In Which We Cannot Keep a Secret

 

One of my Chaturbate chums is my old pal Brain.  Before I get any further, let me just point out the screen name he uses is brewerbrain and yet I am the only one who refers to him as "Brain", everyone else calls him "Brian" which is so much duller and just plain wrong.  "Brain." It's right there in the screen name.  Do you think all the rest of the Chaturbate gang have some kind of dyslexia?  

Somewhere down the line, Brain mention to me that he had a friend who always teased him about his job, claiming that Brain was working on a secret death ray.  I thought that was pretty funny and since I'm always willing to swipe any joke so that I don't have to bother with coming up with one, I glommed onto it and have been riding that bitch ever since. 

Having worked for the federal government for decades, I had no trouble believing someone is in the death ray business.  What I refuse to accept is that someone could be in a secret business in the government.  I was trapped for several years toiling in the personnel office and I know all too well how much paperwork is generated by even a medium sized office of a small agency.  Are you saying somebody stuck with filing the stupid direct deposits and tax forms and explaining what the health insurance changes are this year, that that poor schmoe is going to keep his trap shut about who he works for?  What about the lawyers that have to certify that everybody went through the sexual harassment training? And the IT idiots who have to figure out the passwords everybody forgets? What about the vendors who need to come in and unjam the copiers?  Personally, if any attractive barista had complimented me on my sweater, I would have blabbed every secret the agency had been stupid enough to entrust me with.

So when someone wants to explain to me how the moon landing was faked or how COVID is a conspiracy and all of it is a secret which has only been pierced by some knucklehead with a podcast, I roll my eyes so far back I am able to look at the inside of my skull.  I am not naive, I know the government is capable of terrible evils and even that they have been able to hide some of them from a gullible public.  But I also know that the average office is not even able to get everyone to clean out the refrigerator when it's their turn.  I can only hope that kind of incompetence is enough to protect us from the death ray conspiracy.

Guys I want to conspire with:

This guy toils in the fields of feelthy pictures under the ludicrous name of "Flex Xtremo."  I am willing to overlook that because he is such an enthusiastic muscle bottom.

I went to the store to get raisins, it seemed like a simple enough task.  I thought they would be by the canned fruit, but no, and the produce section, another seemingly likely bet, also was raisin-less.  Finally, I ran them to ground in the snack section, which is absolutely wishful thinking on the grocer's part.

Our old friend Grag Stone.  That is not a typo.

Valentin, who only uses one name, like Cher, demonstrating car sex at its finest.

Yowzah.  I don't know why he's looking so cranky.  Maybe his back hurts from carrying around all that dick.

Lochie Carey, enjoying the breeze.

I already told you, that sock is gone.

Do you remember the Kinks' song I'm a Ape Man?  It comes to mind.

Also, I Predict a Conservative Asshole is Going to Say Something Homophobic TODAY.

The local Business Journal is reporting that a guy I used to work with has been busted for running a "Ponzi-like" scheme.  Modifying the word Ponzi is one of the least tip-toe-iest parts of this story.  I have never read coverage that used the word "alleged" so many times.  That in conjunction with my former colleague apparently not having been charged with anything and the details of the scheme being both byzantine and vague make me think they must not have anything solid on the guy.

What's interesting from the mrpeenee-universe centric point of view is my memory of my former boss always referring to this perp as "That little weasel." Makes her seem really insightful  and percipacious, but since she always called pretty much everybody a "little weasel" what it really shows is if you say something often enough, eventually you wind up right and then everybody is impressed with your acumen.  Weathermen and financial advisors rely on this all the time.

Random, unrelated and really fine booty, cause that's what everybody likes.

In Which the Well Runs Dry

Yet another post in which I reveal how very small I really am. Perhaps you may recall that I used to work for the Small Business Administration, before I slipped their leash last year by retiring. An important component of my job was running the classes we had for ingrate entrepreneurs. It was very much like being a producer; I would finagle small business people and other experts into volunteering to teach the classes, then organize the details, the room, the marketing, the registration, the attendees, the clean-up. More than 400 classes a year, about two classes every single fucking day. I now understand the main part of my job was worrying about those details, no wonder I was cranky.

Last week, I ran into one of the guys I had used as a teacher and without prompting, he launched into a bitter screed about how the whole thing is going to hell in a shabby handbag. Attendance is way down, since now no one is doing any marketing, no new class topics, and my former colleagues seem baffled and surly when the volunteer teachers show up.

I suppose I should be concerned that my former baby is struggling, but I all I felt was smug and gratified. We have all been there, haven't we? Slogging along in a literally thankless job and thinking "They'd be sorry if I wasn't here," but knowing, really, that we're just replaceable cogs and that things could stumble along just fine without us.

Hah. Not this time. Take me for granted much? Suck it bitches. How immensely flattering.

I think I'll take a nap with the houseboys to celebrate.

Party Dogs

I attended a party at my old office this afternoon for three of my former colleagues who are retiring. Welcome aboard, that's what I say. It was much more amusing than I expected, very much a reunion since I have steered clear of the joint since I retired last year.

Naturally, everyone asked me "So what are you doing these days?" and seemed baffled when I replied, firmly and honestly, "Nothing." Look, I get paid for not working. Why should I feel compelled to do anything? If it weren't for porn and trolling blogs at 3:00 in the morning I would be comatose. Speaking of which, a big thank you to MJ over at Infomaiac for turning me on to the band Juantrip. Too groovy.

I also had the dubious pleasure of running into a broad who used to have the cubicle next to mine and whose planning of her step-daughter's wedding was the grinding bane of my existence for two fucking years. She was this fake sweet genteel Lady who tried to hide her homophobia from me but never succeeded. We had never liked each other particularly so why she came bouncing up to me today with a big kissypoo hug hello and stuck by my side until I almost had to scrape off my shoe with a stick was beyond me. What's with that?

I kept remembering another party years ago when one of my bosses, who could be a steel hard bitch and also despised this woman, marched up to her and told her she was not invited and that she had to leave. Now. So let's see, on one hand, we have the saccharine sweet Goody Two Shoes and on the other The Bitch Who Will Cut You and I like the bitch best. What's with that?

The party could have definitely used a swimming pool and strippers. But then again, can't they all?

Retired

A year ago, I posted the following:

But why can't I be a Lady of Leisure? I have the attitude, I have the wardrobe (three pair of cashmere socks and some almost-clean tee shirts,) I have stacks of things to sit around reading, and I had 18 petit fours, but they seem to have been eaten. If it wasn't for this stupid "employment" thing, I would be good to go. Just this afternoon, I was trapped in a committee meeting and thought, "Now this, this is the wrong life."

So now, my whining dream finally has come true. On January 14, I filed my application to retire and now it has finally fought its way through the byzantine paths of federal personnel actions and as of March 16, I am retired, an ex-civil servant. Yes! Say it with me girls, I am OUT. I win. All it took was 22 years of listening to the public complain that I was not doing enough for them as I pondered where to go for lunch. Suck it bitches.

I worked for the Small Business Administration. I was a Business Development Specialist. I wrote press releases and speeches and dealt with the media (bitches) and made charming little speeches about topics I knew almost nothing about to the great unwashed. I developed and administered a training program of more than 400 classes attended by about 10,000 small businesses each year. I learned how to spell the word "entrepreneur." I kicked out an old lady who insisted on bringing her cat with her to class. I was the go to guy for any design decisions because I was the office homo. I frequently ate cheese enchiladas for lunch.

And now all that is behind me.

My attendance once R Man got sick was spotty anyway, and by the time he was actively dying, I just stopped even pretending to go in. Everybody was cool with that. When he died, I announced I was not coming back, period, and that I was filing for an early, disability based retirement. Everybody was not cool with that, assuring me it was rash decision I would regret.

Let me see, retirement: getting paid for not working. What's to regret? Anyway, I ignored their advice (as I so often did) and now I'm out and cheerful as all fuck about it. I have regarded the time since R Man died and I just have hung out, doing nothing, as practice. Turns out I have real talent for this, talent I have been wasting all these years in the office. Saki digs it.