What do cows do for fun?

Go to the moo-vies.

Witty, isn't it? Okay, not at all, but it was printed on my popsicle stick, so I thought it was blogworthy. Come summer, I looove popsicles, or poscos as a kid I babysat (when I myself was a kid) used to say. I like most kinds, but some of my favorites are the requisite single pop Popsicle brand ones. I'm eating a cherry one now, the question is "what did the cook name his son?" I'll tell you the answer soon.

I'm ready to murder and/or give away Winston. When I forget to lock the garbage away when I leave, I come home to find it strewn all over the house. Today I left a pan of brownies on the counter , wrapped in foil, only to find he had eaten all of them while I worked and torn the foil into small pieces. Fabulous. You always hear that chocolate will kill dogs. Evidently not this one. He has, however, hurled once on the kitchen floor and once right next to my feet, all since I've been home. That's just a perfect end to a perfect day, let me tell you. And the cat hurled under the coffee table, too, actually. This for a girl that cannot deal with animal barf. Sometimes I feel like getting in my car and driving away from everything. Tonight is one of those times. The answer is Stu. A cook names his son Stu. *sigh* Anyway, I feel like Vivi in the Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood when her kids are barfing everywhere (among other things) and she flips out and takes off. Where do I sign up for that?I wouldn't even mind the flipping out part so long as I could take off. Just to be out on the open road headed anywhere but here. Ahh well...

So the abbreviated version of my work dilemma is that my former best friend on the night shift needs a new whipping girl and I'm up. I am off her good list and onto her bad. She with the rest of my "friends" on nights (excepting Craig, of course)have decided to gang up on me, find fault in everything I do, ignore the work I do for them and talk shit about me to everyone but umm, me. Fascinating. And so my new mantra at work is "fuck 'em." I am a good tech, I handle my business and help them as well. My patients are well cared for and happy. If they have problems with how I behave and they don't even respect me enough to talk to me about it, fuck 'em. That said, I still need a paycheck, and the ringleader has taken out more than one employee over the years when they were on her really bad side. Sooooo, for a brief moment I kissed they wretched asses. I apologized (for nothing), and told them things would be different. And you know what? They are. Although I'm no different with my patients for the most part, I am all business with the staff (except Craig and little Jorge). I have nothing to say except what is necessary, and I am as Craig would say being a "nice bitch." Nothing that could ever be pinned down, but I am...aloof, shall we say? And you know what? It's fabulous. I think they're feeling guilty, Craig agrees, and it's only just beginning. It's fun, actually. I can concentrate more on everything else and ignore them in the meantime. Double the pleasure, double the fun. They wanted more professionalism, they got it. They didn't specify the motivation, though. *wink*