Look, Chickie Babies, I realize my blog is a public entity, and I have no control over who sees what, and I do live a life completely devoid of apologies for the way I feel about pretty much everything. It's not like I shiver in worry about my public reputation, even when there's the threat of it coming back to bite me in the ass. That said, even on the best of days, I'm short-tempered and intolerant of Things and People That Annoy Me, a rather exhaustive list, I must say.
One of you who managed to hover far enough away from my omniscient radar has decided to snoop on me again, when either she a) never went away to begin with, and circumvented my tech savvy by using an IP proxy (though she's pretty dumb) for a long time or b) decided, after like 9 months, to see if I'm still alive and snippy.
Why, yes. The sabbatical after Balderdash & Verities was artistically prolific and battery-recharging. After 3 mind-numbing, body-destroying years in employment (the only positive outcome was in making a friend), I let my brain re-fire its synapses and neurons. Then my dim bulb was made all the brighter by enrolling in graduate school full-time. Graduate school is where smart people with bachelor's degrees go to get masters' degrees and then doctorates and shit. It's where people go when they don't want to spent almost 30 years in a go-nowhere-but-one-lateral-ladder-up-promotion at the same place of business, e.g. well, Balderdash & Verities. It's where my insanity is my greatest asset. Your job is to placate people and generate revenue for your bosses, which is only slightly more dignified and a moderate caste higher than your other job of babysitting people who are already dead.
So. Madame Former Supervisor. Really. Give it up. I understand. My life is sixty-times-more-awesome than yours and curiosity is a morbid attraction.
The Beatles would like you to fuck off.
Johnny Cash would like you to fuck off.
Frank Zappa would like you to fuck off.
Ike & Tina Turner would like you to fuck off. And believe me, Ike Turner is a massive motherfucker on whose bad side you really, really don't want to land.
One of you who managed to hover far enough away from my omniscient radar has decided to snoop on me again, when either she a) never went away to begin with, and circumvented my tech savvy by using an IP proxy (though she's pretty dumb) for a long time or b) decided, after like 9 months, to see if I'm still alive and snippy.
Why, yes. The sabbatical after Balderdash & Verities was artistically prolific and battery-recharging. After 3 mind-numbing, body-destroying years in employment (the only positive outcome was in making a friend), I let my brain re-fire its synapses and neurons. Then my dim bulb was made all the brighter by enrolling in graduate school full-time. Graduate school is where smart people with bachelor's degrees go to get masters' degrees and then doctorates and shit. It's where people go when they don't want to spent almost 30 years in a go-nowhere-but-one-lateral-ladder-up-promotion at the same place of business, e.g. well, Balderdash & Verities. It's where my insanity is my greatest asset. Your job is to placate people and generate revenue for your bosses, which is only slightly more dignified and a moderate caste higher than your other job of babysitting people who are already dead.
So. Madame Former Supervisor. Really. Give it up. I understand. My life is sixty-times-more-awesome than yours and curiosity is a morbid attraction.
The Beatles would like you to fuck off.
Johnny Cash would like you to fuck off.
Frank Zappa would like you to fuck off.
Ike & Tina Turner would like you to fuck off. And believe me, Ike Turner is a massive motherfucker on whose bad side you really, really don't want to land.
Marlon Brando would like you to fuck off.
Bono and Paul McCartney teamed up and would like you to fuck off.
President Obama would like you to fuck off.
Jesus Christ would like you to fuck off.
Kate, especially, would like you to fuck off, as would her dog:
Mister Rogers would like you to doubly fuck off, with both hands!
Keith Richards would like you to fuck off.
Ozzy would like you to fuck off.
Cartoon Middle Finger Dude would like you to fuck off.
A famous, legendary Welsh punker I know would like you to fuck off.
Finally, an Overprotective Anarchist Walrus would like you to fuck off. I think, out of all these fuckers, he's the one you really should worry about angering.
Not pictured, but Best Male Friend, Miss Thang II & I also want you to fuck off, as do the rest of the friends and fans who remain anonymous but whose fingers weren't available at press time.
Thanks bunches, sweetie!
XOXO,
The Offbeat Drummer
24 comments:
Why isn't your parakeet included in the bird flipping? He seems like a given.
Nitwit has no comment right now. He's chirping away in the kitchen looking at himself in a mirror & still isn't over Lady GuyGuy's personal insult of his nomenclature. But I should think he echoes the sentiment of the rest of the gang.
This is really awesome, and yes, while I am elusive, definitely include me in the double finger flipping, enthusiastically.
Your bird is a narcissist who stares at and talks to his own reflection, and eats very little, all day long. He's the perfect pet for you. ;)(I am kidding.)
Love!
Best Male Friend makes a valid case. I just haven't learned Nitwit's trick of chilling out & talking to himself while perched on only one foot, I don't have only 3 toes or sleep on a swing at night. Not that you all know of, anyway.
Maybe with enough yoga, I can manage feats of balancing greatness.
Save this one. You can always repost it and swap out "Arlene" and insert the name of the next person who annoys you to death.
Oh, I meant to ask. Has she really been at that place for 30 years?
She's been there 20-some-odd years. Longer than most 2nd degree murder jail sentences.
She's risen in the ranks from Mere-Stomped-Upon-Peon to Assistant-To-The-Ousted-Peon to Dangling-for-Life-Peon-Wrangler.
Anyone who knows me well knows what an utter formal education snob I can be. She's pretty much tapped out the last drops of pre-retirement career advancement under a high school diploma. I've told people that unless you get out and get a real education, working there is like spinning your buried tires through a foot of snow. I was really happy to hear that a former colleague of mine (who is very smart) finally left to pursue her BA full-time. For me, my tenure there was a lucky second chance to earn a few bucks and get back on track, but had I not been let go, I'd still be content to tread and wouldn't be in graduate school. There's no way my job and masters education could've coexisted.
The atmosphere at B&V is so gender-divided, too. All of the physicians are male. All of the support staff is female. A strong, opinionated, educated and uppity feminist wit like myself endured a massive backlash of peer-to-peer power disrespect from about 99% of the rest of the employees, often being ostracized because I purposely utilized language I knew they wouldn't understand, because I get a kick out of fucking with people's heads, obviously.
I'm kinda slathering my hands together, marking off days on the ill-fitting lighthouses calendar my weird aunt gave me for the day I can call the office to speak to one of the doctors, and introduce myself as "Dr. Miklasz, motherfuckers."
Annie, you'll definitely make a better headshrinkerupper than hopeless office peon. Is the calendar from the same aunt who told you the world didn't need any more shrinks? Oh, the irony!
And yeah, Annie? We all know why you stayed as long as you did. Because you loved.....Nexium samples.
Yes! Same aunt who has the flipping "Oui" and "Non" pillow on her bed, sleeps beside a picture of the late Pope John Paul II & said the "world didn't need any more psychologists." A real shot in the arm, she is. My uncle's nightly Southern Comfort elixir is, like, TOTALLY understandable.
Same uncle as was captured by aliens in Roswell? Why haven't I met these people?
Yes! My dad's brother. You're welcome to fly in anytime. Bring your dad. We'll see if the family can skeer up a mess'a'sumpin' that doesn't involve a trip to KFC.
How many of you can say you have your own personal Nexium sample drug pusherman? It's fucking dope nirvana for my GI tract! For the love of God!
Anyways, when Jesus told us to be "fishers of men," I read that kinda literally, threw my bucket of chum into the water, held my harpoon in wait and the great white shark finally swam over.
Hey, what am I? Miss Thang II?
When did that happen? You were
an apprentice bitch when we met.
I showed you the ropes (and knots )
and I don't get mentioned?
Especially after the stunt I pulled on
New Years Eve ?
I was waiting for you, Kate! I'm not going to single you out without your permission!!!!!! And I really could use a picture of you giving the finger.
Yes, I still am your apprentice. A certain someone asked me what you did for New Year's Eve, he having gone to bed by midnight EST.
Miss Thang II is one of MY apprentices and is in the medical field way out yonder.
Without your ropes and knots, I'd have fallen in with the chum!
Hi, Kate! Annie has concocted another one of her brainiac psychoplans. I was sleeping when she asked for a picture of me flipping off the camera. She was supposed to take one of herself in a mirror, but I think she chickened out. Ms. Miklasz?
Andrea,
Did you tell the good doctor what I actually
did on New Years Eve? What is this " Well I
didn't have your permission business ". Are you trying to protect my non-existent good reputation? We have a deal. You can say anything about me , true or false , and I'll back you up. Why did he ask about me?
P.S. BMF and Anonymous, nice to hear from the two of you !
I gave just enough detail to paint a pretty decent picture (all true, including the champagne and the time frame, mentioning the locale of masculinity both upstairs & downstairs) & let him connect the rest of the dots with whatever imagination he may or may not have, of which I'm unaware, because, of course, we never speak of such things between us, other than his chastising of my heathen behavior (when I haven't done anything) to which he's secretly extremely allured.
At least you HAVE a reputation!
The most salacious pictures on my phone that I sent BMF are of packages of post-it notes I bought Luke, and I sent Dr. Marvelous a 13-year old photo of me exasperatingly holding my screaming infant. Ooh-la-la!
I'm all ears. Yessssssss!
Miss Thang II here, checking in!
Kate, if you want to be Miss Thang III, I'm certain neither Annie not I would have any objections.
"The best revenge is living well."
*waves*
No, we need to do a switcheroo. Kate has to be the original Miss Thang, because everything I learned was via Kate. I'll be II, you're III. It's not a demotion!
Happy and healthy new year to you, Kate. Hope it's brimming with love and harmonious vibrations.
I haven't said much recently, mostly because Andrea's attention was distracted by school, her son and Guy Friend.
MY best friend and I just want Andrea to be happy. She's so fucking wonderful & yes, as we and a couple of Andrea's other friends (including you, if I remember) all said, Andrea is WAY out of Guy Friend's league. Love is what it is, though.
I still need to blog (tomorrow morning) about Guy's final Christmas/Epiphany gift. And about our residual fight a week ago, which worried me all week. The last gift was totally unexpectedly beautiful. But no, he doesn't love me. He just gave me a dozen quirky and silly and gorgeous Xmas gifts. Oh, Guy, we're so sure.
Ok, girls. Press the eject button on your seats, pop your parachutes & abandon further discussion in this thread of comments. There's too much beast (and wow, she IS a beast, oof) feeding already.
Before we totally abort the mission of this entry, I would personally like to thank Balderdash & Verities for their continued readership on "Rhythms" from the in-office computer system. My insider information was not atop or aware of a repeal of the "no personal internet use" act initiated last year within the infrastructure.
The witching hour of (just guessing here, an approximation)6:00 pm is probably Doldrumsville (phones on the answering service and thumbs idly twiddling).
Hell, *I'd* have entertained myself by reading myself at the time, because I'm very entertaining, but I was in Community Psych class last night. That young man who, several blogs ago at the end of last semester, said that multitasking was humanly impossible clearly didn't spend enough time under the extremely capable wings of The Offbeat Drummer.
[Waving again!]
For as interesting and vibrant and awesome our lives all are (speaking for all of us who've commented), we really need to get lives.
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