I work at a ski resort. In accounting. It is minus 20 degrees with the wind chill. This morning my office has no freaking heat. I am Bob Cratchit. I sit here in my coat and scarf with a fleece vest over my legs. I need fingerless gloves - seriously. I get a discount on gear, but I really think if they want me to count the bleedin' beans today they should give me fingerless gloves.
Three Hours later.....
The boiler still isn't fixed. I have decided to get in touch with my inner Eastern European ancestry and have wrapped my woolen scarf around my head and neck. I look like a Babushka. People laugh at me when they pass. Tried plugging in the space heater, but it blew the fuse to the office and made it dark as well as cold. My boss told me that I can leave if I can't stand it any longer. She lent me her gloves ( cause she apparently doesn't have the circulation of a corpse like I do ), hard to type with full gloves. I hope the goddamn pipes freeze and they have to shut our building down.
Friday, January 4, 2008
I would tell her to buy a place in her home state - (is it Louisiana?).Try like Hell to stay away from everyone who is a terrible influence ~ and I think that is most of her family as well~ and simply attempt to raise her boys. Why do I even bother reading about it? Because on a mom level, I too would resist giving up my child(ren) when I wanted more time with them? Assuming that was the reason for this latest debacle. Perhaps Ms. B. might do well to see the tragic pictures of babies and children stacked like cordwood in a morgue in Kenya. It might help her put it all into perspective in order for her to get it together so she can hug her babies anytime she wants. As the old saying goes, she made her bed, now she has to lay in it.