Corporate Weasel

It's been a long time...

I'll probably get back to posting at some point, but I think we're do for a bit of a reformat.

I'm still the Corporate Weasel, but in an entirely different sense altogether since I got out of sales. Given the nature of my work, I need to do a bit of risk assessment before deciding how to proceed. The whole "getting fired for what I write in my free time" isn't so much my bag. Still totally a Corporate Weasel.

Thanks to those who have checked in on updates - more soon, I promise.

CW passes 8th grade math, subtracts world's best dog from her life.

I do, in fact, have something going for me:

<table width=350 align=center border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2><tr><td bgcolor="#CDDEFF" align=center><font face="Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif" style='color:black; font-size: 14pt;'><b>You Passed 8th Grade Math</b></font></td></tr><tr><td bgcolor="#EBF2FF"><center><img src="http://images.blogthings.com/couldyoupasseighthgrademathquiz/passed.jpg" height="100" width="100"></center><font color="#000000">
Congratulations, you got 10/10 correct!</font></td></tr></table><div align="center"><a href="http://www.blogthings.com/couldyoupasseighthgrademathquiz/">Could You Pass 8th Grade Math?</a></div>

They weren't just blowing smoke out their ass when they gave me the PBK key.

Not much new going on - my new hobby is Border Collie rescue, and I just gave up my first foster dog. Nothing defines utter heartbreak like giving this girl away - I really wanted to keep her. I've never sobbed so hard in my life as when I gave her away.. *sniff*

Updates soon - really.

I love you, Eugene Volokh.

There's nothing I like better than seeing a Dell put-down .

Corporate Weasel wants to shake it fast, watch herself

I would love to hop into the shower, get dressed up, put on sassy shoes and make-up, pre-game it like it's hot, and then head to a bar for some SERIOUS ass-shaking with the girls. Just like the old times - HDI style.  Bangin' music and telling people that AbbaZabba is a belly-dancer. Getting low, getting long islands, and getting with the girls would make my entire month.

Sadly, the boot precludes the shoes and ass-shaking and the cold limits my drink of choice to Nyquil, nevermind the distance between my ladies, the bar, and me.

Motherfucker.

***

I think the girls miss me too; I just checked my voicemail and had two messages, one at 1:30am and the other at 4am. (Pussy Control playing in the background) "Hey, CW, we were just thinking about you, because we heard this fantastic song and somehow it just reminded us of you." (Pussy Control continues playing in the background)

I love Pussy Control (AbbaZabba HATES it), but not nearly as much as I love my girls.

Lola Moment

Something happened to me that, for the most part, would only happen to Lola.

I'm sick - nasty, achy, hurty, drippy nose sick. 101. 8 degree temperature sick. Wearing fleece pants, sweatshirt, terry cloth robe, covered with a down blanket and three others and still cold sick.

I tried to  work this morning, but they sent me home with a laptop to get some work done. I started out feeling mildly sick this morning, but deteriorated rather quickly. I went from a temp of 97.6 to 101.8 in about 10 hours.

So I'm pretty fucked up this afternoon, lying half dead on the couch. The doorbell rings: it is the children next door, selling wrapping paper for a PTO fundraiser. I sit in the doorway and select the first thing I see, scribble my order on her sheet, and apologize to the children for being such a sniffly mess.

Three hours later, I'm mid-coma and there's a knock at the door. It's rainy, cold, and miserable, and this little girl is standing around bare foot on my porch. She tells me that she forgot to collect the money for the order; I ask her nicely to hold on so I can find my check book. Shutting the door, I hobble (I was boot-free today) to the bedroom, where I locate my checkbook just as a coughing fit hits me.

Now, I don't know about you, but the only times I ever puke are when I'm waaaaaay too drunk or when I cough so hard that my stomach explodes out of my mouth.

The last cough produced a vomity mixture of Cras-berry and mucus; I puked on the floor, on my robe, and on my checkbook. I run to the bathroom, horrified, and continue to vomit into the sink. This girl is still waiting on me, and I've puked on my checkbook. I'm fresh out of ideas about how to proceed.  I hobble back to the door and tell her that I've just gotten sick all over my checkbook.

She is uncomfortable, but it is hard to tell if its the cold or my super-gross apology. She tells me that it's okay, she'll pay for the gift wrap. I tell her, no, no, that won't be necessary - just hold on one more minute. She continues to protest as  I hobble back, find a new checkbook, and sit in the doorway while making this check out to her.

I apologize profusely, and she simply says, "Feel better!" and runs.

I would have run, too, but much earlier into the process.

What really kills me is that people are going to think I'm WAAAY weirder than the fucker who lived here before us (and I'm talking about a guy who carved a JESUS FISH into his fucking machete. And he left it behind for us..... wtf?).

Immediately after I explain to my embarrassing moment to Rob, I realize: this kind of nonsense would only happen to Lola.

Not feelin' so Sharpie.

Warning: Disjointed post ahead.

Is anyone surprised about how compelling this entire TO thing has been? I didn't think so.

Seriously: Terrell Owens is a swirling vortex who sucks everybody in. All TO, all the time. Even Jesse Jackson and Ralph Nader have come out against the Eagles, claiming that the punishment does not fit the crime. Since when did Jesse Jackson and Ralph Nader weigh in on pressing football issues? That's how big this is.

It's only a matter of time until the ladies on the View and John Henson on the TV Guide channel hold a debate about TO's abandoned Philly locker stall: burn it or introduce it to the business end of a sledgehammer?

Since I indubitably have more football prowess than Star Jones, here's my take: this guy is a tool who's never known any better. Still, I love to watch him play. And I thought the Sharpie fiasco was hilarious. It's going to be really sad if he never finds a team again - I'll miss his bangin' catches as much as I'll miss his larger-than-life attitude and stunts. The Engineer had an interesting idea: Oakland picks up TO and has the best receiver tandem EVER. The idea had me salivating all morning.

***

I'm feeling pretty crappy - whatever's been going around at work has finally settled on me, and it's got me in the mood to loaf. Thankfully, Sunday night TV will keep  me quiet and on the couch (except, of course, for when I'm yelling at McDreamy for picking his see you next Tuesday wife and inevitably cheating on her in episodes to come).

***

LSAT  review has finally begun in weasel world; I took my first full-length timed exam on Thursday. I didn't get what I was hoping for the first time around, but then, I did take the test after a long day of work when I was already tired and had a slight headache. I started to lose focus halfway through and completely bombed the games section. I spent some time thinking about the first question, decided I didn't like it; moved on to the second question and after five minutes went back to the first. I lost 10 - 15 minutes for no reason and then got really flustered.

Despite blowing it on the first go, I'm glad to have started; I know what my weaknesses are and I can start to address them more efficiently. I figure since I have enough time, I'm going to do a little LSAT cross-training: I'm going to do some  serious self-study with Gensler's "Introduction to Logic," as well as work on Logic Games magazines. A little remedial study never hurt anyone.

I've also created a sweet Excel spreadsheet to track my progress: I can track not only the test taken, date taken, raw and scaled scores - I can track specifically how I felt about the test, where I went wrong, and what studying I've conducted to date.

Not that I'm obsessing, or anything.

***

That's all I got.

Updates soon

I've spent the weekend going over some LSAT review books, and the questions weren't nearly as difficult as I thought they'd be. I've got the whole gambit of books to go through in the coming months: I'm on Kaplan, but plan on moving to the "LSAT Advantage with Professor Dave," LSAT PrepTests, and probably also PowerScore. We'll see what works best, but I figure since I have so much time before I'm planning on taking the test, I can really just go over everything. It's not like I'm balancing this with studying for classes, right? A more comprehensive CW update will follow in the next couple of days.

Hugs and kisses, CW

CW weighs in on tonight's Grey's Anatomy

I hate Sundays: the thought of having to wake up early the next morning to begin a full week of drudgery is at times too much to bear. Luckily, God created Sunday night football and television shows to make poor slobs like me forget all about the misery of the working world that I'll face the next morning.

One such example: I am a Grey's Anatomy addict. I've caught every single episode since it's inception this January, and I LOVE it. I once shushed the Engineer coming in the door after he'd been away all weekend because he was interrupting the show (I can only TiVo the satellite, not the locals). Sufficed to say, he wasn't exactly happy about it, but hey: no one stands in the way of me and Dr. McDreamy.

Until tonight, anyway. That bastard picked his whore wife Addison over everyone's favorite neurotic Ally McBeal of the medicinal world. Clearly, this is the people of ABC having a great time mind fucking innocent addicts like myself. All I wanted was for McDreamy to give his whore wife the boot, as she deserved. Her excuse for cheating on McDreamy with his best friend in their house: "I was lonely." Bitch, please.

The only upside I can see here is that this whole fiasco opens some room for George to angle in on Meredith; George isn't exactly McDreamy caliber, but definitely sweet, genuine, honest and probably has a huge wang.

Just my two cents.

***

In other news, the Engineer roasts the BEST turkey breast EVER. Juicy, succulent, perfectly browned skin - pure turkey perfection. If only every turkey could have the good fortune of ending up in the Engineer's skilled hands.

Corporate Weasel takes on science pricks, but not really.

So I'm sitting at my desk today, putting together some project for one of the scientists when I overhead a conversation in the lab. They happened to be talking about the nursing shortage - and the subsequent big paychecks that some nurses take home. Upon hearing that one nurse was making $70K in the Big City coming out of nursing school, one particular pretentious prick said, "I hate it when people who aren't as smart as me are making more money than I am."

If I weren't a temp employee and my permanent hire didn't depend on perfect behavior, it would have been zero fucking hour.

How the fuck does he know that he's smarter than a nurse? He assumes that because he's a lab monkey that he's smarter than someone who went to a two year school. Are you kidding me? This guy sits around taking orders from the lead scientist all day. And furthermore, it's not like he's toting a sterling silver academic pedigree. I won't divulge where this little pigfucker went to school, but it's pretty bad. Try tier three of public universities on US News and Reports.

I suppose the reason this gets my panties in a jumble is because I can only imagine what these fuckers think about me.

I know that it doesn't matter what other people think, but I've never  been in a position where people assumed that I was a moron. I can guarantee that I am academically more accomplished than pretty much all of the research associates I work with (and at least as intelligent), and they think I'm an idiot.

This sounds as conceited as the prick with the nursing comment, but I hate it when people don't realize how smart I am.

Pigfuckers.

Corporate Weasel gets Das Boot: Wenn Jägermeisterin zu Gejagten werden.

So not only did the orthopaedic have the nerve to call at 6:40 this morning to reschedule my 1:45 appointment to 7:15, she gave me the boot to help heal my stilet-toe.

That's right, the boot.

At least there's some fun to be had with this monstrosity. Case in point: I've been low on Halloween ideas lately. I was going to go as Coop Cooper ("Your sister goes out with... Squeak!"), but Coop can't play baseketball on a broken foot. However, on the way back from the ortho office, I had a really great idea: I could go as the Engineer's favorite football play..... (wait for it....).... the naked bootleg. That would bring naughty Halloween costumes to an entirely new level: naughty athletic strategies.

I'm stuck with this fucker for a month, so at least I should get a few smiles out of it.

***

In other news, I'm taking a free practice LSAT from Kaplan on Saturday morning. I'm a little freaked; I've spent some time working on the GRE, and probably less than 15 minutes really studying for the LSAT. I perform well on standardized tests, but I'm definitely apprehensive about where my abilities are without any work. There won't be a bigger ego boost than hitting it at 165 or higher on the practice test, and there won't be a bigger downer than scoring below 150 on the first try.

I'm afraid to look this beast in the face and see what I'm really made of.

You say, "Pull up your panties, Corporate Weasel, and take that test like a fresh, frosty Jaegerbomb: with confidence and mastery."

I say, "Mmmmmmm..."

UPDATE:

Yeah, so I completely forgot that Friday night is a big night - company dinner (with alcohol) and the bangin' halloween party (with lots of alcohol). Do I really want to subject myself to a big, useless practice test when I plan on being mildly hungover on Saturday?

Decisions, decisions...

Corporate Weasel still suffering from harrowing case of "stilet-toe," ailment continues to be mildly funnny

I spent all week at work limping around like a tool and having to explain at length why I was icing my foot periodically. Crafting a plausible explanation was the worst part; I'm pretty sure that the initial injury happened at work, but the real injury happened when I was jumping on my couch, dancing on the coffee table and sadly attempting to break dance at "CW/Engineer Inebriated Housewarming Party, Part II." I can't say that I injured it at work (temp status + workers' comp = Corporate Weasel out of a job), and I don't want to let some of the more conservative types realize what a lush I really am in my free time. I haven't exactly advertised I've got a double tap kegerator sitting in my kitchen right now.

Sadly,  my stilet-toe has banished me to hobbling around in a world of sneakers and Birkenstocks - the antithesis of  confidently striding in sassy, fun stilettos.

What's worse - the biggest party weekend of the year is coming up, and I'll be unable to frolic as normal. I also have the fancy company dinner coming up this week, and my outfit choices are seriously limited by shoe limitations. I can't wear anything that might cause my toe to move - you be the judge of how many options I have.

I'm just hoping that the orthopaedic surgeon doesn't stick me in a boot when I see him on Monday.

Nothing screams "tragically unsexy and incredibly clunky" like the orthopaedic boot.

Corporate Weasel delves into the world of pointy stilettos; hilarity ensues.

And by hilarity, I really mean turf toe.  Who else gets turf toe from wearing 4" pointy stilettos at work? It hurts pretty badly, and there's not really too much I can do about it.

It probably didn't  help that I got schmammered and was dancing and frolicking on my toe like nothing happened at my house party this weekend, but who could deny the call of Jagerbombs and Sugar Hill Gang's "Apache?"

Not this girl.

Jump on it,

Corporate Weasel

This is what your brain looks like on eminent domain.

My next Zazzle t-shirt creation: "I'd rather do a kilo than a Kelo."

Totally libertarian as well as totally bangin'. I can wear that shit to work with jeans.

Why I Miss the Big City...

.... for one, there aren't nearly as many big, burly black men running around in Tigger suits in Collegetown.  (Sorry, Lola: I had to. Mr. E is hilarious in big orange polyester.)

I also miss my 32 ounce Long Islands and ass shaking at the crappiest bar in town. I miss the cabbies cursing at us. I miss knowing every single bouncer in the place and manipulating them to do my dirty work (read: running interference for AbbaZabba. I run a mean cockblock game, but it gets old after awhile.). I'm also INCREDIBLY jealous of Chief Justice Manhole and my friend Boothie who are both kicking it in law school. Did you ever have one of those days where you felt like everyone went to law school in the best city in the world but you? Seriously.

I'm more solidly happy here than I was in the Big City,  but I didn't really take note of what I had before I left. I definitely had more than I imagined.

In short, I miss my friends and to a lesser extent, my old life. My life may have been crappy, but at least it was mine: my crappy career at a crappy corporate company; my icky apartment with the pigfucker neighbors upstairs and my roommate issues; my shopping trips and drives and my traffic. Mine.

I love my new job, I love being around the Engineer, I love this little poorly-constructed house  - I'm just without a little slice of Collegetown that I feel apart of or even my own set of friends.

Towards that end, I joined the gym in hopes of getting my ass in shape and meeting fun people.  I hope it works, or I might go out of my fucking mind.

Also: I'm planning a visit to the big city. Going to see CJ Manhole, Boothaaaaay, Lola, AbbaZabba and DublinDame in one sweet, drunken weekend. There will be friendship, jagerbombs and potentially law students making fun of me for being an administrative assistant. It'll be bangin'.

Unbelieveable.

This article was a headline item on CNN today: the Hmong immigrant who killed 6 hunters in Wisconsin was finally convicted on all counts and sentenced to prison.

The unbelieveable part: there's a sympathetic tone towards this killer, as if the "racial tensions" are somehow more significant and played more of a role in this conviction than the facts presented by the state.

Fuck the racial tensions: this motherfucker is a cold-blooded killer. He shot four of them in the back, presumably as they were running for their lives. Only one person was armed, and he himself said that two of them deserved to die for the names they called him. Sticks and stones may break my bones - but I'll shoot you in the fucking back if you call me a racially derogatory name.... ?

This is sickening - if it had been a white man in that tree shooting and killing 6 Hmong, you'd better believe that there wouldn't be any sympathy towards the white man. Rightfully so - this act was inexcusable, regardless the race of the shooter or the victims.

Memo to Big Ben

Good morning, Ben! I'm glad I caught you. I hope you're feeling happy and spry this morning as you prepare to take on the Texans. I would have dropped by to kiss your bruised bone and make it all better before the big game, but the Engineer's kept me all sorts of  busy pouring concrete over here in Collegetown. Also, he's had me laying carpet, polishing the lobby, and sucking the chrome off of a couple of tailgates.

Digressions aside: I'm touching base with you this morning in regard to a pressing issue. I was loafing around on the couch this morning, comfortably reclined with weblogs on my lap and Sunday NFL Countdown on the tube while enjoying my bowl of Cheerios when the men of Countdown alerted me that you'd be ready to roll this afternoon. That's bangin'. What I'm concerned about is the segment that followed your status update.

You know, the segment where they interviewed you, Drew Bledsoe, Kellen Winslow and that other dude Henderson about motorcycle safety. I was appalled to hear that you, Big Ben Roethlisberger - the Sultan of Sack-avoidance, the Duke of First Downs, and the Prince of Totally Sweet Touchdown Passes - do not wear a helmet when riding your motorcycle. You said, "I don't have to because it's not the law. If it were the law, I would put a helmet on."

You idiot.

At first, I didn't believe that you could be such a fucking moron. That was before I found the photo evidence to the left. There you were, in all your hot football hero glory perched atop your death machine, sans helmet, ready to ride to your tragic and untimely disfigurement or death. If I were your mom, girlfriend, or dog, I'd kick your ass into oblivion.

Seriously - the only reason you'd strap one on is when the government says that you have to? Not because you like taking sensible precautions when engaging in a dangerous hobby? Not because you are totally digging starting in Pittsburgh and eating solid foods?

People like you are the reason that liberals have so much pull - you are unable to manage your own idiocy, so they have to legislate you into a safe, neat little corner.

I'm all for people riding without helmets and I'm all for the government staying out of the entire situation, but please supply a better reason than "I would wear one if the law mandated it." I would still think you're an idiot if you said, " I like the breeze blowing through my buzz cut" or "the chicks think it's sexy," but at least that would be more respectable. When you say things like "I'll do it when Uncle Sam says I have to," you're only encouraging the good people of liberal Pennsylvania to get together and slap together some laws that say you'll have to wear one. And I'll dislike that as much as you will, although for entirely different reasons.

So, you see, while I respect that it's your right to decide to go without the helmet when straddling your hog, I think you're an idiot for feeling that way. I also think you're an idiot for mentioning the law at all.

I'm glad we had this little chit-chat. I ain't mad at cha; I just would like to see you sprout some brains before you speak next time about both  your personal safety and the government.

Also: I say this to the Engineer from time to time, and today I'm thinking I'll say it to you, too:

I love you, but you're a tool.

I wish I were as good at expressing my feelings as other people are.

I had written a rather long post the other day about why I am afraid of liberals (I'm afraid of conservatives, too, but not as much as liberals) when I was having a conniption fit over the assumptions of how Katrina should have been handled.  I thought better of it, however, and rescinded the post almost immediately.

Thank goodness, though, because this sentence is so much more succinct:

"...it was just so creepy seeing these people with that dogmatic, earnest, religious approach and the desire to run other people's lives because they thought they knew better."

Rock on, John Tierney.

I hate being the new guy.

Other than that, work was bangin'.

More details to follow - too tired to toddle on right now.

CW

New York Times: What's in a Name, Katrinas?

Apparently , women named Katrina aren't thrilled that their name has been stigmatized by the worst natural disaster in U.S. history. Some have shortened their names to Kat, many have complained.

Personally, I think Katrina was a perfect moniker for this bitch of a storm. Like my former roommate by the same name, "Katrina" was a flawless fit for a destructive, heartless cunt.

Just my two cents.

Corporate Weasel finds new job; pants no longer optional

The pantless odyssey was fun while it lasted, however, it's time to pull my pants back up and rejoin the working world. My vacation ends on Tuesday at 8am, where I'll be beginning my stint as an administrative assistant at a reputable research company in the area.  I'm making what I made starting at the sales job and I'm strictly 8-5. What's better: the office is almost exactly a three minute drive each way.

I'm excited about the job: the people I interviewed with were very nice and the position sounds intriguing. More importantly, I'm excited to get my ass out of the house and do *something*. Like I posted before - unemployment is not the bowl of cherries that one might expect. I'm psyched to meet new people, have something to do and get PAID.

So I'm in the last few days of my extended vacation, and I suppose I should be doing something fantastic to celebrate like: going on a crazy bender to Vegas with booze, gambling and strippers galore; hitting up Myrtle Beach for some last minute tanning; heading to Illinois to get a taste of Chicago; sleeping on the streets and giving handjobs for crack; etc.

These would have been fantastic options, but nothing surpasses the pageantry and excitement of college football Saturdays. I'm spending today comfortably loafing on a couch in a cool, air-conditioned house with the Terps and Clemson on the tube and ESPN College Scoreboard updating on the laptop.

Life is good.

William Hubbs Rehnquist has passed...

... and frankly, I'm a little shocked at the news coverage. I guess it's a political issue, deciding how two juggernaut stories (the backlash of Katrina - that bitch! - and the quasi-surprise death of the Chief Justice, opening up two vacancies for the first time in 34 years) should occupy space on the web and in the papers.  Especially given that the people devastated by Katrina tend to be liberals in affiliation - I would imagine that if Rehnquist got slightly more coverage today than Katrina victims and the fall of New Orleans, there would be hell to pay.

Moving on - it's a sad day to have lost this man. I didn't always agree with his decisions, but he was a brilliant, resolute Chief Justice who gave the Court some direction.  I enjoyed reading his decisions, but I don't think the soft spot in my heart developed for Rehnquist until I had read this American Spectator article: Caroling with the Supremes. 

For more Rehnquist news, check out the NYT obituary.

Rest in Peace, Chief Justice Rehnquist.

Ha

"This experience was about as enjoyable as my trip to the gynecologist who CLAMPED ME AND WALKED AWAY. "

Lola, you're more entertaining than cold-calling using the porn voice and the springbok combined.

Nothing new on the CW front - interview today, details to follow.

...

I just got shut down on the phone by this woman at a placement agency who told me that I'm not qualified to be a paralegal.

It's now officially zero hour all up in this bitch.

Update

I have DSL access: hooray!

I'm still unemployed - one would think that working at a Fortune 500 company with one of the best training programs and a great reputation would do a little more to get my foot in the door to be a secretary. Oh well...

The Engineer and I have secured our cable, a washer and dryer and some awfully nice trees (thanks to the Engineer's parents on the washer/dryer and the trees) for our new place - it finally feels like home. We didn't end up getting Tess - someone had adopted her by the time we got back to Collegetown (**sniff**).

Also: Lola's  been working Mr. E over again. It was much funnier when she broke his wang, but I did get a good chuckle out of this one.

TTFN,

Corporate Weasel

And the prize for the strangest Google search leading to the Corporate Weasel is....

... whoever found me by Googling "Mongolian cunts."

For perhaps the first time in months, I'm completely speechless.