stop posting at work and actually concentrate on work for once. I tried- but as evidenced by the following, I failed miserably.

Each interview I now go to is like a glimpse into another world I can fantasize myself in. Each time, I am creating a picture in my head for future replay of a place better than this.

I could see myself making the commute downtown and driving like a hellion through the parking garage. Coming in each morning, I would tell people “good morning,” and actually mean it. At lunch, I could eat at the cafeteria downstairs, with its enticing aromas, or sit at my cheerfully decorated desk; and then take a walk around the block. I even know which tennis shoes I will be wearing. The possibility of being in a brightly lit, brightly colored, pleasant place is what I cling to after each interview.

Watching the clouds roll across the sky from the 38th floor window, I can envision myself holding a meeting in the very same conference room I wait in. As I wait, I clasp my hands together, one over the other, trying to warm them. I don’t want my first handshake to be cold to the touch. The room is just the right temperature- a huge departure from my current office. Breathing deeply, I try to relax and run through what I can say that will convey the perfect mix of eagerness and restraint. I fidget terribly, alternating between putting the hair on one side behind my ear, and letting it hang loose.

Please please please…

Trying to burn this silent plea into their minds with my attentive stare, I listen to what they tell me. Everything sounds absolutely wonderful. I don’t even care about the insurance plan, but it sounds wonderful, too.

They ask what my availability is. I say it’s “flexible,” two weeks to wrap up what I’m doing if they need me sooner, and I can wait if they want me later. Lies. All lies. Truthfully, I would go directly to a desk and start working that instant if they would have me. I would resign via phone call.

When I leave, I take the elevator back down, which is symbolic of my descent back into hell. I don’t want to go; it’s so pretty here. Please don’t make me.

Now the waiting begins once more. But tomorrow I have another interview, and another new world to live in for a little while.

Happy Halloween!! 

How Much Does This NOT Surprise Me? :)

You're a Dark Angel...and hey, you probably knew it.
Dark Angels are, in truth, very malicious but a
sign of one also is very sad. Dark Angels all
used to be pure angels, but something went very
wrong with their lives. Either it was the
sudden murder of a loved one, betrayal, or pure
torture to them, Dark Angels have committed
their lives to Satan himself. They are silent,
and their wings are dark black feathers, or
blood red. Dark Angels appear when there is
someone dying, or a murder. If you see one, it
means the death of a loved one is expected.
Dark Angels cannot actually harm a human, but
they love to see the suffering of one.

What Kind of ANGEL are you? (For Girls only) This Quiz has amazingly Beautiful Pictures!
brought to you by Quizilla

I HAVE CHEESE!!

Cheese has been the final frontier in terms of finding a gluten-free/ casein-free substitute for everything I've had to give up eating. I've gone through countless searches, in stores and on the net, to find an acceptable CF cheese substitute: a vegan cheese that does not taste like chalk, an eraser, have the consistency of rubber and refuses to melt, or have a funk to it in general. I even tried to make my own cheese, using nutritional yeast flakes- the result of which could patch the holes in my driveway.

I've eaten several subtances that the FDA should have never allowed to be labeled "cheese." Yes, SoyMage, I'm talking to you.

I have finally, thank the gods, found the Holy Grail: a good vegan cheese.

I never thought I would be so happy as a result of a tofu-based substance.
I would make a joyful noise, but my mouth is still full of the stuff.

In the end, after visiting or calling every alterna-food store in town, and even calling the distributor to see if they sold it anywhere in Dallas, I broke down and ordered it online. One would think, living in a big city and all, that this would have been easier. Alas, Texans like their cow products, and Dallas isn't quite on the vegan bandwagon. Of course, neither am I. I like my steak just as much as the next person.

While searching, I tired very quickly of the vegan propaganda that was part and parcel of searching for cheese not made with animals' milk, and not containing casein. I just wanted to eat something that wouldn't make me ill, not be preached at.

Anyway. Back for another mouthful!!

Christmas in October?

It seems that, every year, people keep trying to make Christmas happen earlier and earlier. Last weekend, I was in Houston, and I saw not only a lit and decorated tree in a window, but an entire shopping center decked out in Christmas decorations as well.

This inspired a song, as injustices seem to do with me. ManThing co-wrote.

O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
It's too soon for you to be here.
O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
I want to shove you up your owner's rear.
Not barely in,
But all the way.
Maybe then he'll wait 'til Turkey Day.
O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
It's too soon for you to beeee heeeeere....

Somebody Needs To Stop Me

I’m sitting here wanting to quit so bad I can taste it in the back of my throat. Okay, maybe that’s just post-nasal drip from this nasty sinus thing I have. Sorry for the visual. Compounding the problem is the fact that I took some pseudoephedrine (oh, calm down, it’s sinus meds), and that always makes me feel twitchy and really agitated.

I’m fighting the urge to up and quit, just like when I’m sick and I know I’m going to throw up, but I will fight it.

Yeah. It’s that bad.

ManThing gave me “permission” to cash in my IRA and live off that for a while, but I can’t bring myself to do it, no matter how much I hate this place. He felt the need to give me “permission” because he knew I wouldn’t give it to myself. One would think this would have a calming effect on me; just knowing I had an "out" would give me the ability to hang on until one of the jobs I've been pursuing drops. Quite the opposite. I just have the overwhelming urge to do it now, do it now, do it now!!

I’ve never just quit a place before, not even Wal-Mart. I gave them four weeks notice, for crap’s sake! I almost feel like I need to just do this, just once in my life.

It makes no financial sense to do it; in fact, it’s the dumbest thing I could possibly do right now. But I want it. I’m willing to give up the deposit I've saved for a MINI Cooper to do this. Hell, I'm willing to give up meals to do this.

But I'm a chickenshit, so I won't. A compromise, perhaps. I'll wait until I get another job, and then I'll tell them to piss off with no notice. A monkey can dream. :)

Work = Prison

A co-worker sent this to me yesterday.

IN PRISON - you spend the majority of your time in an 8 x 10 cell.
AT WORK - you spend the majority of your time in a 6 x 8 cubicle.

IN PRISON - you get three meals a day.
AT WORK - you only get a break for one meal and you pay for it.

IN PRISON - you get time off for good behavior.
AT WORK - you get more work for good behavior.

IN PRISON - the guard locks and unlocks all the doors for you.
AT WORK - you must carry around a security card and open all the doors yourself.

IN PRISON - you can watch TV and play games.
AT WORK - you get fired for watching TV and playing games.

IN PRISON - you get your own toilet.
AT WORK - you have to share with some idiot who pees on the seat.

IN PRISON - they allow your family and friends to visit.
AT WORK - you can't even speak to your family.

IN PRISON - the taxpayers pay all expenses with no work required.
AT WORK - you get to pay all the expenses to go to work, and then they deduct Taxes from your salary to pay for prisoners.

IN PRISON - you spend most of your life inside bars wanting to get out.
AT WORK - you spend most of your time wanting to get out and go inside bars.

IN PRISON - you must deal with sadistic wardens and guards.
AT WORK - they are called managers and brown-nosers.

A few of my own…

IN PRISON - No degree required
AT WORK - you spend several years and lots of money to get a degree before you can even get an entry-level position

IN PRISON - you get an exercise period scheduled into each day
AT WORK - you have to find time to exercise on your own time, at your own expense, in addition to the other things in your schedule

IN PRISON - you are issued a comfy jumpsuit, and it is washed for you
AT WORK - you have to purchase your own clothing, it’s usually expensive and uncomfortable (read: suit), and you have to wash/ dry clean it yourself

One from Victor…

IN PRISON – you are provided healthcare at the taxpayers’ expense
AT WORK – you have to pay for your own healthcare insurance or take the company’s crap program (if one is even offered)

Anybody got anything to add?

Do I LOOK Like A Reprographics House?

(e-mail) Lori: So sleepy. Don’t want to work anymore.

(e-mail) CAD Monkey: If sleepy = not wanting to work, then I've been unconscious for months.

***

My current location, in front of the kitchen, and in the line of travel towards the conference room, has awarded me a new status- Print Monkey. BossManF just walked past on his way to the conference room, realized he had no drawings for the meeting he was going to, and stopped at my desk. He told me, in “drop what you’re doing” tone, to print “the latest site plan for the X job on 8 ½” x 11”, with dimensions, blah di blah, and I need 8 copies.”

Sigh. Yes, Master.

A few weeks ago, the same thing happened- except it was 5:30 and I was about to leave. Does his machine not have print capability?

***

Hah! He just did it to one of the other "hallway dwellers!" I am vindicated!!

And I STILL Don't have enough CEUs!!

I went to the TSA convention in Houston this weekend. These types of events inspire both hope and depression within me. The hope comes from attending the seminars; and seeing, once again, the aspects that attracted me to architecture in the first place. However, that inspirational feeling never sustains me for very long, and the depression takes hold. The depression comes from realizing I will have to wait an unknown amount of time (or never) before I can do similar work, and that I have to go back to the hole on Monday. Seeing the other side of the profession; and being around people who enjoy what they’re doing; makes me want to quit even more. Even though I am actively pursuing other jobs and options, these things are never instantaneous.

In my head are several “exit fantasies,” formulated both from talking with my friends, and from my own devising. My fear is, that since this is such an incestuous industry, the tale of my huffy walk-out would spread, thus tainting my future with anyone who knew my former employer.
I would love to go out in a blaze of glory; yelling an emphatic “fuck you!” and walking out the door with a finger in the air. (That one I credit to Liz)
Or, I could just pack up my crap and leave a diplomatic “screw-you” note on BossMan’s chair. (That would be Lori)
Perhaps I could make my exit after narrowly escaping arrest for attempted assault. I can see myself scrambling out of my chair and leaping over the conference table; sneering and snarling as I reach for BossManJ’s throat. Ah, the savage beauty of the wild.

While I was in Houston, I stayed with Lori and Jeromy- always fun. On Friday night, one of Jeromy’s friends and Wife came over for dinner. Friend and Wife have a kid, as do Lori and Jeromy. The difference is, Lori doesn’t talk about her kid all the frelling time. No matter how the conversation may have started, Wife managed to turn the conversation back to the nourishing of her child from her mammary glands. Blech.

We watched Team America Saturday night (fuck, yeah!). I'm going to watch it with ManThing tonight, because I can't keep the catchphrases to myself anymore....

Siberia!

I knew I shouldn't have had the thought.

The working conditions can't get too much worse than they are now.

I was wrong. Today they took away our lights. Literally; the workmen came in and removed the overhead lights. With the cold from the AC and the darkness, the illusion is complete- I'm working in a cell!

The Thing I Didn't Want To Hear

7:30am
I walked in this morning to get hit in the face with the lovely aroma of...cigarette smoke! That's right, BossManJ finds it completely acceptable to smoke in the office. So, now the job is not only annoying, but hazardous to my health as well. Peachy.

9:00am
Why haven’t they called yet? Tomorrow will be a week since the interview; the very same interview I got such warm, fuzzy feelings from.

Do they not realize I am a twitchy, neurotic mess? Can they not feel, through the psychic pipeline, that I am waiting- edgily- for them to call and throw me the metaphorical life preserver of a decent employ? Do I really want them to figure this out- no! I just want my damn phone call- the good kind, not the “well, we’ve gone with someone else” kind.

Desperation tickles my brain with its evil little fingers, trying to convince me to do what I shouldn’t.
I shouldn’t call them.
I shouldn’t e-mail the one person working there that I know and ask for his good word.
I shouldn’t just tell this place to stick it, and throw myself to the winds of unemployment.
I shouldn’t call my former boss and ask if there’s any contract work I can do.
I really, really, really shouldn’t go eat a big hunk of cheese just to ride the opiate wave.

I have to be cool on the outside, and continue along like nothing is wrong- when everything here is SO wrong. I’m even having trouble trying to lose myself in the work, because I lack direction. I don’t know how this place puts together a set of construction documents- they offer no training, and there is no standard that I can see. After opening three different project sets to get a go-by, I have three different methods.

Sigh.

10:12am
GFF just called, and gave me the same old story about not enough experience, wrong project type experience, blah, blah, blahbitty, blah.

I wish I had never seen this picture and had it affect me the way it did in my first architectural history class.

I wish I had never read this book.

I wish I had been a little more patient with my last job, because this one is so much worse, and apparently I’m going to rot here.

Schadenfreude!

I will now mangle two languages at once; by saying that I have found my company’s raison d’etre…to achieve… schadenfreude!

When I came in this morning, the new desk layout for our office expansion had been placed on my chair. I will be sitting right outside BossManF’s cube. While I could look on the bright side, and think this might be because he’s going to turn me into his right hand- uh- man, my not-so-inner pessimist says I’m now going to be watched all the time.

The desk shackles are scheduled for installation next week, sometime after the carpet arrives.

In keeping with the isolationist environment I’ve experienced since my first day here, I’ve also been moved nearly to the farthest point of the office, effectively cut off from everybody (the whole three people) I have made friends with to this point.

This is some sort of Candid Camera thing, right? Leave me a crappy surprise each morning this week? I can’t wait to see what I get tomorrow.

GFF needs to call me already!

Small Snippet

I was having some trouble with an e-mail I was trying to send out today, and managed to send out one incomplete version and then several versions explaining the mistake.

While I already felt like I needed to commute on the short bus, BossManJ comes up and asks about what was going on with all those e-mails he kept getting from me. I explained I was having trouble with the e-mail, and there is no “recall” function on our stupid server, so several copies got sent out.

He walks off mumbling something about “we don’t need to send out a bunch of worthless e-mails.”

Noooo…really, asshole? My silly, dumb, girl-brain wouldn’t have figured that out if you hadn’t told me. Grrrr.

Also, to improve the quality of my workstation that much more, someone threw a poopy diaper into the trash can at my desk sometime over the weekend.

I don't even want to know where the actual changing took place.

And the really sad thing is, I sit less than 10 feet from the bathroom....

CAD Monkey, Queen Of RCP

The following is an attempt to redeem myself after the last lametastic entry. It is also an attempt to make reflected ceiling plans seem interesting through the power of medieval imagery; because, I assure you, they are anything but interesting.

All behold CAD Monkey, Queen Of RCP.

Mine is a mantle I hoped I’d never wear again; alas, it is my destiny. I am The Chosen One.

In my left hand, I wield a scepter engraved “SNAPBASE.” Upon my head rests a crown, covering my ears and feeding mystical chantings to my brain, to counteract the mind-numbingness of my task.

My subjects are the nameless masses that will someday bask beneath the ceilings of my design. It is for them that I leave the safety of my castle each morning, to navigate the gauntlet of walls, door headers, and furr-downs. I alone have the power to decide who will be bathed in soft incandescent, and who must suffer the heartbreak of fluorescent lighting.

With the aid of my trusty steed, and with Symmetry as my shield, I make passing strikes with 2x2 grids and gypsum board ceilings. I maintain a tenuous balance, keeping grids centered, and ceiling heights at 9’-0” AFF. Strapped to my side is my flask of magical elixir to maintain my strength and vigilance.

Okay, I tried. There really is no way to make RCPs glamorous. Really.

And Now We Wait

I interviewed with GFF Friday. It went as well as I could have hoped for. Their offices are pretty and shiny and I so want to work there.

It's going to be hard to wait for the phone for however long it will take for them to get back to me. Concentration hasn't been a strong point for me at work lately as it is. Small bits of work interspersed with looking at my phone and thinking "O please o please o please call me and get me out of this hellhole already." I had to try very hard not to convey that attitude during the interview. I think I pulled it off.

My head hasn't been into the writing thing lately. I've been going through a tough spell of stress, anger at the diet, and tons of allergy fun.

Bleh.

Hope it will pass soon.

I want to keeeeeelll yoooooouuuuu!!!!

When I told people at my last job that I was coming to work here, one of the guys told me “Oh, you’ll be working with BossManJ. He’s a great guy! You’ll learn a lot from him!”

Yes, I certainly could learn a lot from him, if I wanted to become a condescending, chauvinistic, hypocritical old bastard.

Several times, he has started a meeting by saying he “has no healthcare planning experience, nor wants any,” and is going to defer judgment on such matters to me. He will then contradict me, in front of the client, on matters dealing with the healthcare planning of the project. This accomplishes two things: it undermines my credibility, and he ends up making planning promises I can’t keep.

Yesterday, we were in a meeting (with a client he has already trashed me in front of), and an ambulance pulls up in front of the building. I briefly look out the window at it, then bring myself back to the meeting. I say something to C about needing to find out whether the facility plans to use bariatric patient beds, because they will not fit into the patient rooms. BossManJ tells me- in his favorite way, in front of a room full of people- that I “need to focus on this meeting.” The fuck?!?

Not five minutes later, a guy and his siliconed girlfriend walk past, and he looks out the window and says, “Good-ness!” Yes. Focus on the meeting. Bite me.

And today.

Developer Chick [she used to work here, then decided to go play for the Dark Side] gets herself into a twist, thinking I had gone ahead on a plan change without notifying her. [She got the e-mail just like everyone else.] She calls BossManJ, with whom she is BFF, and I get called into his office for the Ass-Chewin’.

“DC is really upset about this. Everything has to go through DC; everything needs her approval. You need to call her and ‘make nice.’ She needs attention, you know, she’s a woman.”

This is exactly the sort of thing that has been making me listen to Kittie again lately. Lots of it.

Side note: This seems to be a common affliction of architecture males when they are around me. Somehow they “forget” that I, too, am female, and they say crap like this all the time! Wake up and smell the absence of Y chromosome!!

DC is also pregnant right now. I wonder how long it’s going to take before BossManJ starts asking when I’m going to pop one out. That seems like the kind of question he would ask.

I need to get that punching bag hung. Soon.

CAD Monkey Hangs Her Head In Shame

To The Future Administrative Staff of [current project] Hospital:

You may find yourself, sitting in your crappy little cubicle, wondering who the dumbass was that designed your workspace.

It was I, CAD Monkey, and I’m very sorry.

As always, I tried to make your space a good space. I reeeeeally tried. On at least three separate attempts, I moved and rotated and stretched and prodded and poked and pleaded with the cubicle plan; the Tetris theme song constantly running through my head- but to no avail. I couldn’t do it. Though I like to think of myself as a good enough designer to do a job well, regardless of the obstacles, there were too many factors working against me.

Cowardly as it may sound, I place the blame on the owner of your building.

I blame the owner for insisting on a bare-minimum, tight-ass plan with no room for adjustments.

I blame the owner for telling me, “This type of building can be done in 35,000 square feet. We’ve done it before (yet owner offers no plans to prove this).”

[Really? When I programmed it to a functional size, I got 42,000 square feet; but, hey, what do I know?]

I blame the owner for severely restricting the square footage of the building, to the point where the structural plan necessitates putting a column right in the frippin’ middle of your department.
Mostly, I blame the owner for wanting a certain number of desks in your department, then wanting to lessen the square footage of the department, and then wanting to put more than the original number of desks in.

I deeply empathize with your workspace situation. Currently, I am working at a folding table in front of the office kitchen, with a painfully clear view of the office bathroom, and with no natural light anywhere to be found. The principals sit upstairs on a mezzanine, with windows, a great view, and the ability to lord over all of the office monkeys.

Believe me, this was not an attempt to “screw the staff”- I even tried to stick it to your CEO, and take away his windowed office!

Please accept my apologies,

CAD Monkey
Fellow beleaguered staff member