Thursday, April 26, 2007

I know they mean well, but...

So my boss has gotten a very specific idea in mind for a web graphic I’m making. Unfortunately, the idea itself is hackneyed, cliché, ugly and more than anything just fucking ugly. In addition to style issues, since the size I’m allotted (145 pixels wide) any text he wants to use is completely illegible.

But, I can’t seem to steer him in a different direction. Instead, clearly, it’s MY fault it’s not working. I’m just not cropping it right, or using the right font, or who knows what. And I’m about tired of it, and am on the verge of saying, “Look, it’s a terrible concept. Just fucking awful. Can we stop it now?” Probably won’t go over too well.

Minor irritations added to constant, grating nausea are a good way of getting Coley to bite your fucking head off. There will be some who might feel that I’m not allowed to complain about the ailments of being knocked up, because I actually MEANT to get knocked up. To them I say, “Just try to stop me!” I’m in no mood for kindly meant advice, or “Just hang in there!” motivational clichés. The only thing in the entire world I want right now is to go to bed for a month. I will lay in bed, read my book, sip my ginger ale, and snuggle my obnoxious-ass cats. Unfortunately, I have to go to work, and SMELL everyone’s nastiness (which includes gas, perfume, scented lotion, soap, cigarette smoke and AWFUL food smells). For those not in the know, my sense of smell and taste are so sensitive right now, someone down the hall was eating corn chips, and I had to run to the bathroom and dry heave for 5 minutes.

Something I’ve noticed, people who have had kids, will not offer bullshit encouragement. They will either sympathize, or even better, tell you, “Just wait til that kid starts kicking you in the kidneys”. As the ER nurse told me, “No one gets to have an opinion unless THEY have that alien living inside them.” I think that sums it up nicely.

Oh, and I had to quit the softball team on doctor's orders. I'm also not ready to tell people at work about Mocha Cub. So I made some vague reference to my doc telling me not to play. Of course, now everyone on the team is asking, "is everything alright?" Because clearly I'm dying. I don't think anyone has an inkling of the truth. But I bet the rumors are AWESOME.

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