The Queen of RTFM

Comment from Coworker

I'm one of the goddesses of process in my domain. I work with a lot of data, and it's important to keep it straight. Because I HATE it when my director comes to me and says "Why is this data all crooked??"

My main job involves a system with an incredibly crappy user interface. Crappy user interfaces aren't just a pain to work with. They lead to enormous amounts of user error. When something isn't intuitive, you do it wrong. So, since I want clean data, I document stuff. So, no, it isn't your fault. Windows really DOES suck rotten eggs.

I don't just point people to documents that some "professional" put together. I painstakingly put together VERY targeted documents WITH pictures AND cheat sheets that say "This custom data field refers to x and y, but not z. Please don't enter a value for z here. It goes in the next custom data field." Really, I try to make it as easy as possible on folks to work with a system they LOATHE.

Honestly? I get tired of those who say "I don't know how to do that." Well, I've showed you AND I've pointed you to help files AND I've been nice while I've done it for the last 18 months. Ok, so I haven't been nice, but still. No I'm NOT going to send you a hard copy, because you're going to print it and keep it on your desk for 3 years and get all annoyed when you're doing it wrong because I've updated the process 3 times due to changing business requirements.

Well, the coworker in question got me in an educating mood. He couldn't find something in the system, so I gave him a sarcastic comment about teaching him how to use a wildcard search. That's when he called Paul and me "The King and Queen of RTFM". Apparently, Paul had been doing the same thing to him that day. I like to think my coworker meant that with affection. But I like it either way.

Have you gained weight??

Coworker's suggestion for abuse stopping question

I? Was attacked today. It has been over 4 years since I've been verbally attacked in the workplace and over 10 years since it happened in person. It was stupid. I made a mistake and the attacker over-reacted with a vengeance. Nothing like topping off 5 days of irregular heartbeat with a new orifice, eh? As always, the boss has my back. With an equal and opposite vengeance.

I confided in my co-worker-who-shall-remain-nameless about this incident. Coworker has had her/his own problems with the attacker in question. Coworker is a refreshingly deadpan and often serious soul. Coworker looked at me and said quite seriously "The only appropriate response to that is 'Bite me.'" Coworker said if that doesn't work, to drop the above question. Honestly? I can't remember the last time I laughed that hard (sorry, Chris). And coworker is much cherished due this well-timed laugh.

Coworker also told me not to share the knowledge of this very powerful question. However, I figure the 2.6 readers of my blog will keep the secret.

What is this "dignity" you speak of and how does it apply to me?

Yesterday, I had a Vicodin hangover. I very seldom take any type of pain medication. It exacerbates my migraine disorder. So what, you may ask, made me break this cardinal rule?

You may or may not know that I have a very rocky relationship with gravity. I throw myself to the ground. Not intentionally, mind you, but it happens none the less. A few months ago, I missed the last couple of steps going down to the stream in our back yard. Ok, it may have been 3 or 4, but I SWEAR the ivy reached out and grabbed my ankle. Anyway, it wasn't pretty. I am a very practiced faller. I tuck and roll and typically minimize damage.

Friday, I tripped over a embarrassingly low curb in front of PCC. While I thought I was doing ok, by the time I drove the 2 blocks home, I could barely peel myself out of the car. As soon as I convinced my mom that the ER was an unnecessary step (by doing a couple of sad but effective jumping jacks), I was calling for Aleve and Vicodin. On which I stayed for the better part of 4 days.

Anyway, I explained all this to Chris yesterday. He asked "Nothing broken besides your dignity?" I pointed out that I have no dignity and thus nothing was broken. He then suggested a Rascal for trips out of the house. He's OBVIOUSLY nuts. If I can hurt myself this badly fighting nothing but gravity, can you imagine me trying to pry myself out from underneath one of those behemoths?

"The scooter is supposed to prevent your impromptu slapstick routine." Seriously? He rides in the car with me all the time. At best I'm an average driver. "Point taken. If you can't stay upright on those size 10 gunboats of yours, three little rubber tires probably won't fare any better."

For the record? They are size 11 1/2 gunboats. If I were LUCKY enough to have size 10? I'd be able to increase my shoe wardrobe at least 100% with no problem. Which would obviously make the minor reduction in stability entirely worth it.

Idiots are fun. No wonder every village wants one...

Miss Lyndi's Facebook status

Miss Lyndi is the best. Once upon a time when we were at Wizards of the Coast, she made me a tape called "Boys are Icky". And she should know. She also gifted me with the loveliest little ballerina bear. And gothed her up for me upon request. I still have both.

And sometimes? She has SUPER awesome statuses. And she lets me use them. Facebook? Way too much fun. It's really a shame that now that the internet is over I'm gonna have to find something better to do.

Hey Ya'll! Watch this!!!

My boss just pointed out to me that the busiest time in trauma centers is around 4th of July. Not surprising. As anyone who grew up in the south can attest, fireworks are not only rampant, they're used in a most, well, idiotic manner. I'm sure it's not limited to the south, but that's where you most expect to hear this phrase.

My boss and have agreed that all beer and fireworks related issues should be treated under my variant of Darwin's rule which goes "Hey you! OUT OF THE GENE POOL!" It seems like we could spend the money it takes to save these morons on something more important like Viagra prescriptions for the homeless.

How do I know "they" are morons? Well, first, they were me and my friends.

10th grade. Church camp. High entertainment? Shooting bottle rockets into the lake.

Same year, Halloween. 3 guys and a girl riding around in BDUs (we were in a military town). Mission? Shooting bottle rockets from the car, taking the smallest among us trick-or-treating in the rich part of town, and shooting at Pepsi machines with a BB Pistol. My role as Munitions Specialist was rescinded after I landed a bottle rocket on top of someone's house.

Late spring canoe trip down some river or another. All of us making our way lazily down the river, aside from the frequent cross canoe splashing, rock throwing and such. While we were stopped for lunch, a few of the guys came out and told us in a very giddy tone that we should be moving down the river. As Ricky R. was carrying a glass peanut butter jar along with a maniacal face into the woods. Yep, nothing like black powder and a sealed glass vessel. RUN!!!

Summer of that same year. The sociopath I was dating tossed an M-80 at me. Supposedly, it wasn't supposed to get stuck in my waist-length hair and go off as it passed my leg on the way to the ground. Supposedly, it wasn't supposed to tear the hell out of my leg. His response? "You weren't supposed to run." And I dated THAT gem off and on for the next two years.

Much younger days. Out at the beach with mom, step-psycho and friends. BIG rockets. Into the sea oats up on the dunes. Fire ensues. I don't remember how the hell that one got put out. Probably involved a humorous group of jackasses running back and forth from the water to the fire with the shrimp pot and beer bottles.

Ah...good times.

Anyway, the point is that any injury proceeded by this comment is probably well deserved and if it results in something life-threatening it should fall under the "he needed killing" category. Not that I don't revere my distinguished white trash origins. I'm just saying.

Please make that look more like a Muppet vomited SteamPunk

Job Description for new Super Secret Startup

The job description states that you should find this adequate art direction and that you think the word "Please" is superfluous. I like this. If I possessed any of the qualifications, I would consider applying for it.

I also like the description for the Developer. For some reason, the line "You should know how to interact with a database in a healthy, grown-up, passive-aggressive way." It reminds me of my friend and colleague Paul. Although, I think he probably interacts in a purely aggressive way.

Of course, I'm the girl who was lucky enough to start at Wizards of the Coast on Halloween 1995. One of my teammates (a non-observant Jew) was dressed up as an Arab Terrorist. The Admin for the CEO was dressed up as Death. The admin walked up to me in the hall and blocked my way in a most threatening manner. At which point my teammate came up with his fake machine gun and saved this not-yet-Jew from Death. Really? That was one of my normal interactions there.

Serial Monotonist

Overheard at Ron & Robert's Chuppah

My friends Ron & Robert just had their Jewish wedding. They've been together for close to 20 years and this is the third time they married each other. They had a commitment ceremony in 1991, long before anyone thought same-sex marriage would ever happen. They got married in Canada just after it was legalized there. And they were finally ready to cement their lives together in front of their friends and family in our tradition.

One of the traditions of Jewish weddings is that the guests are there to entertain the couple. Period. The first thing that typically happens before signing the wedding contract is called a Tish, which literally means "table". The groom is SUPPOSED to deliver a lesson in Torah, typically based on that week's Torah portion. However, it's seldom more than a sentence or two.

In order to distract the groom from his nervousness, he is interrupted with jokes, songs, dance, and heckling. Robert's tish was probably the best I've ever been to. And it didn't have ANYTHING to do with the fact that I was in the back with the best group of hecklers.

At one point, I asked if marrying the same guy three times made him a serial monogamist. Someone else pointed out that marrying three DIFFERENT people made you a serial monogamist. Marrying the same person 3 times makes you a serial monotonist. Shortly after, for reasons I can't remember, this curly redhead broke out in Annie's Tomorrow. A good time was had by all.