I love my job. Alot. I really do, but there is something radically wrong when people in much higher positions than me, and not necessarily that I directly work for or with, can't supply me with the needed information that they have been aware that is needed until the very last minute. It is 11:00pm and I am still sadly waiting for some documents for an out of office travel to three day meeting. Its really annoying. I wasn't planning on even looking at the office tommorrow morning, but since our company (and rightfully so, I "get it" and know why) are freakishly secure about email access, meaning, I can't check my work email, no matter how secure my log on is from home. I am firewalled big time up in dis hizzouse (I am tired, give me a break). I sent my personal "home" email address to everyone (and one person did in fact send me her information, but I am waiting for one more) I need to update and rework two powerpoint presentatons so I can freakin' go back into the office tommorrow and reprint and restuff my participant information packets.

I don't mean to kvetch and I know everyone has a life, and maybe this is shell shock from last year working for that guy that had me so tightly wound, but dang... really... I have to go into the office tommorrow? I wanted to sleep in a half an hour and lounge around the house until I had to take Herschel to my parents office and be without the pupster for a couple days.

Its snowing/raining/sleeting weathering and I would have loved to have taken an extra half hour in the morning to chill around the house before having to head up to the hotel and start working for 10 hours. Maybe I will sleep in anyway. There I go... rebelling.... punk rock.

I do get overtime and an evening differential, in addition to the really great dinner I picked the menu for, but still...

Well its 11:00 pm and I don't think I am going to get my documents at my home email, so dangit, I totally have to go into the office tommorrow morning. I am also not getting paid to sit here and monitor my email, so forget it... tommorrow morning to the office I go. Boo. But I love my job, so it is just me kvetching. I don't have to get up at 3:00 a.m. and email anyone airline departing times and gates like I used to have to, I don't have to do anything compeletely ridiculous and out of line so really, its all good. And seriously, this is all I have to kvetch about, that I have to go into the office sometime before noon to make some copies of a presentation and put into project folders. Not to shabby. And really I do know that. And I get to go to an amazing resort for three days, sure its work, and the weather is kinda craptastic, but maybe it will clear up, maybe I will have some time in the afternoons to walk around hopefully and we did plan some amazing meals, so I won't starve...so I am appreciative. And I seriously love the lady that I am waiting on her information so its all forgiven. She is a great woman and really complimented the bejebus out of me the other day when she asked me to put a bid on her soon to be vacant assistant position. No thank you, I like my job way way too much to jump ship ever I think. But highest compliment on the planet I have to say.

PoPo called from Mexico and needs me to tape a show for her (it rhymes with Schmahmerican Schmidol). Seriously. Of course. I mean after all the girl totally gets that I totally understand how important it is to not miss a show and forgetting to dvr it is truely a shanda. So I have her covered. She offered to bring me back pure vanilla. That is a true friend right there. She knows not to even offer me booze. I mean really I make my own Kaluha or buy Starbucks if I want to skip the hassle. I had an ex that brought back a bottle of Bacardi Gold from Mexico once, thinking that it was some amazing prize... dude Bacardi isn't even Mexican rum, its Puerto Rican, so big whup. Don't get me wrong, me and my roommates drank his entire bottle of booze, but still... not that amazing of a prize considering he probably bought it at the liquor store literally in out backyard (man he was a putz).