Bosses=Assclowns

Am stressed. Can't think. Too much to do. Blah.
OK, I think I can try and be a little coherent now. I'm currently at work trying to finish up every little last thing, since I won't be here again until next Thursday (woo!). Tomorrow we are having an office "retreat", and oh yes, pay attention to those quotes, my friends, because I would like the head honchos to understand that taking a meeting and plopping it down at a country club does not a retreat make. It's just now we have eight hours of meeting time instead of the regular two or three, and now we are hostage to you, you bastards, because I can't say, "Oh, I forgot something at my desk, be right back" and then go and smoke a cig. And yes, there will be lunch, and that's great, but I am not enticed. I am not excited. We used to have retreats (hee, I just typed "treats") at my old job in DC, and they were fabulous. I worked for an artsy non-profit, so to them, retreat meant, hey, let's load you onto a bus and take you out into the middle of Virginia where there are horses and volley ball and horse shoes, and oh yeah, a whole lotta beer. And food. And sometimes? Margueritas. That was a retreat. Tomorrow? Not so much. Friday morning at the crack of dawn I am off to San Francisco for a very long conference. I have some work related stuff to do once I get to SF, and then have about 24 free hours, in which I plan to shop, get a pedi and a mani, eat, and then perhaps to mix it up, shop some more. And then I will have four days of standing at a booth and schmoozing and standing some more and then a little more schmoozing. It will be exhausting, I am sure, but I plan to be rejuvenated when I come home because it will be my birthday. Woo! I do so love my birthday. Have a lovely week, gentle readers. I shall report all of the San Francisco drama when I return.