I'm Over It

I received a hit on my site today that came from within the confines of my former employer. They haven't bothered me for nearly six months. I'll admit that, at first, I was filled with my usual legendary rage. I mean like... force-you-to-drink-a-milkshake, then-force-you-to-swallow-a-few-starving moray-eels-and watch-them-eat-you-from-the-inside-out angry. (Why a milkshake? Gives the stomach acids something else to work on so it doesn't hurt the eels. Duh.) (And I know, morays are huge and you couldn't really swallow one much less a few. I don't delve too deeply into zoology when I'm pissed.)

I calmed down a bit, and sent an e-mail with all the particulars to my buddies at TIGTA. I even did more of their damn jobs for them and told them how to stop it from happening again. Seemed like old times, really. Telling people who get paid a hell of a lot more than me how the job should've been handled six months ago... I'll never be sure how to put that on a resume.

But you know what? As an average Joe Taxpayer, I'm still quite livid that my tax dollars are being wasted by some schmuck surfing through websites instead of doing his or her damn job. And when TIGTA calls, and I know they will, I'm going to have to once again explain how I know what I know, and explain what I meant in my explanation to someone with the computer skills of one of the Montgolfier brothers. (As for me knowing who the Montgolfier brothers are, all I can say is: "Thanks Tennessee Tuxedo!")

However, at the end of the day and the beginning of the next, I'm over 2,500 miles away from all of it. I get to look out the window and see a mountain, it's a crisp 50 degrees, there are fall colors and hummingbirds all around... my joints don't hurt, my head doesn't hurt, and I actually fall asleep on a regular basis without taking anything to do so, people don't pester me 10 hours a day so I can actually go to the bathroom during the day if I need to... I've even lost weight.

So look at my site all you want. Print it out. Hell, copy it longhand, since you probably can't fathom the sorcery that is the "print" icon. Waste all the taxpayer dollars you want. Keep that picture of me up in the guard booth. But here's a tip: you're going to have to change it. Because I have this neat thing going on now that I rarely had inside that building. It's called a "smile".

Oh yeah. Sorry, Tarragon. I'll get to the tag thingy. I just really needed to vent first.