As I sit here at work on this casual Friday, I can't help but compare what we choose to wear on our casual day with what we choose to wear for the rest of the month. Like most companies, ours has policies dictating what is appropriate and what is not. I've noticed that the casual day guidelines don’t vary too much from our normal business casual guidelines.

At first I chalked this up to the desire to maintain a professional image while still allowing a little freedom (and also a laundry day for those of us who don't quite have the system down yet.) I suppose the clothing we wear presents a message to society. "Look at me, I'm a professional on my way to an office job." Or "I'm a spontaneous, carefree artistic type." We choose what we like to wear, but what we "like" to wear always seems to fall into one category. You can tell instantly by looking at someone (be it casual day or otherwise) whether they're bohemian, preppy, trendy, etc.

With all the ranges of personal choice we have in all our categories of fashion, I wonder why we stick to ONE. Furthermore, I wonder exactly WHY we decided that certain things were professional and certain were inappropriate. For example, why isn't it considered professional for us to wear togas in hot weather? Back in Rome, the toga was THE must-have piece for summer. Flowey, in a range of fabrics and colors, it could denote class while still allowing freedom of movement and ease of usage. While women still have this option and can wear long flowing dresses, men are pretty much socially restricted from this. Isn't that silly? Why are those of us who are restricted to desk jobs still wearing pants?

Maybe if one of you men out there breaks the mold and wears a long skirt to casual day it'll catch on in corporate America. Maybe one day we'll see executives with briefcases wearing sandals and silk drapery on their way to Starbucks.

Let's bring back to the toga!

Labels: idiocy

As many of you know, I have been fighting with social security. I've been trying to get them to stop sending me money for months, or to at least put me on a program that gives me a definite cut-off date. There are a few reasons for this, namely a. I work 70 hours a week and earn far more than what their cut off requirement is b. I have to pay taxes on the benefits they send me because of how much I earn and c. I am not disabled, nor do I need their money. You know who needs their money? My friend Cat, who is the youngest recorded patient on the books with aplastic anemia. Her doctor won't allow her to work, they don't know what her treatments will be, and she's almost at the point where her parents can't cover her insurance anymore. Or what about the elderly who have used their savings to pay for their medical bills and are now being foreclosed on? Those people need this money. Or the family whose kids have been born with congenital dwarfism and aren't able to have health insurance, or the Amish family whose four year old son has leukemia and is getting chemotherapy every single day. Not ME, whose net household income is, let's face it, very middle class right now, at least for Cleveland.

GRRR!

I've filled out their fucking paperwork twice, the one that says I'm going back to work, etc., etc., how much I make and so on and so forth. Furthermore they know how much I make because I am paying social security taxes, and if they aren't keeping track of that, well, screw them.

Today I opened a letter I received in the mail:

Dear Stephanie,
We checked our records to see if any changes in your benefits are necessary.

(I squealed hopefully at this point, then continued reading.)

We are increasing your benefit amount to give you credit for your earnings in '006 which were not included when we figured your benefit before.

WHAT???????

Yes. On May 3rd, I'm going to get $800, and then I will receive $654 every month after that. Keep in mind this is mere weeks after an article that came out in the newspaper saying only "scofflaws" benefited from social security. Here I am, writing them letters, calling, trying to explain the situation, and those sons of bitches are sending me more money.

So I'm pissed. I picked up the phone to call their 1-800 number, since I can't technically sit on the phone with them for four hours while I'm at work, and of course their office was closed because it's Sunday. So tomorrow I will take a "break" and "help" an attorney in their closed-door office, while I will really be on the phone trying to explain that my working 70 hours a week can't possibly mean that I am not doing "significant work," which is how the letter put it.

Meanwhile, I will put their money in my savings account and earn interest on it. Or maybe I'll use it to buy a billboard and express my thoughts. Or maybe I'll use it for bail for when I go and spray paint "fraud" across the front of their office. What's bail for vandalism, like $500?? I could float that. I mean, not that I'd ever do anything like that because that would be wrong.

STOP GIVING ME MONEY.

Labels: idiocy, rage, social security

Today I turn 25 19. I'm not overly thrilled about it. Sure, I'm a quarter of a century old 19 year old on the outside, but on the inside what that really means is I'm going from an 80 year old woman to an 81 year old woman, and that really sucks.

What does one do when she is 25 19 on the outside (Lovell would say 13 on the outside but he's a drinker) and 81 on the inside?

One knits, drinks tea, watches Britcoms, reads Terry Pratchett and Jasper Fford, complains about the weather and young people today, has too many pets, eats oatmeal, wakes up at the crack of dawn and carries a bag of 100 prescriptions, all to do with symptoms that are only vaguely related to other things. Also, I spend a fair amount of time fighting with the Social Security people, who REFUSE to stop paying me even though I am technically working more than full time and have been doing so since last June.

Yes, I am elderly. On a good note, Harrison "the Stallion" Ambs' birthday was yesterday, and I hear when Stallions get to a certain age they "put them out to pasture." At least I'm not the only crippled horse stumbling around this two-bit town.

To commemorate, here is a bit of a conversation Harrison and I had via text message yesterday while we were both "working":

First, I sent Harrison a rather inappropriate picture message at 7:30 in the morning to say "Happy Birthday."
Harry: "That's the last time I open your messages on the bus."
Me: "Aw, you're no fun."
Harry: "Oh I'm eight inches of fun. I'm just saying I should have known better."
Harry: "What? No pithy comeback?"
Me: "Eight inches eh? Sorry, I prefer my men metric."
Harry: "Metric eh? Do you want it in furlongs as well?"
Me: "Oh baby, I want in leagues. Give it to me like an 1800s Canadian!"

So we see that as far as dirty mentally elderly people go, Harrison and I are up there, and that makes me feel better.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go fetch my cane, linament and plastic hat before I go to work.

Labels: idiocy

I've been spending the morning yelling at the animals, making pancakes, doing eight hundred loads of laundry (how do we make so much laundry? I'm gone all day and someone else doesn't ever put on pants unless he's attending a State Dinner or something.), doing dishes, and installing stuff on the laptop.

I haven't "installed" anything for a long time since the old computer could barely handle turning on, so it took me a good twenty minutes to figure out how to download Windows Messenger. Stop laughing.

I was immediately perplexed by the mystery that is the Contact List. There was a buddy icon that said "me" and it appeared to be Away. I don't know how this happened, since I was pretty sure my status at the top said "online." I decided to troubleshoot. I clicked randomly around, trying to figure out why I was appearing in multiple places and why "Me" showed an entirely different email address before finally realizing that "Me" was a display name and not, in fact, myself.

Thank you, Chud. I spent the morning thinking I was a freakishly tall guy with a penchant for sharpie-ing people in their sleep. Glad I got that straightened out.

Is there a remedial course for people who haven't done anything technological since 2003? Surely MSN Messenger can't be all that difficult.

Labels: idiocy, technology