Not only do they sell their catnip in a "Fat Jar," but they also have a kickass youtube ad:
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Is It Me?
I've been spending a lot of time lately trying to figure out what's going on with me and why I find it so hard to adjust to new jobs. Consider my history since leaving my supervisor position at TV Guide and moving back to Oklahoma:
1. Began volunteering sporadically with a local animal rescue group, but eventually quit because it wasn't like Kitty Cottage and I couldn't stand the board member I had to work with.
2. After interviewing with two of Tulsa's largest rescue groups, accepted a job at a veterinary clinic in Oklahoma City, which I quit after three weeks because I couldn't stand the people I worked with and their shitty notion of teamwork (nor could I bear the knowledge that the freezer in back held dead animals waiting to be cremated).
3. Got a great temp job I'd really love to stick with, but some days I feel I might lose my mind because I can't stand the girl I work with.
Now, I consider myself to be an incredibly diplomatic and patient person, but there's no denying the pattern here. And the fact that I openly admit to liking animals much more than I like people doesn't help my case.
In my defense, it's perfectly normal to have some trouble adjusting to new jobs after working in the same place for nine years.
But I'm not quite ready to claim this as solely my problem. I'm still clinging to the notion that I've found myself in two bizarrely fucked up work environments where functioning normally is nearly impossible.
As much as I'd like elaborate on this theory, I'm finding it difficult to write about my experiences. The fiasco with the veterinary job was so emotionally trying that I actually felt heart broken...devastated, even. It's still painful to think about it. And the current job situation is so baffling that I honestly can't tell from one day to the next if I'm in a hostile work environment or just sitting next to one crazy bitch.
So I'll leave it at this for now: I don't know what my problem is, but it's quite possible everyone else is at least as crazy as I am.
1. Began volunteering sporadically with a local animal rescue group, but eventually quit because it wasn't like Kitty Cottage and I couldn't stand the board member I had to work with.
2. After interviewing with two of Tulsa's largest rescue groups, accepted a job at a veterinary clinic in Oklahoma City, which I quit after three weeks because I couldn't stand the people I worked with and their shitty notion of teamwork (nor could I bear the knowledge that the freezer in back held dead animals waiting to be cremated).
3. Got a great temp job I'd really love to stick with, but some days I feel I might lose my mind because I can't stand the girl I work with.
Now, I consider myself to be an incredibly diplomatic and patient person, but there's no denying the pattern here. And the fact that I openly admit to liking animals much more than I like people doesn't help my case.
In my defense, it's perfectly normal to have some trouble adjusting to new jobs after working in the same place for nine years.
But I'm not quite ready to claim this as solely my problem. I'm still clinging to the notion that I've found myself in two bizarrely fucked up work environments where functioning normally is nearly impossible.
As much as I'd like elaborate on this theory, I'm finding it difficult to write about my experiences. The fiasco with the veterinary job was so emotionally trying that I actually felt heart broken...devastated, even. It's still painful to think about it. And the current job situation is so baffling that I honestly can't tell from one day to the next if I'm in a hostile work environment or just sitting next to one crazy bitch.
So I'll leave it at this for now: I don't know what my problem is, but it's quite possible everyone else is at least as crazy as I am.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Prozac Girl and the Raving Psycho Bitch
If you were hoping I'd be writing about my dueling personalities, I'm sorry to disappoint you...
But this is more of a "Tortoise and the Hare" kind of story.
The main character is Prozac Girl---our tortoise, if you will. Prozac Girl likes to work, and she takes her new job very seriously. In the course of her training, she wrote step-by-step instructions for each of her tasks, had them checked for accuracy and placed them neatly in a report folder that is already bent and scuffed from being opened and closed so many times. She still doesn't quite know what she's doing half the time, but she does the other half quite well.
Prozac Girl works quietly in her cubicle all day, occasionally making her presence known with a giggle, or with a conscientious question about her work. She doesn't socialize with her coworkers unless they seek her out for conversation (in which case they find her to be surprisingly warm), and she doesn't waste company time with personal calls because she hates talking on the phone and wants to get her work done.
She's slow, but she's thorough and accurate.
One cubicle over, the Raving Psycho Bitch never shuts up. She shares personal information with anyone who'll listen, confiding even to the floors, the walls, and the air as if to her closest friend. It seems Psycho Bitch thinks she'll cease to exist if she ever stops talking and demanding attention.
Prozac Girl wishes Psycho Bitch would cease to exist.
When the boss asks Psycho Bitch to do something she doesn't want to do, she either refuses to do it or complains loudly until the task is completed. While Psycho Bitch complains, or smokes, or tries to dump her work on someone else, or goes on a tirade against the boss, Prozac Girl continues working, slowly but steadily, using that time to keep up with her growing work queue.
Psycho Bitch clearly feels threatened by Prozac Girl and tries to undermine her with not-so-subtle tactics. She snatches up Prozac Girl's easy assignments between smoke breaks, trying to build up her performances scores the way the Chinese build up the protein content in pet food with melamine. Every evening, Psycho Bitch announces to everyone how many referrals she's completed that day. And, if she feels the number is too low, she qualifies it with a recap of the horribly difficult tasks she was forced to undertake in addition to her other grueling work.
The first time Prozac Girl completed more referrals in a day than Psycho Bitch, the accomplishment did not go unnoticed. "Well, you don't have to do all the things I have to do," Psycho Bitch whined. Prozac Girl smiled to herself, refraining from congratulating Psycho Bitch on all her smoke breaks, temper tantrums and episodes of personal drama, taking pleasure in her secret sarcasm.
When she overhears Psycho Bitch indirectly blaming her for things she herself did wrong, Prozac Girl fumes silently in her cubicle. Sometimes she confronts Psycho Bitch, innocently asking "Did I mess something up?" Psycho Bitch never gives her a direct answer, but Prozac Girl doesn't worry...she's confident Psycho Bitch isn't fooling anyone.
Prozac Girl is particularly disturbed by Psycho Bitch's use of the word "literally." For example, Psycho Bitch once declared "My back is literally killing me."
Oh, how Prozac Girl wished it were true!
But this is more of a "Tortoise and the Hare" kind of story.
The main character is Prozac Girl---our tortoise, if you will. Prozac Girl likes to work, and she takes her new job very seriously. In the course of her training, she wrote step-by-step instructions for each of her tasks, had them checked for accuracy and placed them neatly in a report folder that is already bent and scuffed from being opened and closed so many times. She still doesn't quite know what she's doing half the time, but she does the other half quite well.
Prozac Girl works quietly in her cubicle all day, occasionally making her presence known with a giggle, or with a conscientious question about her work. She doesn't socialize with her coworkers unless they seek her out for conversation (in which case they find her to be surprisingly warm), and she doesn't waste company time with personal calls because she hates talking on the phone and wants to get her work done.
She's slow, but she's thorough and accurate.
One cubicle over, the Raving Psycho Bitch never shuts up. She shares personal information with anyone who'll listen, confiding even to the floors, the walls, and the air as if to her closest friend. It seems Psycho Bitch thinks she'll cease to exist if she ever stops talking and demanding attention.
Prozac Girl wishes Psycho Bitch would cease to exist.
When the boss asks Psycho Bitch to do something she doesn't want to do, she either refuses to do it or complains loudly until the task is completed. While Psycho Bitch complains, or smokes, or tries to dump her work on someone else, or goes on a tirade against the boss, Prozac Girl continues working, slowly but steadily, using that time to keep up with her growing work queue.
Psycho Bitch clearly feels threatened by Prozac Girl and tries to undermine her with not-so-subtle tactics. She snatches up Prozac Girl's easy assignments between smoke breaks, trying to build up her performances scores the way the Chinese build up the protein content in pet food with melamine. Every evening, Psycho Bitch announces to everyone how many referrals she's completed that day. And, if she feels the number is too low, she qualifies it with a recap of the horribly difficult tasks she was forced to undertake in addition to her other grueling work.
The first time Prozac Girl completed more referrals in a day than Psycho Bitch, the accomplishment did not go unnoticed. "Well, you don't have to do all the things I have to do," Psycho Bitch whined. Prozac Girl smiled to herself, refraining from congratulating Psycho Bitch on all her smoke breaks, temper tantrums and episodes of personal drama, taking pleasure in her secret sarcasm.
When she overhears Psycho Bitch indirectly blaming her for things she herself did wrong, Prozac Girl fumes silently in her cubicle. Sometimes she confronts Psycho Bitch, innocently asking "Did I mess something up?" Psycho Bitch never gives her a direct answer, but Prozac Girl doesn't worry...she's confident Psycho Bitch isn't fooling anyone.
Prozac Girl is particularly disturbed by Psycho Bitch's use of the word "literally." For example, Psycho Bitch once declared "My back is literally killing me."
Oh, how Prozac Girl wished it were true!
When things become unbearable, Prozac Girl sends her boyfriend text messages and voice mails packed with even more profanity than usual. Cussing makes Prozac Girl happy, and if she says "fuck" enough times, her anger turns into a bittersweet, triumphant amusement that motivates her to work even harder.
Prozac Girl is confident she'll win out in the end. The Psycho Bitch, like the hare, is overly confident in her worth and fails to see how Prozac Girl is catching up with her. She may be a just lowly temp now, but they'll be glad to have her when the time comes to fire that Crazy Raving Psycho Bitch. And if they never have the sense to fire her, Prozac Girl reminds herself, "I don't want to work for those goddamn idiots anyway."
Prozac Girl is confident she'll win out in the end. The Psycho Bitch, like the hare, is overly confident in her worth and fails to see how Prozac Girl is catching up with her. She may be a just lowly temp now, but they'll be glad to have her when the time comes to fire that Crazy Raving Psycho Bitch. And if they never have the sense to fire her, Prozac Girl reminds herself, "I don't want to work for those goddamn idiots anyway."
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Road Rage: A True Story
I had a road rage incident today with a little prick in a big truck, and I'm still laughing about it.
I was following Ryan to a Jiffy Lube in Oklahoma City when it happened. Ryan changed lanes, and before I could fall in behind him, the jerk in the pickup came speeding up beside me. I knew if I got behind him I wouldn't be able to see Ryan's car anymore, so I sped up and put on my turn signal as a way of asking him to back off and let me in.
Instead, he sped up just as I moved over in front of him, and I had to swerve back over to keep from getting hit. Having made his point, the jackass backed off and I continued with my lane change, using a hand signal to indicate I wasn't pleased with his manners.
He went around me on the right, chucking a piece of ice as he passed me, and then got in front of Ryan before stopping at a red light. Ryan and I were about to turn left, so I passed him again after moving to the left turn lane. And I was really mad...so I didn't just flip him off.
I rolled down the window, honked my horn, stuck my arm out the window and waved my middle finger high.
My triumphant moment was cut short when I realized the green arrow was gone and I had to stop while the jerk got a green light. So much for having the last laugh; he was going to pass me one more time. I braced myself, knowing he had a drink and wasn't afraid to use it.
I didn't care...flipping him off felt good, and I was ready to pay the price for it. Besides, I knew my windshield would get washed when I got my oil changed.
As he passed, a few drops of clear liquid splattered lightly over my windshield, and it was so gloriously anticlimactic that I laughed out loud!
As it turned out, the Jiffy Lube was closed. I had to get my oil changed elsewhere, and they neither cleaned my windshield nor filled my empty wiper fluid tank. So when I picked up my car, it was still covered in syrupy splatters.
But they rotated my tires for free, so it all worked out. I refilled my own washer fluid and got a car wash. Problem solved.
Okay look, guys: I know this is a lame story, but my life lacks adventure these days, and that was the most excitement I've had all summer. Just humor me, okay?
I was following Ryan to a Jiffy Lube in Oklahoma City when it happened. Ryan changed lanes, and before I could fall in behind him, the jerk in the pickup came speeding up beside me. I knew if I got behind him I wouldn't be able to see Ryan's car anymore, so I sped up and put on my turn signal as a way of asking him to back off and let me in.
Instead, he sped up just as I moved over in front of him, and I had to swerve back over to keep from getting hit. Having made his point, the jackass backed off and I continued with my lane change, using a hand signal to indicate I wasn't pleased with his manners.
He went around me on the right, chucking a piece of ice as he passed me, and then got in front of Ryan before stopping at a red light. Ryan and I were about to turn left, so I passed him again after moving to the left turn lane. And I was really mad...so I didn't just flip him off.
I rolled down the window, honked my horn, stuck my arm out the window and waved my middle finger high.
My triumphant moment was cut short when I realized the green arrow was gone and I had to stop while the jerk got a green light. So much for having the last laugh; he was going to pass me one more time. I braced myself, knowing he had a drink and wasn't afraid to use it.
I didn't care...flipping him off felt good, and I was ready to pay the price for it. Besides, I knew my windshield would get washed when I got my oil changed.
As he passed, a few drops of clear liquid splattered lightly over my windshield, and it was so gloriously anticlimactic that I laughed out loud!
As it turned out, the Jiffy Lube was closed. I had to get my oil changed elsewhere, and they neither cleaned my windshield nor filled my empty wiper fluid tank. So when I picked up my car, it was still covered in syrupy splatters.
But they rotated my tires for free, so it all worked out. I refilled my own washer fluid and got a car wash. Problem solved.
Okay look, guys: I know this is a lame story, but my life lacks adventure these days, and that was the most excitement I've had all summer. Just humor me, okay?
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Mighty Mites
What an odd little story! I'm itching all over now, but I do love Oklahoma.
Mighty mites cause problems
Associated Press - July 1, 2009 8:45 PM ET
DRUMMOND, Okla. (AP) - When the Garfield County Sheriff's office started receiving calls about millions of ants crossing the intersection of Oklahoma 132 and a county road, deputy Troy Bush thought it was joke.
Bush says when he arrived on Monday, there were so many insects that it appeared as if the ground were moving and the tiny critters had created a slick, hazardous area on the pavement stretching a quarter-mile long.
Eventually authorities learned the bugs weren't ants, but were mites.
Apparently the mites were crossing the road that day after having dinner in a field of canola plants that had just been harvested. Bush says the slick spot was created by the mites feasting on the plants, which are used to produce canola oil.
Oklahoma Department of Transportation crews lightly sanded the slick portion of the road.
Information from: Enid News & Eagle, http://www.enidnews.com
Mighty mites cause problems
Associated Press - July 1, 2009 8:45 PM ET
DRUMMOND, Okla. (AP) - When the Garfield County Sheriff's office started receiving calls about millions of ants crossing the intersection of Oklahoma 132 and a county road, deputy Troy Bush thought it was joke.
Bush says when he arrived on Monday, there were so many insects that it appeared as if the ground were moving and the tiny critters had created a slick, hazardous area on the pavement stretching a quarter-mile long.
Eventually authorities learned the bugs weren't ants, but were mites.
Apparently the mites were crossing the road that day after having dinner in a field of canola plants that had just been harvested. Bush says the slick spot was created by the mites feasting on the plants, which are used to produce canola oil.
Oklahoma Department of Transportation crews lightly sanded the slick portion of the road.
Information from: Enid News & Eagle, http://www.enidnews.com
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