Stay the fuck out of my office. If you're looking for something you think might be in here, the best way to handle that would be: (1) knock on the door before coming in. i'll say come in; i do every time you fucking knock (2) tell me what you're looking for and let me grab it; do NOT go pawing through my shit looking for something when i've asked what you're doing and you've told me and i've told you the item in question is. not. in. my. fucking. office. (3) when i tell you to get OUT of my office because you've failed at (1) and (2), don't slam the door and run off and sulk, you big fucking pussy.

i like seeing you back, margret, but all your posts make me sad.

Sorry, Nate. I'll try to keep it a little lighter from now on.

that's not what i meant. i just wish things were happier for you.

Back at you, Nate. I am completely confident that I will be happy soon. I just have to grit my teeth and get through this part, first.

margret, i totally understand where you're coming from. i do. but if i were on the receiving end of that exchange, i'd tell you to shove your whole office up your frigid, prickly twat. i think we all play out scenarios in our heads about how we'd like to respond to different situations vs. how we actually respond. most of my fantasies involve policemen and judges. these fantasy smackdowns usually assume that there's nothing left to lose. cornered animal attacking. thankfully, real life isn't like this at all. real life is merely irritating. it shouldn't be a paranoid's battleground where everything is somehow against you and you're forced to let 'em have it with both barrels. and i'm not trying to be all condescending and professorial about what you said, margret. on the contrary, i love that shit. it keeps me sane to see that others get as worked up in their heads as i do.

well, dave, if you told me to shove my office up my frigid, prickly twat then at the least we'd probably have a fight. i'm not into fighting, per se, but i do prefer it to seething resentment. maybe if we'd had this fight years ago, dave, you'd take my frequently expressed need for a space that's all mine more seriously and wouldn't feel so personally threatened when i retreat into the office and shut the door. because dave? sometimes it's not about how what i want makes you feel. dave: sometimes it gets to just be about what i want. thanks, dave, that was cathartic.

You should be very happy to have an office with a door you can shut. Try having a CUBE sometime, and then we'll tawk.

I don't even have a cube, I have a L, which means that not only does everyone invade my space, but they PILE SHIT in it. In my neatly organized ship shape workspace, there are PILES OF CRAP when I come in every morning. And they say "oh, don't move this, it's really important," and I say "then why the fuck is it in my space, man?"

no prob, mb. just curious, you are talking "work" office and not "home" office, right? i've never understood the mentality of those who say that something their company provides them is "theirs" now. my chair. my desk. my printer. if you can't take it with you when you leave the job, it never was yours. that doesn't mean a little common courtesy isn't called for.

no, my home office. so designated because it houses my grandfather's desk, my various computers and corpses thereof, my shoes.

well, then. that's totally different. i thought you were talking about work.

no, and work has protective barriers in place. my work office is a total mess; my coworkers would rather light themselves on fire than try to search the piles of paper in my work office for anything.

Well then, that's a completely different story. But, yeah, the cubes. Annoying. It's like I've got a sign up there that says, "PLEASE COME IN AND ASK ME A QUESTION! NEVERMIND THAT YOU CAN FIND THE ANSWER YOURSELF, BUT ARE TOO LAZY. PLEASE, INTERRUPT MY CONCENTRATION JUST ONE MORE TIME TODAY."

"my coworkers would rather light themselves on fire..." since i have been gulping canadian whiskey in between bites of tacos de pollo, i suddenly have the urge to sing "come on margret, light my fire!" which i have done. my uncle died today. they found him sprawled out on his kitchen floor. cause of death has yet to be determined. he was a piece of shit who caused misery. now he's a dead piece of shit who will cause a different kind of misery. although this won't affect me directly, i still have family to worry about. but margret lights my fire.

droopy, now is no time to wallow in the mire.

whaddya mean? i thought i sounded upbeat. and i haven't wallowed in anything since 1986.

Ar my office we are lined up at desks maybe 2 feet apart like a fricking telemarketing call center instead of a professional office space. So one of the "team leaders" sits right next to me, which is bad enough, but on top of that, people who need to talk to him tend to insert themselves into the 2 feet of space betweeen him and myself and carry on extended conversations instead of walking all of six goddamn steps to the other side of his desk and sitting in the chair at the table that was put there expressly for that purpose. When that happens not only can I not open my desk drawers or answer my phone, I cannot help but hear every inane bit of stupid bullshit they are discussing. At first I was tolerant - admirably so, I thought - then I politely started asking people if they would mind taking their conversations to the table that was put there for that purpose. Most people were appropriately apologetic and happy to obilge, except for this one cunt who told the "team leader" that she "couldn't remember" to use the table. This woman is short and so when she stood next to me pontificating, as she did on a regular basis, her ass was directly in my face. One day, I could stand it no longer. I stood up, walked around so that I was between the two of them and said, in my best Clint Eastwood impersonation, "Susan, I believe I am more familiar with your ass than anyone else in your life. Could you please move it to the table?" She was flustered and tittered off while the rest of the office roared. Unfortunately, public humiliation was not enough for her to get the message and she continued to put her ass in my face on a regular basis. Finally, Mr. Team Leader hatched a plan. Whenever she started talking to him, he would swivel around toward the table so that she was talking to the back of his head. She would then realize the error of her ways and walk the six goddamn steps to the table to finish her conversation. It took about a month to break her of the habit. God, I hate working with people.

Karla, you made me pee my pants a little. Offices are so fucked. Droopy, I'm sorry about your nasty uncle. May he rest in peace and wretchedness.

One of my favorite fantasies about when people invade my space is to install one of those things that you can drive over, but can't back up on, or it will puncture your tires. That way when people annoy me, as I'm kicking them out, I could be jabbing their feet, and see them squeel with surprise. I envision them squeaking and hopping and looking at me with looks of utter amazement as they are backing/hopping out of my space. Droop, sorry about your ill-tempered uncle. Maybe they'll botch his embalming. The laws of karma are interesting.

droop. light my fire. wallow in the mire. uhh. . . girl we couldn't get much higher. get it? or were you being coy? fuck. a garden spider eggsac apparently hatched very near me here in the garage. there are a dozen little baby spiders rappelling down on me and, speaking of phantom limbs, a bazillion of them are trying to eat me alive. dead uncle fucker nobody liked you, asshole that's the consensus.

I try to do my best when using my common cortesty when going into supervisor's office.

I'm just venting at the moment. Please ignore me! I thank you for your consideration.

SORRY! I RESPONDED TO YOU! CARRY ON, WATCHER! GET YOUR RANT OFF!