"Oh, you hate your job? Why didn't you say so!? There's a support group for that. It's called EVERYBODY, and they meet at the bar." ~Drew Carey
Last night we met at the bar. Oh yes we did. And there was commiseration...and drinking...and much bitching.
Venting - it does a body good.
I don't care what kind of job you have - whether you love it or hate it - there are times when you think, "ya know, living out of my car down by the river wouldn't be so bad."
And even if it's not the job itself that you need to vent about, there are most certainly times when a girl needs to rail against all the fucking annoying people one works with every fucking day of the week. Am I right? When you spend the majority of your waking hours with the same. small. group. of. people., stupid little things will, without a doubt, get on your nerves...grate on your nerves...pluck your last nerve, shred it and stomp it into the dirt. Uh huh.
Like the 7:37 "Good Morning" greeting in the most irritatingly affected manner. Or the heavy breather who won't stop asking inane questions. Or the bachelor who has loud and extended personal conversations lauding his fantastically sexy lifestyle. Or the nose picker (yes, it makes you throw up in your mouth a little everytime you are forced to witness the nasal cavity excavation). Or the nutcase who brings a giant stuffed gorilla to work and poses it in various positions throughout the office (no, I'm not kidding). Or the unbelievably humongous egos of male architects strutting around trying to convince everyone that it is inconceivable - no, simply not possible - that you know more than they.
And so we drink. And laugh. And complain. And drink some more.
Venting is like a good heavy rainshower. Cleansing. And you reconsider the whole living-in-your-car scheme. Plus, it's comforting to know you're not the only intolerant, sarcastic Ms. McBitch in the office.
P.S. Speaking of drinking...I think my cat has developed a drinking disorder.
For the past couple of months, every morning when I get up to go into the bathroom, Gwendolyn leaps off my bed and frantically races to beat me to the door. She then positions herself at the edge of the sink and tells me to turn the faucet on for her.
Both of my cats have always been big faucet drinkers.
But recently Gwennie has become an obsessed faucet drinker...but only in the morning...and only in my bathroom sink. She'll drink like she has been wandering in the desert for a week. When she finally stops - or I finally pull her away so I can brush my freakin' teeth - she promptly throws up.
Yep. She throws up all the water she just guzzled. Aren't you glad you don't have to start your morning navigating around puddles of slimy clear water puke? I bet you are.