the persistent pecker

It started about an hour after I got to work this morning.

Above my head and off to the left, at the junction where the outside wall meets the slant of the roof.

tap

tap

taptap

taptaptaptaptaptaptap…

It wasn’t constant – just an occasional machine-gun like burst of taps. If anything, it was serving to break up the monotony of endless data entry. Plus, I like birds doing bird things, so I was happy for the woodpecker to have found something fun to hammer away at.

The first few times it happened, my boss, who sits in an adjacent office with the door between our spaces open, didn’t say anything. Eventually it got to him though, and he bellowed in to me:

“What the hell is THAT?”

“Pretty sure it’s a woodpecker working on the back corner of the building,” I responded.

He muttered something about stupid birds under his breath and went about his business.

Fast forward to ten minutes ago. The bird let loose with another tapping tirade above my head. I chuckled to myself because he sounded like he was having a good time. Boss came into my office, fixing the ceiling with a glare like he could perhaps intimidate the bird through many layers of wood, sheetrock, roofing, shingles, etc.

“Where IS IT?”

“It’s right out here on the corner somewhere,” I replied, gesturing toward the ceiling.

“Well, we can’t have this,” boss said, and stomped off downstairs. Boss owns the building, hence his vested interested in not having holes randomly drilled into it. Apparently the holes caused from water damage and rot are ok to keep around for years, but ones that birds peck are a no-no. BUT I DIGRESS.

From my desk I could hear Boss scuff out along the side of the building and pass under my window. With impeccable timing, the woodpecker started in again. Boss yelled at it:

“Hey. HEY! Cut it out, you little bastard! Go somewhere else!”

I didn’t actually look down at where he was standing, but having known Boss for nearly 11 years now, I feel relatively safe in suggesting there was arm-waving involved.

The tapping stopped.

“Yeah, YOU”, boss said triumphantly.

And then a magnificent thing happened:

The woodpecker shrieked an angry retort and immediately started hammering away at the side of the building again, with seemingly redoubled effort. There have been no less than four subsequent bursts of tapping since Boss sat back down at his desk.

Every time it starts in again, Boss grumbles and I giggle to myself, silently congratulating the sassy little woodpecker for standing its ground and sticking it to the man.

Or the man’s building, at least.

woodpecker

I peck where I want.

cookies god damn it

We had this lunch conference at work today.

Well, I say “we”, but nobody mentioned it to me until I was already warming up my leftovers from home, so I’m filing that under my not being invited and I therefore did not partake.

ANYWAY.

So, the place where the food came from always includes a load of cookies…REALLY GOOD cookies…when they cater a lunch for us. Usually when we have one of these things, it’ll be like an hour of people yakking in the conference room, then they’ll all eat, then they’ll fuck off back to their desks and leave the leftovers for us admin peons. So even though I didn’t partake of the lunch proper, I had a pretty reasonable expectation of being able to scam some of those fantastic cookies after everyone cleared out and went back downstairs.

Except, today, the people putting on the conference hung around.

And hung around.

And hung. The fuck. Around.

Every time they moved around in there I’d perk up and think “ooh, this is it! Cookie time soon!” BUT NO. They would settle back down and talk more. I’ve been waiting for my cookie opportunity for MULTIPLE HOURS while these dicks sit around jawing about who even knows what. Nothing important, that’s for damn sure.

It’s now 3:40pm EST and they are FINALLY starting to pack stuff up in the conference room and move toward getting the hell out. Hooray! COOKIE TIME, YES?

Uhh, no. Because you know what happened? My boss gave the leftovers to the lady who put on the conference.

INCLUDING THE MOTHER FUCKING COOKIES.

ADLKH OIJLKJFS SLKJSF DLKJSLD (insert image of me foaming at the mouth)

Literally all I wanted out of today was some of those cookies. Granted, I didn’t know the cookies were even going to be a thing until 12:30, but still. I looked forward to those damn cookies all afternoon.

You know what he said to the lady?

“Here, why don’t you take these cookies home, no one here will eat them.”

No one! No one will eat them! COOKIES! Are you MAD, sir? Have you taken a turn? DID YOUR MOMMA DROP YOU ON YOUR HEAD AS A BABY?!

Needless to say, I’m very disappointed.

And I’m probably going to buy cookies on the way home from work.

holding pattern

Keppo just wants to be held.

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Zzzzzz…

Sometimes he tries to eat his feet:

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ANG NYANG NYANG

Sometimes he likes to perch up high and creep on the neighbors:

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“12:30pm. Nothing to report.”

Sometimes he likes a good belly rub:

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“Never stop doing this, ever.”

But mostly, he just wants to be held:

The thing about Keppo is, if he wants to be held and for whatever reason you CAN’T hold him right that second (like, say, if you’re trying to work on the laptop, or you’re eating a sandwich), he doesn’t give a fuck. Your needs are irrelevant to Keppo. If he can’t force you to hold him, he will proceed to find a way to wedge himself up against your body, likely in the most awkward and uncomfortable way, and will have himself the nap he was planning to have before you tried to ruin it by doing human stuff.

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“Oh, you’re busy right now? It’s fine, I’ll just curl up here and look sad.”

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“Why work when we could be making out?”

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It took him a full five minutes of huffing, grunting and repositioning himself dramatically behind my head and shoulder before he finally settled here.

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I had to lean forward. He slid, and instead of going to sit somewhere else, he doubled down. It’s been 20 minutes and he’s still wedged in there.

 

Keppo’s name comes from a character in Legend of the Five Rings, a card game my husband and a lot of our friends play. In the game, Keppo was a resourceful little goblin who liked to steal things. He had a hoard of treasures in a cave, and always seemed to have a special something hidden away that could save his ass when he was in a jam. The Keppo character became a mascot for our playgroup – we’ve even had art pieces commissioned for T-shirts that include the goblin Keppo’s likeness. When Mark and I were trying to come up with names for the puppy, we wanted something suitably nerdy, but also something easy. The shelter had named him Cupid because he was surrendered on Valentine’s Day. The name Keppo had the distinct advantage of sounding kind of like the name the shelter had been using for the pup for the last six weeks. Plus, most puppies are at least a little bit thieving goblin, aren’t they? So far, our Keppo mostly just likes to steal personal space.

not today, Satan

This morning when I logged on to WordPress to catch up on reading some blogs, I noticed something odd. The display name next to my avatar was no longer showing as “Rhubarb Swank”, but rather “sexy.jvhrt.ru”.

Cue mild panic.

Not that I have years of irreplaceable material here, and not that the whole thing probably doesn’t deserve to be put to rest in a giant dumpster fire, of course…but I do pay for this domain, so my credit card info is squirreled away in the depths of my account somewhere. I don’t need some hacker slurping that up and selling it on, thank you very much!

After a few minutes of clicking around I managed to restore my display name, update my password and tweak a few other settings that will hopefully keep things more secure going forward.

Hopefully no one is gleefully dildo shopping with my credit card. Actually, scratch that. If they DID end up stealing it, I hope they DO use it for dildo shopping. Just so long as the bank doesn’t make me pay for it.

Anyway, that’s what I get for using crap-ass passwords and not updating them regularly.

LEARN FROM MY MISTAKES. Unless you like buying other people dildos. In which case, you’re probably doing the world a service, really.

Now please enjoy this picture of our new dog Keppo:

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He’s the one with the whiskers. Apparently I had remembered to shave mine that day.

He came home with us from the shelter almost two weeks ago and we are, frankly, fucking exhausted. We were 8 years younger the last time we had a puppy and I think we both forgot just how much work it is. Worth it, certainly…but holy hell.