Ass Ass Baby

This week has been weird. I'm pretty much in full on snark, kiss my ass mode. I've had to refrain from expelling it at work after having taken an online human resource course. Mandatory, mind you. Apparently I'm considered a supervisor. Go me. I'm a supervisor when it's convenient. Again, go me.

Needless to say, due to said HR seminar, I am watching my p's and q's. Man, it's hard. For a girl who consistently mutters the f-bomb under her breath, I'm a freakin' atom bomb waiting to explode. I rattle off a stream of expletives when people get on my last nerve. At work, that doesn't take long. I keep it low and I'm pretty sure no one actually hears me call them asshatmoronstupidmutherfuckingdipshit. I know, I know. My blog is usually very family friendly. Well, it's at least mostly PG-13 to PG. But damn it, I'm sick of holding my tongue.

I am comfortable stating that my workplace is the antithesis of Disney World. Happiest place on Earth meet the most pathetic and dismal place of all. At least if you listen to the people with whom I work you'd think many of them were seconds away from washing down a bottle of prescription pain killers with a fifth of Drano. I pray none of them are actually to that point. I'm simply stating that it's rare to hear something positive and blessed ooze from their pie-holes. I find it really unbearable. So, my therapeutic release comes in the form of puking vulgarities. I just wish someone was around to hold my hair back when I'm in full Linda Blair mode.

Obviously, the world is filled with asshats. If not for them, people like me might appear to be less even keeled and thoughtful.

Yesterday while driving to work my friendly gas indicator light went on. It makes this delightful chime, too. Great! I'm pretty sure I can make it the 10 mile commute to work without issue, but I'd definitely have to fill up after work. There's a Shell gas station across the road from where I work. I figured at 5:00 pm it would be busy. I anticipated having to wait behind other people filling up with the newly reduced gas prices. Groovy. I can be patient for Joe the commuter to fill his tank. What I had no patience for was the Michigan travelers who were not filling up, but checking their oil while parked in the gas lane. This was not one lane they were blocking, but TWO! While I sit there waiting along with the other unlucky fool who chose the other blocked lane, other people are zipping in and out with smiles on their faces because they had the good fortune to pull in behind someone using a credit card and not requiring routine maintenance on their 1987 Chevy P.O.S. Son of a ...!!

I ended up heading toward another gas station about 2 miles away. I cursed venomous things. I'm certain by that point I had begun speaking in tongues. Remember, I had just left work where I'd been biting my bubblegum tongue to a point of nearly bleeding! OY! The benefit of going to another gas station is that it was 5 cents cheaper. I felt like a victor while my blood was boiling. I calmed down by the time I arrived home to be greeted by the adorable Man-cub. He knows I need chill time before he starts bombarding me with questions and inquiries of what we'll be having for dinner. **deep breath**

Tonight on the way home from work I was listening to the radio. Normally I listen to music on my iPod. The radio station I had on is something new. It comes in clearly and that's about all I require. Well, that and it can't be country or hip hop/dance crap. The DJ had some feature "Five things you need to know before the weekend." Number five (I can't remember the other four) was announcing that Rob Van Winkle aka Vanilla Ice will be releasing a 13 track CD. One track will be the original "Ice Ice Baby." Three more will be RE-MIX version of "Ice Ice Baby." This is just another who, why, what the f*ck!?! moment. Seriously, is it necessary?

I look at it this way:

In a week where douchebaggetiness has been sprinkled about like Tinkerbell's fairy dust, I'd say the news of Vanilla Ice making a return is quite fitting ... kick it!