Look Ma, No Cavities

Good people,

News from the dental world is that it's all good under the hood. Not one cavity. Not only that, because I didn't need to have anything done other than a cleaning and a check up I didn't have to drop any scrilla on a copay.

So Operation Check Up has been a rousing success: nothing but high marks from, the doc, the dentist and the dermi. (If you're wondering about my vision I had laser a couple years back and can see everything, like through walls and shit.)

Status Update

D Money is In a Relationship with the cyprus in the park.

Fan Mail!

Good people,

I have gotten comments from the famous Anonymous! You may know Anonymous from such writings as Primary Colors (1996), Imperial Hubris (2004), and The Epic of Gilgamesh (2150-2000 BC), or E. Giggy as we used to call it back around the way. It goes without saying that to have a published author of such standing read my blog is truly a privilege.

But I cannot lie to you dear readers. Anon and I do not see eye-to-eye on some things. Below is a comment that Anon left in the comments section of "My Doorman Got Laid Off Too":

Hello, I stumbled upon your blog, and it seems to me as if it is the perfect outlet for you to blow off steam. I mean seriously, who would put a booger on the mail? Unfortunately, You remind of the mail clerk in the New York Lottery commercial where he walks around the office and talks about all the rich white people who get the "big bucks" but he's holding out to play for "jumbo bucks." Don't worry, I understand the irony you tried to impart on the blog: 90's wannabe tree hugging (only tree huggers post whiny blogs like this rather than actually find a job that enlightens their soul that also pays the big-- excuse me JUMBO bucks) hipster works for "the man" who makes six to seven figures. What I don't understand is how someone who seems intelligent enough write an eloquent blog cannot convey to the HCIT that mail cannot be overnighted to London. Grow a pair. I hope you enjoy your time off, and beware of splinters while making love to the cyprus in the park where you sip mint medley tea and read books by Dostoyevsky


Ouch! Well, at least Anon thought I was "intelligent enough." I responded with the following, (I've corrected two typos and added one joke, see forest fires):

Well, "Anonymous #1" I hope that you did not "stumble across" my blog on company time, that would be just plain wrong, a form of corporate thievery if you will. I will not condone such behavior.

As for this lottery commercial I cannot comment on it as I have not seen it but I will say this: the lottery seems a concentration of both the success and failure of capitalism. It is clearly a triumph in the ideological realm as just about everyone in the US accepts it as "logical" or "just" or "necessary." Even those who don't accept it putter along accepting its supposed inevitability. Yet it is also a failure. It is the the case that literally millions of people every week see their only hope of escape from the grind of capitalism's daily functions and relatively low pay (which is not six or seven figures for approximately 9/10 of the population) is by throwing their money away on the insanely small chance of "hitting it big."

As for the term "90's wannabe tree hugging" which I can only assume applies to me I find this phrase confusing. Were the '90s the pinnacle of tree hugging, was that our golden era? Shit, I missed out!

[Note to self: cancel treehugging session for later today. It's been done.]

Or wait, am I hipster? In this day and age calling someone a hipster is not unlike calling a woman a witch in Salem. To deny it is proof of guilt. I will avoid a critique of hipster culture as I'm sure you'll only take it as "self-deprecating irony." Wait did that just make me a hipster? Shit.

Perhaps I am a treehugging hipster that enjoys reading Dostoyevsky?

Me thinks someone's been reading Stuff White People Like: A Definitive Guide to the Unique Taste of Millions...which--oh snap!--makes you a hipster since it's full of "self-deprecating irony" and that jerkoff pocketed a $300,000 advance, that is the ultimate in hipster elitism right there my friend.

Maybe I'm being too hard on you. I didn't mean to imply that you read books as I know that might cause some embarrassment in your circle of rightwing blowhards. Perhaps your reference to my treehugging hipster persona was simply a throwback to when good Americans, proudly philistine, would throw together nonsensical slanders like "pinko hippie." (Seriously, either one's trying to take over the world through communist domination or one wants to hang out naked upstate smoking pot all day--which is it? They have very little in common).

Later on it seems to be implied that I want to be more than "just friends" with the trees as you caution me to "beware of splinters while making love to the cyprus in the park." Thank you for the tip. "Only you can prevent forest fires" takes on a whole new meaning here.

First, I must confess that although Anonymous #1 has painted a scary accurate picture of me (much better than I myself could have) as a treefucker I do not know what a "cyprus" is. I know Cyprus is an island in the Mediterranean. (Do you want to add "backpacker" to my description now?) Is it also a type of foliage? A tree, a bush? Or is "cyprus in the park" the full name like "weeping willow?" Please enlighten.

Second, it never takes very long before rightwing goons find a way to link whatever their attack is to the tired, tired metaphor of fucking. Buddy, that says a lot more about you than me.

Lastly, I will simply state that I have many times told people many things that that they have unconsciously and consciously ignored simply because they did not want to do it and assumed that there will always be someone below them to pick up the mess. (Reread the blog, compadre.) Perhaps the best metaphor for this is that there are sections of the US that have "solved" there garbage problem by exporting their "excess trash" to impoverished nations for a small fee. Think about that.

P.S. I, D Money, am using my time off to write many things. Maybe you'll see D Money's name in print one day. Until then look out for more blog postings in the future.

These Hard Economic Times

Good people,

I must confess something to you. In these penny-pinching times I got naked for a man the other day. But fear not, he was a dermatologist. It's all good on the surface level so a new tattoo is in the pipeline.

Next up, the dentist.

My Doorman Got Laid Off Too...

Nah, I never had a doorman.

Which is why it was fucking annoying when the Happy Cappy Investment Team sent my stuff to my apartment without a head's up via email or phone call. It's not like the unemployment plague can be contracted though the phone or computer or anything so what gives?

Yesterday, as I was about to walk out the door the bell rang. It was a messenger with boxes. Had he come two minutes later he and I would've been fucked. Me without my stuff, him with my stuff. That would've been all crazy reversed.

And why not use FedEx instead of messengering, it's cheaper. (Hey just 'cause you axe half a company doesn't mean you have to stop wasting money.) Did I mention that I called up FedEx myself and scheduled the pick up for Tuesday which would've arrived at my apartment on Wednesday? Well, I did.

Now to look through and see what's missing.

I can guarantee I WILL get phone calls for the following though: Asking me for info that only I--or others laid off--possess. You'll be glad to know it's already happened.

Can I bill them as an "independent consultant" each time they call me? I wonder.

Health Update

Fit as a motherfuckin' fiddle.

This is good news since as my internals are gonna need to start fending for themselves sans drugs and medicine for the next while.

Operation Check Up

Good people,

The clock is ticking. My health insurance runs out at the end of the month. So I'm going to just shower myself with doctorly attention. I have a general doctor visit today. I couldn't get a dermatology appointment until the 22nd. Next up optometry and dentistry.

I think I'll pass on the proctologist.

What's Next?

Good people,

I'm out on my ass.

But fear not. There will be blog updates. I'm sure there will be some more things to tell in the days to come. I'll also toss up some stories that happened before the blog and tales that I never got around to blasting out there.

Starting Monday I'm going to start my mini-sabbatical and do all those things that I said I would do if I "had the time."

As for now, I have to go get something notorized and sent back to my job. The Happy Cappy Investment Team hasn't bought my silence but they will be renting it for a few months.

Stay tuned.

The Coming Battle

Good people,

Things are tense up in this hedge. Last month it was announced that there would be downsizing at the Happy Cappy Investment Team.

Aside from a slight gloom in the air though, things have been pretty much the same since then. People have been making bizarre requests, the Stone Cold Killer freaks out when fruit supplies run low (you'd think we were running a type 1 diabetes center the way he flips out), and people have been stealing my supplies. However, I must add one important detail about the contraband: they are boxcutters and scissors. That's right these are the items that have been disappearing at the fastest rate of anything in the mailroom. I'm ordering scissors and boxcutters every week now.

Where are they going? Who is preparing for the inter-0ffice war? Is it the layoffers or the layoffees that is arming itself? (I can dream can't I?)

All I know is that the air was thicker than ever today. When I said hi to my boss I couldn't get one word out of her. When I took a breather at the front desk for a second I was told I am no longer allowed to sit up there (a week ago they switched it up so I don't ever cover the front desk anymore--fine with me--instead the EAs do.) When I pointed out that a lightbulb (a weird, specialty one) burned out at the coffee bar I asked for the corporate credit card. Apparently, it wasn't such a big deal so I should do it later. Yeah, right.

Stone Cold Killer has an aneurysm when there's ONLY one container of hand soap in the men's bathroom (not to mention the hand soap in the wall-mounted pump). Like I said, people are weird, and it's obvious as fuck what's going on. Oh, and HR's been on lockdown all day printing up a forest worth of trees.

**We interrupt this blog because I just "the call." I'm supposed to go to a different floor with no explanation. If this were a mobster movie I'd get the fuck outta dodge, right now.

Stay tuned.

I Love the Smell of Layoffs in the Morning

Good people,

Gather round. A big secret meeting happened this weekend. I think no one's supposed to know but, of course, they can't do anything at the Happy Cappy Investment Team without people like me organizing it so there you have it. The most amusing part is that it could have actually been secret but they just had to have their guillotine session catered.

First topic on the agenda? I'm going to go with layoffs.

It's the final countdown.

Water Water Everywhere but You're a Fucking Idiot

Good people,

Forget the economic crisis. Forget the environmental crisis. Forget the crisis in Gaza. It's time to focus on the office water crisis at the Happy Cappy Investment Team.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "D Money, I read your blog which means I know how to read and clearly possess above average intelligence. There are real water crises in the world."

True, my compadre. There is the lack of clean, usable water for much of the Third World, many of whom have easier access to Coke than drinking water. (How fucked up is that?) Of course there is the polluting and dumping (some of which is the plastic of bottled water I might add) which is taking a major toll on the earth and its rivers (over half of which are dangerously polluted). And then there's the looming possibility of "water wars" which will probably lead to Americans buying Waterworld on DVD and feeling like they've done their part to help.

No, I'm talking about something far more dramatic: the hot water is not hot enough at the HCIT. Or at least this is what was conveyed to me by the Stone Cold Killer.

So SCK is in a tizzy about the hot water situation and instructs me to order these electric tea kettles like we have in another office. So of course I didn't do anything about it. Why? I figured there was probably nothing wrong with it.

So he asks me again in that really annoying way which lets you know that it's not actually a request. He hasn't gotten any less annoying but I do it anyway.

I go to test the water and almost melt my hand off Raiders of the Lost Ark style. I'm a little more cautious with the second cooler.

D Money: Guess What?
You: What?
D Money: There wasn't anything wrong with the water coolers.

Motherfucker can't seem to figure out how to get hot water out of the cooler. Maybe the name cooler is what is throwing him. Perhaps he tried to get water out of the heater and was unsuccessful in that endeavor.

You see, there's a trick. Listen up close. You have to push in the tab BEFORE you push it down. It's what prevents people from accidentally scalding themselves. Is the SCK trying to kill me, to add another ear to his Vietnam necklace?

(Sidenote: One of the things those great patriotic soldiers did in Vietnam was to cut off the ears of the Vietnamese--dead or alive--and then wear them on their dog tags as souvenirs. How sick is that?)

I mean I never got the privilege of being made into a mindless robot babykiller like our beloved SCK but don't they teach things in the Army like how to sleep in trees and live off baboon dung and shit like that? Now SCK's main concern is that his Apple Delight Sleepytime Tea is not hot enough.

(Sidenote: *Sniffle*)

So I inform him there's nothing wrong with the coolers. A couple of days later my boss asks if I've ordered the kettles. Uh, no because there's nothing wrong with the coolers I think.

I then told her I would order them right then. It seems SCK is all eager to tell my boss what I need to do, haven't yet done, etc. The fact that I don't have to do something doesn't seem to get communicated to her through the SCK with quite the same enthusiasm or speed.

I'm done with this shit. I'm just ordering whatever-the-fuck they ask, no questions.

You'll be glad to know that the kettles are now up and running...right next to the watercoolers.

Oh severance package save me now.