…and then Max tried to Remove my Right Boob

Okay, so officially moving on from the last post.  It’s over; I’ve dealt with it, made the necessary changes to my relationships and we’re moving on now.  We shall now refer to it as “The Post/Situation that Shall Not Ever Be Brought Up Again Because I’m done Now”.

 

So…did I tell you that the hurricane destroyed my office and then Max tried to rip my right boob off?  See?  So much funnier than psychotic family members.  Okay, so NOW I’m officially done.

 

I got into the office early on Monday because I knew from talking to my boss that the building had sustained some damage from the stupid goddamn hurricane and I figured that I was going to have to do a little bit of clean up and reorganizing before I could get started on doing things like actually working.  What I did not know what that it looked like a hurricane went through my office, and then a tornado when through, followed by a frat party and then some kind of voodoo ritual was preformed judging by the amount of feathers I found on the floor (yes feathers, and no, I have no idea where they came from).

 

All of my lovely windows were gone!!!  My pretty view in my gorgeous corner office (which I totally don’t deserve, but it was the only vacant office and I refuse to work in cubicle hell) was now covered by very ugly plywood.  There were papers, staplers (one of which was not there before), dirt and crap everywhere.  And holy hell, don’t even get me started on the smell.  I seriously hope that none of you ever smell something so horrible, unless of course, you’re a medical examiner or sewer repair man or something and that kind of stench is normal for you and merely means that you’re still employed.

 

The building maintenance team put several machines that bared strong resemblance to R2-D2 and sounded like a jet engine in my office to apparently trick me into thinking that they were going to fix the damage soon, while I went and ordered new office supplies for my temporary office/closet located at the waaaaay opposite end of our floor from anything I need to be remotely close to.

 

I finally get set up and was just logging into my email and trying to look very busy and important when some very odd man wearing the most incredibly stained shorts and these shoes that made it look like he had glued duck’s feet over his actual feet came into my office and mumbled something about needing to check the ceiling for damage. 

 

Do I even need to tell you that there will be still more repair men in my future as they fix some kind of problem in the closet where I am currently located?  At this rate I’m going to be working in the lobby by tomorrow.

 

More hurricane related bizarreness occurred throughout the day and by the time 4:30 rolled around I was more than ready to head home and flop down on the couch for some quality time with Max the Wonder Puppy and some Pinot Noir.  That is when the “incident” occurred.

 

Max and I were playing our new favorite game which we like to call “Kill the Dirty, Rotten Kitty**”.  Trust me, it would take me way to long to explain the intricate rules involved in this game, so you’re just going to have to trust me when I say that the rules are many and complex.  We now have a new rule to the game:

NO JUMPING UP ON ME, AND SLASHING MY RIGHT BOOB WITH YOUR FREAKING DOG TALLONS, MAX!

 

There was much screaming (on both our parts) a slight amount of blood, a liberal amount of Neosporin and the end result is my new found fear of putting on a bra.  Oh…and lots of Nick laughing at the entire situation because he is totally evil.

 

 

***Shut the hell up PETA; we are not killing an actual kitty, but rather this demented dog toy I got at PetSmart.