Archive for the 'work' Category

A Rupture In The Blog-Time Continuum

Have to deal with work insantity.  Expect cross posts from other blogs while I save the universe; one client at a time.

Not Much time To Write

bosses decided that a project that had deadline of yesterday, involved all our clients, and was being (mis)handled by one department of 18 people who had 3 months to work on it, should be taken from their weary wittle whiney hands and dumped on my department of 5.   … With no extension of the deadline. 

I have a bad feeling that I just got handed a live grenade in a winner take all version of “Business Hot Potatoe” (The Dan Quayle edition).   I checked my job description and it doesn’t say “Scapegoat”.  Dusting off the resume in fears (hopes?) it will be needed soon.  I’d say there is no chance in hell that this project can get done, but that would insult really hopeless causes that actually have a better chance of working.  Mid-East peace… Obama turning into a Constitutionalist…  God creating a square circle that he can’t lift…


I’m So Feelin’ This.

My Life.

I Aten’t Dead*

…I just, kinda sorta, wish I was.  …a little bit. 

It’s been a long hard several days.  Work has me stressed and alerting people that, “I’m 2 seconds of your stupid away from being on the news.”

I’m due for a vacation in 69 hours, 45 minutes, and 17 seconds (one that has been canceled TWICE by work!).  A vacation that will begin with finishing up some stitching on the Halloween costumes (BSG BDU’s), proceed into episodes of Dollhouse and Sanctuary, and rounding out Friday by falling asleep to either Redliners or Greywalker (both of which I’m trapped in the middle of with no time to read!).  Saturday will be waking up with same, light chores about the casa, Margarita Brunch, Darts at the bar, then off to a party dressed in costume to see how much beer a Colonial Officer can consume before being put in the brig.  

After that, nothing but books, sleep, and fresh air has been planned. 

There may be survivors after all. 

*with apologies to Granny Weatherwax

Monday Writ Large


If I could just have one more thing to stress about today I might just be able to push my BP over the “HOLY SPIT!” threshold and into the “DIAL 911!” range.  Please God, just one more thing could go wrong today.  Just one?  I mean, really! 

I’ve been good!  Why the hell have you sicked Karma’s Ass Biter Brigade on me today?  Am I paying in advance for something covered with copious amounts of Awesome Sauce?  Should I buy a Lotto Ticket?  Should I put in the paperwork for that Sound Suppressor to the Houston CLEO???? I mean with the feces river undertow I’m trying to swim against today; you’d think I could have saved up enough credit to become the man-god of a small 3rd World country!

Seriously, STOP IT!  I’m not as strong as you evidently think I am.  REALLY! STOP!  My wack-a-doodle switch has a 5 pound pull on it and you’ve just hit 4 and 7/8th.  Enough.  Don’t you have mean people in DC and LA to jack with?  Why can’t you make Barry have a toothache or maybe serve him warm gazpacho soup?   I’m sure some porn king pin in LALA land has some unfortunate test results to get back from the doctor?  Someone else.  PLEASE!



Sorry for the lack of posty goodness.  I’ve been under the weather the past few days and just not feeling it.  Will get back to it later today if I can a) feel better and b) get the other alligators I get paid for killing dealt with.

I Knew I Liked The Guy.

Simply outstanding.

When Techs Collide.

I generally have a really hard time with tech support people.  It’s not their fault, really.  I just that know more than most level one techs you are bound to run into on general customer support lines.  That’s not being snotty, it’s just a fact.  For me, having to call a support line is a “9th circle of Hell” sundae with sprinkles.   Unless it’s something to do with cars, home improvement,  or appliance installation, I’m already in need of a level two tech by the time I call*. 

Monday, Gaia, obviously distraught from all us parasites wiggling across her surface, gave a water and power show that reminded us poor fools here on the coast that ones Bug Out/In preps should be kept up year round, not just during hurricane season.  About 1830 hours, while I’m on my puter… KKKAAAAA-RRRAAAAACK! …Darkness…   


“I’m ok.  The Cat’s sprung a leak and headed for his man cave**” 

“Oh crap!  I smell ozone!  Stop the cat!  Keep in the front room!” 

After a brief check of the walls near my outlets to make sure we weren’t gonna do up a right good bonfire, we settled into a night of watching broadcast TV on a little battery operated B&W set.  

Power came back on at 0’ Dark 30.  I stumbled around turning off lights and plugging back in appliances.  I noted that my Comcast, *spit*, modem was the source of the ozone.  I watched its little LED’s give up the ghost.  *sigh*   That means a trip to the Comcast, *spit*, store to get a new one since I was told by the last set of techs that darkened my door that, “… Oh no!  We won’t replace modems with VoIP on them.  No… you’ll have to take that to the store and return it.”  Never mind that was the whole damned reason I had them out.  The problems subsided to a tolerable level so I just kept the darn thing.

But anyway… Next day, off to the store I go.  It’s still flooding in several areas and it’s generally unsafe to be on the road.  But I drive a big 1990 Ford Taurus.  I aint afearring no man!  Well… maybe semis.  So anyway, I get to the store, exchange the modem in no time flat (which should have been my first clue), and head back home.

I plug in modem, call Comcast, *spit*, wait on hold for an hour… FINALLY get a person.  We’ll call him, “Dick”.  “Dick” asks why I’m calling and I tell him.  He starts punching buttons and tells me, “Well, you’ll have you internet up now, but you may not have phone until tomorrow.” 

I’m not sure how I kept my cool.  “What?  Why does my PRIMARY 911 number have to wait a day?”

“Well, sir,” says “Dick”, “you didn’t follow procedure.  You are supposed to have us come out to your home and replace the modem.  You aren’t supposed to take it to the store.”

I must commend my therapist for giving me the tools to not murder a baby seal at that very moment.  *deepdeepbreaths*  “Fine.  Never mind that’s not what your people told me last time they CAME TO MY HOUSE and REFUSED to take my modem, I’ll just make a note of this should anything happen to me where I need 911 service.  And what was your name again, please spell it.” 

After the wonderful cheery call, I proceed to plug in my routers, et al…  Nothing.  WTF?   My routers are on.  I have lights and I can get to the admin web pages for each.  Sadly, all the WAN ports on my beloved D-Links are dead.  “WHY GOD!  WHY!  THEY WERE SO YOUNG!!!”

Flooding prevents me from getting to Micro Center.  So I end up at freaking COSTCO, which I despise, but hey, the spice must flow, as it were.  I grab a Belkin N+ router.  Jury is still out on this guy.  It’s supper fast, but the admin of it will drive a tech to tears.  I get it set up, get me protected behind the firewall (such as it is), and am ready, now at 2PM, to start my day.    *cell phone rings*


A young man ( we’ll call him, “Franz”) answers back in a “you ain’t from around here, boy” accent, “Yes, this is ‘Franz’, and I am calling to make sure your phone is working.”

”Nope.  They told me you would have to rest it.”

“Yes sir.  And it is working.”  Notice that was NOT a question.

 “No, it’s not.”


*sigh* “My phone it not working.  Let me check again.  *Picks up phone*-*hears hollow static*    “No sir still dead.” 

“Um… are you sure?”

 I really have to thank my therapist.  *sigh*  “I’ll check again.  Let me check the lines.  Maybe it’s not in the right port.  Port 1 of 2.  Right?”  Grunts and groans as I crawl under my desk, cell in hand, and check it. 

 “Um… Yes sir?“

 “Hang.  Let me run the line and make sure it’s not cut or something.”  Another minute or so of moans and creeks as I crawl along the base boards,  ” No… it’s all good here.”  More sounds of grief and woe as I craw back to my desk and right myself.  I pick up the house phone and hear *dead hollow circuit static*  Nope, still deaded.”

 “Your number is <edited for OpSec>”

 “Yes… that’s the one.”

“Really?  It is <Number Edited>.”


“<Number Edited>???”

*sigh**Lawdog’s Migraine Salute* “Yes.  <N><U><M> – <B><E><R> – <E><D><I><T>.  That is MY Number.  The number one dials to reach MY home phone.  Which is, at this very moment, dead.  As a dead my hopes of ever getting any really work done today.” 

 “Are you SURE it is not working sir?”

I now simply can’t be mad.  I’ve honestly reached the point of total disbelief that any human can be so totally sans cluefullness as this young man.  “Son… I think I know what a dead phone line sounds like.  If you want,” I say with all the tenderness of a shark sizing up dinner, “I can put the speaker of it up to my cell so you can hear it?”

 “Your cell phone???” 

 “Yes… My cell ph…” *BELLS GOING OFF!* “Which my home number was forwarded to before the modem blew and I haven’t been able to un-forward.   You called THAT number.  Didn’t you?  Not my cell.” 


 I choke out between belly laughs, “I think *HAH!* I seem *HACKWEEZ* to have found *SNORT!* the disconnect we’ve been *SNICKER!* having.  My God, you must have though *WEEEZ* I was a complete tool! *HAH!*”

 “No sir.  I… um.  No.  I would never… Let me reset the modem again.  Shall I?”


“Let me take off the call forwarding and call you again?”

“Sounds like a plan ‘Franz’.  Talk to you soon.”

I now have my phone back.  I now have a new reason to hate tech support.  But I do have to hand it to ‘Franz’.  He did a pretty good job of hiding the fact that he MUST have been thinking I was a complete ID10T.

* if I’m working with cars, home improvement,  or appliance installation, it’s generally 911, not tech support, that needs to be called.  
**Every man must have his Bat Cave.  His Fortress of Solitude.  His secret lair.  His Man Hole.  A Man Cave.  The cat’s is under the bed.  Mine is the office and, occasionally, the bathroom.  Especially after a bad burrito.

Motivated yet? And to do what?

I saw the following quote in an office.

“There are no such things as limits to growth, because there are not limits to the human capacity for intelligence, imagination, & wonder!”

This is why I hate Motivators.  Dicey Grammar aside (who am I to throw ellipses)… I would like to call BS on this.  Humans are finite beings.  We live in a finite world.  We exist for a finite moment on the cosmic social calendar and take up woefully small entries in the Galactic ToDo list.

We have limits.  If you say humans have no limits, then you are saying that humans are gods.  I really don’t like ticking of God by comparing myself to Him*.  Bad things happen to beings who do.  I think Michael said it best, “Who is like unto God?”

Now… I’m willing to admit that we are pretty expansive beings.  We are abnormally smart hairless apes and have quite bold imaginations.  But Limitless???? I much prefer the Quote I’ve heard from Fr. John Corapi,

“God has placed obvious limits on our intelligence, but none what so ever on our stupidity.”

Now even that is wrong because we are finite.  Although… when you think about it, we killed God.  …literally.  We offed the infinite!  So I guess there is an argument that can be made about our limitless stupidity.  So I will amend my initial statements in the spirit of fairness. 

We humans are limited, except when our imaginations turn toward evil.  Then, we may just be close to limitless in what harm we can bring about.  If that is what the author of the first quote wanted to convey**, then I agree.

Happy Easter!  And remember… thou art mortal.

* The real God.  Not the fake one in D.C.***
** I have my doubts
*** Actually, I don’t want to be compared to him either. 

Civic Duty Discharged.

First off…  Going downtown and walking the streets Disarmed to discharge my Civic Duty seems to me to be the penultimate irony.  The framers of the Constitution and BoR must be spinning in their graves.  Honestly, if I had a time machine and could only do ONE thing with it; it might be to go back to the Continental Congress on July 3rd and tell them, “Seriously Dudes!  Don’t bother.  We aren’t even gonna make it one hundred years before we chuck the whole idea of a limited government out the window.  You are wasting your time and blood.”

My County is doing a much better job of steering the cattle assembling the jurors than I remember from jury duties past. 

Out of all the Sheriffs Deputies and Bailiffs that were present; it did give me a chuckle that all but one (ours) was packing plastic of some sort.  Ours carried a nice double stack 1911.  Good on him. 

The case was one that I honestly could not be unbiased on and told the judge so.  I felt kinda bad about that for a while during Voir Dire (pronounced VOR DIE’R in Texas. I know, I know…).  “Maybe I should at least try?”  Then the Defendant’s Attorney stood and opened his mouth.  Yep… I was in no way going to be impartial.  After his “Closing Arguments” and Poisoning of the Jury (to both, the ADA tried valiantly to object), I would have been ready to hang the defendant for his Class A Misdemeanor.  …Especially if I could have thrown the lawyer in the gallows too. 

The day did manage to confirm several beliefs:

1) Lawyers suck.
2) Civics classes aren’t really taught anymore.
3) People are dumb.
4) 1911’s are way cool.
5) Govn’t Buildings should be forced to have lockers so you can stow your shootin’ irons. (or shootin’ plastics)
6) We could lessen the load on both the courts and police if more citizens were armed.  (Granted, that may over work the Medical Examiners office for about a year until criminals chose safer professions.)
7) I never ever ever ever …EVER… want to end up in “That Chair” depending on some over-educated under-ethiced ambulance chaser for my freedom. 

After being released at way too late in the afternoon with nary a cookie to keep me from hypoglycemic murder (maybe that’s the real reason they disarm you?), I managed to make it back to my car, rearm, and head home in a miserable Texas Cost Autumnal* shower

A dreary day.  A dreary duty.  A dreary case.  And a renewed dreary outlook on law, politics, and the state of the COTUS in general.  Blah. 

*I use the term “Autumn” in its loosest sense and merely as a time reference.  The word “Autumn” conjures up images of turning leaves and crisp smells in the air.  That is not so on the gulf coast.  We don’t have a true “Autumn”.  We don’t even have “Fall”.  We have “Fell”.  One day it’s 90+ degrees with 100% humidity; the next it’s 80+, 90% humidity, and the leaves have turned brown over night and are on the ground needing to be raked.


Conservative, educated, understands history, distrusts government, distrusts politicians, dislikes pop-culture, and carries a firearm. In short, I'm what The Framers of The Constitution were counting on and everything your government wants you to fear most.

The only thing I don’t have to complain about is some GI taking up space in my living room. I’ll let you know about the Civil Courts if someone ever owes more than $20 to me. ---If you didn’t get that one; sue your Civics or US History Teacher.

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Any Spelling, Grammatical, or Typographic errors are the result of my keyboard, public school Elementary education, or Secret Government Ninjas and not fault of the author and his flying through his posts at lunch time. If you see any errors, ping me and I will correct them. Ping me often enough, and I will make you my editor.
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