Wednesday, November 4, 2009

The Lights Are On But...

It's tragic being a girl working in an office full of techy guys. All day long Pickle Cookie is subjected to guy sights, like a workbench strewn with computer parts,pieces, screws and tiny tools; guy sounds, like you might hear at a petting zoo if it were a zoo populated by virtual livestock; and guy smells, like six day old Chinese food simmering in a funk of screen cleaner and compressed air.

Pickle Cookie has never been a girly-girl and has no desire to have coordinating pink pleather desk accessories. She is not expected to make the coffee unless she is the one drinking it. But still, a change of venue is appreciated.

While the boys are out of the office making computer owners happy, Pickle Cookie will be working at the call center {formerly known as "the dining room"}. The call center has climate control, a view of the back yard, and smells like cookies, because there are cookies in the oven right now.

Also? The call center is not lonely, which the office often is when the boys are out doing their jobs. Today the four-footed supervisors will keep Pickle Cookie company.

Ahhh. Pickle Cookie appreciates a work environment that includes baked goods and puppies!

Monday, November 2, 2009

Don't Eat That!

Sometime over the weekend Pickle Cookie lost her travel drug container. It came from the camping section at WallyWorld and was designed to hold four or five fishing flies. The whole sheebang is about the size of a credit card and the thickness of a kitchen sponge. Discretely small but not too small. And also? Neon pink. Pickle Cookie knows how to rock the geriatric pharmaceutical toting accessory!

The tiny compartments were just perfect to pack Pickle Cookie's daily meds in. By "daily meds" Pickle Cookie means the prescription Beta blocker she takes for palpitations and the seven or eight OTC supplements and analgesics she carries around "just in case".

Baby strength aspirin, just in case Mr. PC cooks real scrambled eggs - not the mucilaginous stuff from the pour carton - with real bacon for breakfast, the artery-clogging potential of which cause Pickle Cookie to medicate in advance. Mmm, orangey!

Ibuprofin for those pesky monthly swollen ankles and fingers; acetaminophin for the monthly hormone headache that makes Pickle Cookie want to cut her head off and bury it in a wooly blanket under the front porch; tiny, round pellets that look like a gift from the sea, containing a probiotic supplement in case of Owie Belly; MVM supplement for when Pickle Cookie is feeling a certain kind of weak and shakey that can only be attributed to iron deficiency anemia or possibly a nervous condition induced by TooManyDirtyDishesInTheSink-itis; diphenhydramine for it's antihistamine and antiemetic properties, although just a fraction of a tablet will make Pickle Cookie face plant on her keyboard and wake up two hours later with a snail trail of dried drool on her chin;
and the Happy Pill that helps Pickle Cookie ignore her palpitaions and get some sleep, which must not be named lest Pickle Cookie's insurance company find out and raise her premium to $19437545387063.91. Her premium now is only $19437545387062.91.

The little container can be easily replaced. Pickle Cookie's biggest fear? Some stoner will find her medicine stash and attempt to get high. Note to druggies: Pickle Cookie hates fun and does not take anything that makes her high. In fact, Pickle Cookie's Beta blocker could make you dead. This has been a public service announcement. Please enjoy your regularly scheduled day!

Love you tons!

Pickle Cookie