Posted in Humor

SPECIAL REPORT : The plane truth

My granddaughter’s birthday is coming up…

…and so is my dinner at the thought of walking through airports again.

Over the sidewalk and through the ropes

to TSA’s house we go.  

The cops know the way to ruin our day,

they put on quite a show.

Fingers in places no one can see

and hands that grope my boobs

once in the plane, my baggage tucked,

I have to say getting there sucked.

 

 

AND THAT’S THE PLANE TRUTH!

Yep.  It’s nearly time for a fate worse than death — going from the parking lot to the plane.  

On longer flights, I’ll get my Starbuck’s  Chai with honey and soy milk before boarding and sip on it – for 9 hours – to avoid having to use the airplane bathrooms.

I can stuff a carry-on full of crap so well, you’d think it was the inside of a Tardis.  

 

If the airlines weren’t  so blinded by the allure of making a buck, they’d understand we know the truth

Fortunately, I’ve only had this pilot once in my lifetime and lived to tell about it

We were over New York City when the plane went from upright to sideways in a matter of seconds.  The buildings looked like this from the air

Oddly, I was stoic about the fact that if I was about to die, I had the worst possible view ever.  Another name for this brand of stoicism is “Frozen in Fear.”

When you fly crunch class, doesn’t it seem that the flight attendants are a bit irritated at having to provide the drinks and peanuts to 300 people for a 1 hour flight?  

I can’t imagine why.  

The last time I took a plane, this was my flight attendant.

Really.  I’m serious.  I think he poked me with the end of his sword to force me off the plane and into 

ANXIETY CENTRAL

Otherwise known as yet another airpit airport.

I’d rather endure this

Than go through THIS:

You only have to go through a catastrophic plane crash once.

anxietyworkout

If you don’t hear from me next month, you know where I’ll be.

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Posted in Floridaborne, Humor

Not So Special Report : Miss Me?

All right.  I admit it.  I missed the July NWR deadline by an entire month.  Did anyone miss me?

I think I hear Simon and Garfunkel playing “The Sounds of Silence.”

Talk about a frigid welcome – My readers weren’t the only entities giving me a cold shoulder recently.  It was a record 80 degrees in Florida today.  Any colder and I’ll be grabbing my coat.

She forgot the socks

Did you know I once lived in Houston, Texas?  My daughter used to live in the area that Hurricane Harvey flooded.  It’s notorious for that.  She moved to Oklahoma, where it’s a lot safer.  Now, she only has to worry about 2 mile wide tornadoes. 

Harvey is going back into the gulf for another drink of water so he can pee on Houston some more.  Who says mother nature isn’t vindictive? 

What’s next?  80 degree weather in Yellow knife – in January?  I wouldn’t put it past Earth to tilt on her axis so that Ecuador can take Antarctica’s place.  There’s something just not right about having palm trees in Canada.

 

So now that I’m drinking soup…in August…in Florida…without air conditioning (because I hate it – no, the A/C, not the soup), I’ll tell you why I missed my deadline in July.

Work.

My work load doubled and August was on the calendar before I had a chance to enjoy July.

Before you ream me a new one just because I went from ½ time to ¾ time in the work force, I’ll remind you of a very important fact.  I retired for 2 months and 8 of the longest days of my life waaaay back in December 2016.  When I was asked to come back (my replacement didn’t work out) my boss asked, “How long do you want to work?” 

I replied, “Until I die.”

So while you’re dreaming about gathering sand fleas on the seashore, my top priority is having enough money coming in to feed dogs and cats (they seem to expect that), eat, pay bills, and have something to do besides sit around waiting to die.

As a reminder that I have more than paid my dues in this club called life, when I was 15, this is how we sent text messages

You put the letter in an envelope and sent it out.  In week or two, you received a reply.  I guarantee it contained whole words written by people who were actually happy to hear from you.

This was my first computer — at the age of 34 during my 3rd year of college

Held 15 pages of text in a 6 inch floppy disk.’

If you went over 15 pages, the entire document disappeared, but it was better than the IBM selectric, where the “cut  and paste” feature was an eraser and a bottle of liquid paper — if you were lucky.  Otherwise, you had to type the entire page over again.

This was my first computer printer

The state-of-the-art Daisy Wheel printer produced 1 character per second.

Now I get to walk around seeing people talking into their Dick Tracy phones while they’re texting on their smart phone with a piece of plastic in their ear and another smart phone in their pocket in the rare event a call comes in from work.

It was envisioned by the author of Dick Tracy that one day the talking phone might be used for something that’s actually…useful, not chattering about how ridiculous Kardashians look in flip flops.

So…yes.  I did miss my deadline.  But if a deadline comes and goes – and nobody  in the cyberforest is there to hear it fall — it obviously didn’t make an impact.  Just to show you that I am capable of making a deadline when I’m supposed to, I’m publishing this 2 days early.

It just hit 77 degrees. Excuse me while I wander off to look for my coat.

Posted in Floridaborne, Humor

Not so special report: Why I missed my deadline…again.

Well, it’s July 4th and once again I missed my NWR reporting deadline.

.

Last Wednesday, I was busy moving into my new office.  

Yes, you read that right.

A real office with a window.

Think of offices as dominoes.  

One person retires permanently.  The only person who needs an office (me) doesn’t want that office.  What possible reason would I have for not wanting an office?

I found out months later that the office manager knows me so well she said, “We can’t put her in that office, she’ll freeze to death.”

And we all know that North Florida isn’t the land of the freeze and the home of the parade.  We’re the land of the free, the home of the brave, and we have a stand your ground law to prove it.

So I remained in the conference room in a corner with the office server to keep me company.  When you have tinnitus, the sounds of beeps and chirps are no worse than the sound of an air conditioner running.  And it’s a LOT warmer in there.

Did I mention that I loved being in the conference room and hadn’t asked to move?

 If you think of it in terms of office efficiency, no one can have a meeting in a conference room when it’s being used as an office.  It’s like trying to share secrets with your best friend while your mother is in the room. 

Next on the list of office dominoes:  Person loses office and ends up at the front desk.  

Why?  Because the phone system that was supposed to replace a receptionist only worked if the intent was to infuriate your customers to the point of road rage.   

There was an empty office near the entrance no one wanted, for a good reason. Another person is moved from her office into that office to serve as backup for front-desk duty  (since everyone who walked through the door and couldn’t find the receptionist looked there for help, anyway). 

That left one office open.   Since the newly vacated office was about 1 1/2 times the size of the Director’s office, and next to the Executive Director, I’d often wondered why she was still in a back office in the corner where the mailboxes had been set up.

Yes, the inter-office mailboxes have replaced the old water cooler.

angelsprings.com

Fast forward to last week.  The Director enters her office and starts sorting through papers.  Then she says she’s decided to move into the office next to the Executive Director.  

I was joking when I said, “Good. Now I can have an office.”

She looks up at me (as if I were psychic) and says, “That’s the plan.”

And that’s when I found out it had been a plan all along to provide me with an office that wouldn’t turn me into a human-shaped ice cube.

After I tell you what happened next, you might wonder why anyone would think I deserved an office.

With help, I brought in my desk from the conference room and arranged the office to (my idea of) perfection.  I sat at my desk, ready to work, and an arctic blast hit me wham-bam-thanky-mam in the head.  

I looked up….and shuddered.

My ideal spot was directly under an A/C vent that was open at full capacity.

I wasn’t about to dress like this in my own office…

So I took a bunch of these…

winda7.com

….secured them against my desk,  did this….

….had to use one of these to reach the ceiling and close the vents…

amazon.com

…and I lived to tell about it.

To add to this magnificent feet, feat, I have permission to close the door and open my window so that the balmy 90F air can come flowing into the office.

Nothing in life is better than this kind of freedom.

Posted in Floridaborne, Humor

MIRRORING MEMORIAL

shallow.jpg

****))))Special report((((****

To boldly glow where no ghost has glowed before.

“Harry!  Give me one of those low-fat organic berry surprise bars!”  I yelled out, straightening my perfect white t-shirt accessorized with green beads, a green belt and green shoes.

“Here ya go,” Harry said.

I glowered at him. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s that awful energy bar you love so much, but I don’t have to throw away what’s left over after you’ve only taken 2 bites.  You do want to save the environment, don’t you?” he snickered.

I took my 2 bites and held it carefully between perfectly coiffured nails, thankful his filthy hands didn’t want to touch me, either.  “Tell me again why I’m standing in Arlington Cemetery?”

“To pay your respects to those who died in battle.  You remember, the people who gave up their lives so that you could waste food and trash the constitution.”

“Hateful bastard,” I mumbled.  “Why were you assigned to me?”

“You claimed mental trauma sustained on the job after you saw a ghost,” Harry grumbled. “I’m the only person left who can survive you.”

“We’ll see about that,” I whispered.

He smiled amiably.  “This will take 5 minutes of your time and you’ll be at Dan’s barbecue extravaganza before everyone else has a chance to eat all the spare ribs.”

“He’s promised me a ride on his ATV so I can watch him run over snakes,” I said.  “That’s why I’m wearing $200 jeans instead of a $2000 dress.”

“He lives on undeveloped county roads,” Harry informed me. “Did you look it up to see if there’s an ordinance against terrorizing your neighborhood with those things?”

“Why would the illiterate savages who live there care?”  I asked.

“I live a few blocks from Dan,” he chuckled.  “You’ll be on air in 3…2…”

Holding the microphone with nails accented in forest green, I began my report. 

“I’m Shirley A. Moronass coming to you live from Arlington Cemetery.  Today we celebrate the sacrifices of men and women who gave their lives so that we may live free.”

I have to admit, the way I read the words off the teleprompter had most of my crew mesmerized.  Harry continued to record my fluff piece while the rest of the crew ran down the road as hard as their legs could carry them.

“Shirley,” a voice said behind me, followed by an ice-cold hand on my shoulder.  

I looked down where a hand should be, seeing only a white shirt.  “Harry?”

“He’s about 6 foot 2, grey hair…translucent,”  Harry said.

“Why do ghosts seem to haunt me?”  I whined.

“Because you can see us,” the ghost said.  “You’ve grown to be a shallow, shrill, shrew of a woman.”

“Who are you to…” I began, turning to face my accuser.  “Dad?”

“Dear God, even your dad doesn’t like you?”  Harry chuckled.

“He doesn’t know me,” I replied with great umbrage. “He died in the gulf war before I was born, leaving my mother to raise me and my 10-year-old brothers alone.”

“You had twin brothers?”

“Don’t remind me,” I said, rolling my eyes.  “They enlisted in the military at 18.”

“Unlike my ungrateful daughter, they served their country well,” the ghost said.

“They lived in the San Francisco’s Presidio as career military for 20 years.  They were middle-management bureaucrats working in food service.  I am a world-renown reporter!”

“Someone has to feed the troops.  It’s an honorable profession, one that doesn’t require being dressed like a prostitute.”

“I…don’t know if I can continue,’ Harry said, convulsing with laughter.  “I mean no disrespect.”

“None taken,” the ghost replied.

“I enlisted in 2005, sir,” Harry said.  

“I didn’t know you were in the military,” I said with just a hint of laughter.  “Were you in food service, too?”

 “Don’t be disrespectful,” Harry ordered. “I was one of the ground troops in Afghanistan.”

“He saved 2 men during a raid,” the ghost just had to say.

“May I ask your name, sir?”  Harry said, as if a ghost deserved his respect.

“Heeza Moronass,” he replied.  “Don’t ask, strange names are a family tradition and my wife loved all those old airplane movies.  Shirley, you remember?”

“That’s why my brothers changed their name to Sonofa Smith and Cuzeeza Smith!”

“So then…the name isn’t pronounced “Morehonest?”  Harry asked. “What does her middle initial stand for.”

“Another,” the ghost chuckled. 

“Shirley…Another…Moronass?”  Harry laughed.

By this time, the crew started meandering back.  After all, Harry and I weren’t dead from our encounter.

“I can’t stay,” the ghost said. “I have to remain vigilant and keep watching for the minions of evil.  It’s my job to run them off until I finish my penance.”

“You died in an attack,” I said.  “You were awarded a silver star for defending villagers against 4 terrorists.  You were buried here with a 21 gun salute, and my mother got a flag.  What could you possibly have to do penance for?”

The ghost hung down his head. “I was in a brothel in the midst of…shall we say…the deepest part of my pleasure when 4 men broke inside to kill the Americans.  Fortunately, I never went anywhere without a side arm.  The last one got a bullet through my head right after I’d fired the shot, but my shot took another minute to kill him.”

“How long do you have to serve penance.”

“Until Roger dies and takes my place.”

“When is the best time to visit you?”  I asked.

“Sunday morning around 9.”

“Good.  We’ll finish this conversation later,” I said, watching as his form dissipated into the air.  I yelled out to Harry, “Pack it up!  We have a barbecue to attend.”

“Some old lady terrifies you but that man doesn’t?”  Harry asked.

“He didn’t throw 2000 pounds of machinery into a tree, nor did he make me think I was sitting on a couch instead of rat poop,” I said.

“But he was your father…”

“…and my mother married the man who fought side-by-side with my father to defend a bunch of prostitutes while my mother was giving birth to me,” I said.  “Furthermore, the bullet that killed him was friendly fire.  But I suspect there’s more to it than that.   Mom and the bastard are living on the beach in a condo.  She took out an insurance policy on my father for a million dollars, and I found out later my step dad had taken one out on my father, too.”

“That can’t be the only reason you’re mad as hell,” Harry said.

Did it matter if he knew?  “I look more like my stepfather, Roger Smith.”

“You’re going after them with a vengeance,” Harry said.  “Better them than me.”

“Mom had one more daughter, a year after I was born.  I found out they left the bulk of their estate to her in their will.”

“What did they leave you?”  Harry asked.

“All the freestanding mirrors in the house,” I grumbled.  “By the time I’m through with them…”

“Tell me after it’s over with,” Harry said, rushing to the truck.

Posted in Humor

Interview with the ghost of America past

****))))Special report((((****

To boldly glow where no ghost has glowed before.

“Harry!  Give me one of those low-fat organic berry surprise bars!”  I yelled out, straightening my perfect bright yellow dress accessorized with red beads, a red belt and red shoes.

“Here ya go,” Harry said, careful not to touch my perfectly coiffured nails and salon softened hands with his filthy ones.  I took my usual 2 bites and threw the remainder back to him for disposal.

“You’ll be on air in 3…2…”

Holding the microphone with nails accented in cherry red, I began my investigative report.

“I’m here at the ruins of a family home nestled on the base of a mountain in Virginia.  Reports from the construction crews say that some old lady in a print dress and apron keeps chasing them away from this…this hovel.”

Harry pointed to a construction worker wearing a hard hat, wanting me to interview the filthy creature, but I wasn’t through showing off my outfit to the world.  I detected laughter though my earpiece and heard Harry say, “No, Mr. Rodrigues, she’s not a ghost hunter, she’s an overpaid reporter who’s too stupid to know better, but don’t tell anyone that.”

“I hear you loud and clear, Harry,” I frowned.  Harry mumbled to Rodrigues, and the guy covered in horrid pieces of nature stood across from me.  Good…this view featured my best side.

 “Mr. Rodrigues, tell us about your experience.”

“Some white woman with grey hair comes out of the house and everything goes flying,” he said, as if that sort of thing happened every day.

“What, exactly..goes flying?”  I asked patiently.

“Yesterday we lost a steam roller,” he said, as if 20 ton pieces of equipment catapult into the air every day.  “I had to climb down from that tree.”

“It has to be 100 feet tall,” I scoffed.

“Exactly 112 feet,” he said. 

“We’re walking up to a house overrun with huge pine and oak trees,” I said.  My grubby companion ran toward Harry. “Where are you going?”

“She hasn’t killed anyone yet, but no one wants to be the first to die, either.” 

I walked toward the entrance, waiting for the door to continue creaking open.  “The walls are falling down, there are no windows…how can anyone live in a place like this?”

“You came a calling to my house dressed like a clown to ask me that question?” a woman’s voice giggled.

Harry and Mr. Rodrigues inched toward me.  Then the damned fools stood behind me like I was the one who was expendable!  Somewhere in the depths of my childhood, I remembered a few of the manners mother taught me.

“May we come in?”  I asked.

“If you promise not to try and destroy anything,” she said. 

A rat scampered across a bed of rotting leaves, remnants of thickly made wallpaper stubbornly refused to lose their adherence and I said to Harry, “Looks like nature took care of that for her.”

The wallpaper began to grow like ivy around the walls, then the shiny wood floors, circular rugs, and simply beautiful wood furniture appeared.  She casually sat in a rocking chair on homemade padding sewn together by hand.  I thought about how much I could get for one in pristine condition if I sold it on Ebay.

“There’s a few things in the world you shouldn’t never believe, starting with ‘we’re the government and we’re here to help,’” she said.  “The second one is ‘I’m a reporter, I’m here to tell the truth to the world.”

“You’re one of those people!”

“As in ‘this is Germany and Jews are those people?’”

“You’re the type that think no woman should have an abortion,” I said with great umbrage.

“Not all red-blooded Americans believe you have to bring any baby in the world that’s conceived,” she said.  “Lord knows I’ve seen my share of deaths in war.  I’d call that a very, very, very late-term abortion.”

“That’s a surprise.  What about places that sell late-term abortion body parts to foreign scientists?”

“I’m against it for a different reason.  If some Hotty Toddy Richy Rich wants his genes shored up, he needs to die off.”

“That…that’s so violent!”

“If you haven’t noticed, this is a violent universe,” she said.  “Your ruby red slippers aren’t going to save you from it, Dorothy.”

“My name is Shirley, but that’s beside the point.  Aren’t the devout supposed to go forth and procreate?”  I asked with a wry grin.

“Shirley, anyone with common sense can see that we don’t need 7.5 billion people, nor do we need land developers destroying our forests to build condos for worthless people who couldn’t survive for more than 2 days without electric and water. You can’t shoot food with a TV remote.”

“Then…Let’s move on to guns.”

“A woman with those shoes isn’t going to have the common sense to carry one,” she said.

I looked down, horrified that my right shoe was scuffed!  “They’re Italian leather!  Oh, God!  They might be ruined!”

“Common sense says you wear boots in a forest,” she chuckled.  “What do you think the 2nd amendment is for?  Hunting?   No, it’s because people with no common sense can’t understand why no one with a brain wants a global socialist government.  We’re supposed to shoot the bastards who want to destroy our country and our Constitution.”

“You can start with her,”  Harry said, pointing at me.

“Mr. Rodrigues,  how did you come to this country?”  I asked.

“I walked over the border with my mother when I was 6,” he said

“So you’re an illegal,” she scolded him.

“Undocumented alien,” I told her.

“What do you think would happen if you walked over the border of any other country in the world? You don’t know?  I’ll tell you what! They’re smart enough to kill you for it.”

“Guns, violence, killing. That’s what’s wrong with the world,” I said emphatically.

“Yet you were ready to throw me under the wagon when you thought I was against abortion,” she said. “What about slavery…hell! What about people like you?”

“What?”  I laughed at her.

She pointed to my red plastic vintage necklace.  “I remember those beads.  I bought them on sale at McCrory’s for 50 cents in 1960 as a Christmas gift to my granddaughter. “

 “I doubt that,” I said with a sneer.  “I paid $20 for these.”

“You paid a fortune for cheap plastic only a child would wear?”  Her laugh was almost a cackle.  “We’ve established you are, as my granddaughter would’ve said, clueless. Let’s talk slavery.  Where do you think that dress was made?”

“Indonesia.”

“Slave labor!  You support slavery, but they’re not in your backyard so you don’t care.”

“I do not support slavery!”  I yelled at her.  “I believe in equality as greatly as I believe in saving the environment!”

“You used a limo to come here.  Your crew used a truck and equipment that needs rare elements to function.  You used more gasoline in a day than my entire town used in a month!  But that pales against what the Earth can do to itself. One super volcano explodes and the Earth is a dead zone for a hundred years.  One meteor, one solar flare…”

“I get it, but humans have to be responsible!”

“How much garbage do you throw out each week?”

“My maid does it.”

“Would you say one bag?”

“Probably. I recycle, too.”

“There are 125 million families in the USA.  If each family threw away 1 bag, that’s 125 million garbage bags a week. Where do you think it goes?  Mongolia?  It’s rotting on lands that once held lush forests.”  She stood up, announced, “This interview is over,” and disappeared.

I fell, butt first, onto the old flooring when the furniture and wallpaper crawled away.  I had to brush the rat poop, leaves and dirt off.  “Look what you’ve done!  I’ll have to throw this dress away!”

Her face appeared as a glow, her voice fading into the distance. “Throw yourself away instead.”

My witnesses refused to corroborate my story and my editor ordered a psych evaluation.  My psychiatrist ordered a test for some sort of fungus that causes hallucinations.  He recommended a holistic health clinic he runs as a side business. I feel much better now that I’ve had chelation therapy and an Immunoglobulin infusion made from 1000 plasma donors. It was well worth $75,000.

My injury and resulting mental trauma was sustained on the job, so my boss couldn’t fire me.  I’ve had three people fired for laughing at me though…workplace bullying is against the law.  To mark off the last item on my revenge list, I asked Mr. Rodrigues and Harry to meet me for drinks, my treat.

“Why didn’t you tell my editor what happened?”  I asked them.

“There’s no footage to prove it,“ Harry said.  “That guy from IASS was on the news while you were inside your haunted house.  He said it was a terrorist attack.  They arrested 3 mountain men for it and people like you want the 2nd Amendment repealed.”

“But…a ghost is doing it.”

“Do you know why Rodrigues and I have survived this long?”  Harry asked.  “No? We keep our heads low and our mouths shut when it matters the most.”

“But, you can talk to me.  We’re just having drinks…”

“…while your recorder is running,” Harry said.

They walked out, I turned off my recorder and began to wonder why people like that were allowed to live.

Posted in Floridaborne, Humor

Piled higher and deeper and in quadruplicate

Aaaarrrrguh!

It’s Wednesday?  Already?

 

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***????SPECIAL REPORT????***

If this report were any more special you could buy it at McD’s.

And I’m not clowning around!

RonMcD.jpg
mcdonalds.wikia.com

 

 

Today’s  addition to the Nudge Wink reports is about working for government

Any government.

 I don’t care if it’s the USA, Canada, Russia, or Lower Sloboviya, there’s paperwork.

 

hand.jpg                                                 …and I need this filing done in an hour!

My cat and every government in the world have one thing in common:  The same mantra

nothing is impossible.jpg

 

After a month back on my job, it felt like this:

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Just when I thought that paperwork and I had come to an understanding…

 

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Supershirtguy.com

 

…I was presented with the horrible truth:

 

 

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123rf.com

 

 

The people at the non-profit organization are fantastic!

It started out simple enough.  Once upon a time there were groups of parents all over the USA who wanted to give their forgotten children something to do during the day.  They relied on volunteers, bake sales and donations to run their local non-profit organizations. 

Then the state of Florida said, “We will give you money.”

pixar's The Good Dinosaur.jpg

It wasn’t much, and often didn’t come in at a reliable time.  But a group of advocates worked very, very hard to get more money and have it doled out each month, not whenever a social worker got around to doing it.

So then the state of Florida said, “We will partner with the federal government and both of us will give you money.”

People from other states heard about Florida’s windfall.  They didn’t try to get this program in their state.  Noooo.  They flocked into Florida like a cloud of vultures to benefit from the money that was supposed to be used for Floridians. 

What was meant to help 5000 people IED’d into an explosion of need that threatened to kill the program and everyone associated with it.

Instead of the state saying, “You have to live here 10 years before you’re eligible for this program,” they said…

“Let there be forms,”

And there were forms.

Then they said, “Let there be rules and regulations.”

And there were enough rules and regulations to kill off the dinosaurs.

And behold, the plan to plan to do the plan was created.

I was hired to write over 200 of these a year, get them completed before the deadlines, and send them out in quadruplicate.

Oh, but it gets bitter better.

  1. LEVEL 1:  The government generates a program and puts paperwork into rule.  It means they make laws instead of congress, which is unconstitutional.
  2. LEVEL 2:  The government subcontracts with one giant agency to monitor the entire program.  The state monitors the monitors.
  3. LEVEL 3: For the next level under that, the government hires other subcontractors to oversee ALL the subcontractors who provide direct care services to the people who are receiving services.
  4. LEVEL toilet bowl (4):   Level 3 sends Level 4 the paperwork out of which 100+ different types of forms are generated.  
  5. Why 100+ different forms?  Because the F@#&*%$ government can’t get their act together and make the 10+ agencies — whose laws we have to follow– CONSOLIDATE THEIR PAPERWORK!

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Level 1, the state & feds

Level 2, monitors

Level 3 sub monitors

 

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<—I am here….level 4

 

 

I wish it were as simplistic, but this system puts the pyramid scheme to shame.

In the scheme of things it’s a lot more like this.

 

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ladotbikeblog.wordpress.com

 

I’m somewhere near the vanishing point…I think.

Subcontractors at level 3 who haven’t done their job right will walk into my office at times, and I’m supposed to do this:

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They have learned to avoid me because my face will become indelibly paired with this:

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I know I shouldn’t be catty, but…some days I just can’t help being sar-cat-stick.

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Did I mention how hard it is to get 100 overworked, underpaid, and rarely appreciated people to get paperwork into the office at the right time…and how greatly it resembles trying to herd 100 terrified cats? 

It helps to be a professional nag armed with a healthy dose of OCD.  

The non-profit recently had an audit.  I just found out that my insistence on doing paperwork that my former boss said was unnecessary saved 2-months of payback.

I’ll be smiling about that for days.

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boredpanda.com

If you ever experience temporary insanity and think you can trust ANY government, always remember this truth:

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Really.

Posted in Floridaborne, Humor

How retirement is like eggplant

))))****SPECIAL RETORT****((((

So special, I had it coming.

For anyone in the blog-o-sphere who cares, I retired on December 1.

Oh…you already knew that?  Well excuse me for…

what was I saying?

BELCH.

Damn that Eggplant Parmesan!  Do you know how much cheese and spaghetti sauce it takes to hide the taste of grey vegetable matter?

I may be forgetful but…

    No, I don’t look like this       

I look like this hair.jpg 

And I can do this and this 

Just a wee bit of difference, wouldn’t you say?

Yes, I retired

For 2 months and 8 days.

There’s something about standing in a food line for 2 hours that screams, “This is not your finest moment!”

Eight eggplants, two cans of spaghetti sauce, a half gallon of almond milk, and a frozen chicken later, I’m looking at my sister-in-law, who has been doing the food line thing for years, and ask, “How do you cook eggplant?”

When you’re 20, you don’t consider the fact that you’ll be living on less than a 16-year-old  makes working in the fast food industry 20 hours a week.

…or that you’ll have to eat

**shudder**

eggplant!

It might’ve helped if I hadn’t cashed out my retirement plan for those Metallica tickets 25 years ago.

But, alas, I digest digress.

As fate would have it, the person taking my place did not inherit the clerical gene, nor was he well endowed with the over abundance of OCD required to keep a non-profit agency from being pay-backed into oblivion because a useless document was two days overdue.   

The phone call I received 2 months and 2 days into that financial hell called “retirement” went something like this:

World’s nicest boss, “Uh….would you…uh…do you think…could you come back to work for a few months until we can…”

Me (silently):

Then, after I finished my happy dance, I said, “Certainly.”

Will I be back at work for a month?  Seven?  The rest of my life?

I think it’s safe to say that I’ll be working for as long as they can stand to have me around.

The one good thing that came from retirement:  Writing!!!!

Unfortunately, it takes money to pay for editing.

Retirement might kill me yet, but I’d rather not have my books die with me.

Don’t be sad for the guy who tried his hand at becoming a useless bureaucrat.  He’s traveling around teaching people important stuff while I’m sitting at a desk doing this.

TASTES LIKE EGGPLANT

It’s called a win-win situation.  He gets to use his brain, I get to save money for editing and…

!!!!AS GOD IS MY WITNESS, I WILL NEVER EAT EGGPLANT AGAIN!!!!