Normally my co-workers are easy enough to get along with. Sometimes they’re even entertaining as hell. After all, just in the immediate vicinity of my section of the cubefarm, there’s a guy who’s currently getting his master’s degree in archeology (with a minor in entomology…ew), a sports-crazy old biddy who insists that Jon Bon Jovi will be her next husband, a generally-quiet young lady who occasionally pops up with the most interesting comments, and an entertainingly-moody chick whose manner can go from fondly cheerful to dryly snarky in about 1.4 seconds flat. It’s pretty nifty that 3 of the 5 of us are Geminis, and it’s definitely a requirement in my department to be fluent in sarcasm.

Then there are those moments when someone will say something that just makes me want to smack them into next week. Like the rant that one of my co-workers went on about the FMLA time that another co-worker was taking for medical problems. You see, co-worker A is pregnant, and “only” got 2 days a month approved off for the various miseries associated with pregnancy. Co-worker B has endometriosis and migraines, and recently took 6 weeks off work (medical leave) to have a hysterectomy. Co-worker A spent quite a little time bitching the other day about co-worker B being back to work for a week or so, then taking a few more days off, when “the hysterectomy took care of the endometriosis, so why is she taking more days off and saying that’s the reason?” – and bitching about the fact that the same person also gets medical leave for migraines, because it’s “just headaches.”

Obviously, I was tempted beyond belief to take somebody’s head clean off. But I’ve learned a few things about discretion being the better part of valor…not to mention it being the better part of not being hated by people with whom I have to spend 40 hours a week. However, I do have a blog. Oh yessiree, I do.

First of all, co-worker A needs to get the fuck over herself. She is NOT sick, she is pregnant. Last time I checked, being pregnant was (99.5% of the time!) a normal, healthy, largely problem-free physical state. A pregnant woman may not be comfortable, or graceful, or well-rested, or free of aches, but she is not sick. I’ve had 2 full-term pregnancies (one of which had valid, and quite serious, medical problems in the third trimester), so I am well aware of how crappy pregnancy can make you feel. But it’s not a disease or an illness, or even a disorder.

Second, endometriosis is not necessarily cured by a hysterectomy, since endometrial tissue can (and often does) leave the uterus and attach itself to other spots inside the abdominal cavity. Getting rid of the uterus gets rid of the source of the tissue, but it doesn’t always get rid of the problems caused by bits of tissue that have already gotten out of the uterus in the past. So co-worker A’s sniping was fucking ignorant.

Third, migraines are not “just headaches.” Migraine is a disease, and headaches are one of the symptoms. Migraine is every bit as serious and real a disease as diabetes or asthma, and yes it can kill you. People who think a migraine attack is “just” a headache need to get whomped on with a clue stick. When you get “just” a headache, you take Tylenol or Advil. Guess what? When I get “just” a headache, I take Tylenol or Advil, too!

When I get a migraine, however, I have to take a shot that retails at $60, in order to be able to function. Otherwise, it’s almost impossible for me to focus my eyes, tolerate any sound louder than about 30 decibels, walk, drive, or do much of anything other than hold very still while trying not to whimper. Unless treated, a migraine episode can last days on end. Does that sound like “just” a headache?

And my last point, which is that, as long as abortion is legal in this country, pregnancy is a choice. I’m certain that my co-worker A chose the activity which got her pregnant (since she’s living with her fiance, who proposed before she got pregnant), and she’s certainly choosen to stay pregnant. I’m equally certain that my co-worker B did not choose to have endometriosis or migraine.

If only I could tele-commute, life could be damned near perfect.

One of my favorite webcomics (I only have 3, mind you) is over…damnit! I’m gonna miss Queen of Wands. *sniff*

It sorta looks like the main character Kestrel might be added to another of my favorite webcomics, Something Positive. But if so, it’s a rather violent transition.

We’ve all heard muzak – that ersatz “music” played in waiting rooms, grocery stores, and elevators. It seems as though musical artists like Celine Dion, Michael Bolton, and Bryan Adams were born to record songs that are destined for muzak. But what about those artists who weren’t?

What song (or the music of a specific artist) would you be horribly amused by hearing done into muzak?

I think I’d wind up falling down in a fit of hysterical giggles if I heard Lita Ford or Joan Jett as muzak. Especially I Hate Myself For Loving You by Joan Jett. I’m already giggling, just thinking about it.

I almost got run over by a car today. Actually, since I started taking the bus, this happens no less than once a week. Despite being ultra-cautious (I know people who’ve been hit by cars, and I knew a guy who got hit by a bus…there’s a reason for that past tense, capiche?), I am fairly often in the path of some dumbass who either didn’t pay enough attention to see the red light or just didn’t care. Obviously being ultra-cautious about traffic isn’t good enough, so now I am becoming ultra-paranoid.

Another delightful (and I use that word in this context with the definition of “totally fuq’ed up”) experience today was being in the elevator of the building where I work when some asshat who had apparently mistaken the directions on the steak sauce – “marinade for 2-4 hours” – for the directions on his cologne. Besides the simple problem that your particular favorite cologne is probably not everyone else’s favorite cologne, I get to suffer the added bonus of sometimes having migraine attacks triggered by your favorite Eau de Crappe. I’ll be imagining your nasty face as I plunge the Imitrex needle into my flesh, thanks.

Here’s a pretty petty pet peeve – people who use time-specific greetings at the wrong time of day, and think it’s cute. Did you just say “good morning” at 3 pm (that’s 1500 for Lyse)? On purpose? And you work a day shift, so I know it’s not your own personal schedule that you’re referencing? You think it’s charming, or clever. It’s not, bub. It’s idiotic, and it makes me want to slap you into tomorrow morning.

And then there are the people who are so fuq’ing self-centered that they simply have no point of reference for consideration of others. I’m talking about those people who act (in public) like other people aren’t around, probably because they just don’t notice anything outside of their little window of existence! You know the ones – the gabbers on the cell phone at the bus stop or in the lunch room who are blathering on about the gory details of their last dental visit or gynecological difficulties. The numb-nuts who absolutely won’t yield one inch on the sidewalk or down the center aisle of the bus because that’s where they’re walking, and god forbid they should be inconvenienced by anyone else’s occupation of that time-space.

Just one more before I slink away for the evening…the fuq’-tards who seem to think parenting is a spectator sport, who try to verbally persuade little Johnny to stop yelling, stop bouncing, stop running, stop kicking the nice lady…repeatedly, to a ridiculous degree, instead of taking the little terror in hand and making the brat sit down, shut up, and actually be under control (until you can teach the little ogre how to exercise self-control!). Last time I checked, parents are bigger than preschoolers, and children respect “I can make you because I’m bigger” a lot more than “I don’t want to stifle your self-expression but you need to listen to Daddy for the next 10 minutes, so Daddy can explain why that’s not okay.” I sure don’t want to listen to Daddy talk himself blue in the face with absolutely nothing to show for it, so why would little Johnny?!

If you’re under the age of consent in your locale, or you’re easily squicked by less-than-vanilla sex acts, move along. Otherwise, highlight the blank space below and giggle along with me.

1> Discovering how Ender got his name.

At least in the Northern Hemisphere, we’re smack-dab in the middle of winter. The first day of spring is over a month away, and I’ve heard more than a few people grumbling about being sick of winter.

What song reminds you of winter, and why?

I was raised listening to Anne Murray, since she was probably my mother’s favorite musical artist. So the song that always brings to mind winter for me is Snowbird. It’s a very upbeat tune, despite the sad lyrics…a lovely contrast, and reminds me of how everything in winter can seem cold & dreary & dead, but out of nowhere there will be a bright & sunny day that doesn’t seem wintery at all.

And how very appropriate, considering that most of us are hoping that the holiday just celebrated will include some activity that could – or should – include the use of condoms!

So go check out the Condom Museum, take a gander at the history of condoms, read a few condom blogs, or go check out what custom-sized condom you (or a loved one!) might need.

Just make sure that your scented, flavored, and/or glow-in-the-dark prophylactics are approved for the prevention of pregnancy and disease! If they say “For novelty use only,” don’t use them for anything but making balloons.

And for Portlanders, this week’s edition of Willamette Week has a coupon for a dozen free condoms at Planned Parenthood (always a great place to get quality condoms inexpensively).

16> When taking her out to a romantic Valentine’s Day dinner, be sure to carry her tray. For an extra touch, unwrap her straw, too.

15> Nothing says “I love you” quite like violating her restraining order.

14> Don’t get their cards mixed up or you might end up having to have sex with your wife instead of your secretary.

13> If she suggests “trying something different,” she means something that involves *her*.

12> Just because she loved the chocolate hearts last year does NOT mean she will love the chocolate spleens this year.

11> Suppress the diabolical laughter until after the restraints are buckled securely.

10> Wait at least eight years after your wife dies under suspicious circumstances before proposing to your long-time lover. (Prince Charles only)

9> A quick stop at the cemetery on the way home should save time and money and still produce a beautiful bouquet.

8> A gentleman takes a bite out of all of the chocolates so that his lady doesn’t have to guess what each one contains.

7> Save the “keggerator” hat and belching the alphabet for Arbor Day.

6> An extra fiver will insure the video store guy puts a “Terminator” DVD in your “Thelma and Louise” box.

5> Phrases to avoid at dinner: “fully tax-deductible”; “violation of my parole”; “by decree of Lord Satan”; and “unpaid humor-list contributor.”

4> If there’s any chance whatsoever she might sleep with you, do the safe thing — get rid of those “Star Wars” sheets.

3> When role-playing, do not suggest that she be the hot chick at work.

2> Start your date as late as possible to lessen the odds your true self will accidentally surface.

1> Your choice of gift tells a woman what you think about her. Roses, for example, say, “No chocolate for you, tubby!”

The theory is that Valentine’s Day only sucks for those of us not in (mostly) happy, (hopefully) longterm, (more-or-less) serious relationships.

Yeah, whatever. I’ve always hated Valentine’s Day. From the time when I was a non-popular little schoolgirl who only got those stupid mass-produced cartoony Valentine’s from the kids whose mothers made them fill out one for every kid in their class whether they wanted to or not, to the time when I was a non-popular teenager who only got a Valentine’s Day card from my mother, to the time that I was a doormat of a young woman who believed the reason I never got Valentine’s Day cards or gifts wasn’t because my boyfriend/husband at the time was a total fucktard but because I wasn’t worthy of receiving those tokens of love.

Eventually I became too disillusioned about the entire disaster to think anything more about it than:

And then there’s the sort of warm, fuzzy, heart-touching sentiment that you might expect from my beloved Geoffrey – or me when I’m PMS-ing:

But now, there’s Bad Cupid! From the people who brought you the TopFive list, so you know it’s bent & wrong. Just the way love often is!

Go forth, and send lots of fun e-greetings to those you care for…bwa ha ha.

I have loved Internet Bumper Stickers for years. Hell, I’ve even suggested a few things that I thought should be on an Internet Bumper Sticker, and they used them! Like this one:

But now they have t-shirts! Woo hoo!

I know where I’m shopping for everybody’s birthdays when I can’t find something suitable for them at T-Shirt Hell. (Perhaps “suitable” isn’t the right word…maybe I should go with “deranged.”)