Jun 12, 2007

I Tell You, It's Like Rocket Surgery

It's been a fragmentary week or so, so I think it's only fitting that this be a frag of a post. You have been warned.


I's In Yur Yard, Stirrin Up Some Dusts

My daughter left with The Goat Monday morning, Oregon-bound. And of course no visit by The Goatish One would be complete without strife, grief, depression and hair-pulling. I'm ready for my daughter to be old enough to be independent of her mother so I can start wishing for that beer truck to smear vile Goatyness all over the highway.


I's In Your Kamra Box, Takin' Picchurs Of Myself

I finally broke. I dug up my savings pickle jar from the back yard and bought a super nice Nikon DSLR, which arrived two days ahead of schedule (thank you Amazon!) I spent an hour and a half charging the battery and a few minutes assembling strap to camera and finding out which slot accepts which insertable item, attached the lens and powered the whole thing up. It was right about then that a bright red beam of light came out of the back and things got a little hazy. It must have gotten past my tin-foil Anti-Brain Scan hat because when I woke up about half an hour later my camera was fully programmed and I had a burning desire to spend another $230 on a 55-500mm zoom lens.

I've taken about forty pictures thus far with the new camera and I'm almost over that horrible feeling that I've done something terribly wrong. I find it so easy to spend small amounts of money--five dollars here and ten dollars there, it doesn't feel like spending money. When that figure inches up into and beyond the century mark it suddenly becomes a whole lot harder for me to spend. Put a handfull of those centuries together and give them to someone else in exchange for, say, a Nikon D40 DSLR and I feel like someone had to take a knife to my palm to get the cash loose.

Maybe next year I'll feel better about buying it.


An Iron Hand In A Powder-Free Latex Exam Glove

My quarterly inventory figures came in yesterday, and I was one of the 81 agencies out of some 300 or so that came in under the mark. Total shortage was $91.45, or 3% of my total in-house inventory. The cutoff? $1000 or 10% of total inventory worth. I'm pretty proud of myself for getting those figures down from where they were when I took over. My reward? A all-expenses paid shopping spree at Wal-Mart to the tune of $50. Mmmmm...success. *snort*


Buy Now, Supplies Are Limited!

Our poorly-insulated, sitting-in-a-field office is owned by a big gas/oil company from Baton Rouge. They also, in that standard giganto-rich corporate way, own the two or three lots next to us and large chunks of the highway and most of the city. For the past year they've been storing massive gasoline tanks (the gas station size) in one of their big empty fields. This has't caused a stir because they look like rusted industrial junk. The problem has arisen in the last week or so because they've started to store diesel trucks and tank trailers there too. They're all parked in neat lines facing the highway and the Interstate, like a parking lot only with more grass and less tarmac. And now every trucker that comes down either highway spies these trucks all lined up like white and red and chrome soldiers and they immediately assume they're **FOR SALE!!!**

This assumption is made even though there's no signs, no prices, no banners, no Wacky Waving Inflatable Arm Flailing Tube Man out front, not even a little portable building with a sweaty-armpitted fat man in a loud tie and Haagar stretch slacks waiting to pounce on unsuspecting buyers. But no matter! I now have a near-constant flow of unkempt, smelly, wild-eyed (what truck driver do you know that ISN'T all wild-eyed) drivers coming in here like children forced to kiss a particularly vile eldery aunt, and they're all asking if the trucks next door are for sale.

And when I tell them the whole sordid story ("It's a parking lot, they're stored there, they belong to 7 Sisters Oil Company, go away please you smell like rotten ham and that stink never comes out of the carpet") they never believe me. They wade across the waist-high grass to the other lot and walk around and stare and kick tires and wait for a sweaty fat guy in short sleeves and an electric green tie to offer them low, low financing.


Shutter Buggin'

Wow! I just uploaded my 1000th photo to Flickr. Kee-ripes I need to get a life.


RN Arse-Kicking To Commence Forthwith!

Wow! If our new RN Stephania pops off to me one more time or to anyone else while I am in earshot I'm gonna rip her head off her shoulders and scream down her neckhole. I don't care HOW long you've been a nurse, I don't care HOW old you are, and I certainly don't care that you're of the opinion that the world owes you a living because you're a black woman, there's no excuse for being outright rude, snarky or speak over someone in that tone of voice. That sort of behaviour proves to me that you are very far indeed from being better than me, and I am going to take you to pieces verbally if and when you do it again.

2 comments:

Scott from Oregon said...

I ALMOST did the same thing and went spendy on a camera. The trouble is, like sunglasses, if I spend the bucks, something happens and I lose or break the damn thing.

I went for a 300 dollar Canon with 38-438 zoom built in.

It has the fold out screen and a look through view.

And damn, it takes good pictures for the price.

This way, if a drop it on the bach when the surf is rushing me, I won't feel too bad.

Vulgar Wizard said...

High-fiving for the piece-apart-taking.