I always wonder why it is so easy to get out of bed at 5 am to go fishing, but it is so difficult to get up at 5 am to go to work.
I always wonder why it is so easy to get out of bed at 5 am to go fishing, but it is so difficult to get up at 5 am to go to work.
Engineers really get a bad rep. Everybody makes us out to be pretty darn lame, but I don't think there is a single profession out there with more dirty jokes worked into the lingo...For example, take the term "partial penetration butt weld." Can anybody read that without having a flashback to junior high?
This job is so freaking hard, and I have a feeling my performance review is not going to set me up for a promotion. Although, really, what do you get promoted to from Mother? God?
Nothing says "Good Morning Monday!" quite like finding two flies copulating on your windshield as you depart for work in your car.
Have you ever been at work, enjoying a nice snack of animal crackers while returning emails, finishing super fun reports, etc when you drop one of the crackers down into your cleavage? And then you push back your head to see how deep the little monkey has fallen, then pull your shirt from your chest and reach into to the depths to retrieve it? And then a new faculty member pops into your office to learn about health insurance options while your hand is very conspicuously rooting around between your boobs? Awesome.
How can ANYONE be expected to go to work when there's a cat lying on your chest, eyes almost closed, purring?
When a male coworker asks what you have in the bag from the microwave, he doesn't really want to know that you were steam-sterilizing breastpump parts.
The Ladies room is shared by 40 of my closest co-workers...Sometimes I walk in there and the joint is rank and I'm tempted to just get on the PA system and say: "Attention library employees. If something is tearing the ass out of you and you're going to blow it up in the Ladies room, for the love of God woman, USE THE SPRAY so I don't feel like I've just stepped into your rotting colon. Thank you."
Before I was a mother, I worked eight hours a day, five days a week. Now that I'm a mother, I work 14 hours a day, seven days a week.
You may like dinosaurs now, son, but you won't like working for one when you grow up.
Note to Self: Remember from now on that whenever you watch "Breakfast at Tiffany's" you will be calling everyone "daaaahling" for at least 2 days. It's an undesired side-effect that will embarrass you in several occasions especially when you speak to your boss…
Take a big cup of strong coffee with an equal amount of Baileys, mix it all together and voila! You have a pretty relaxing workday!
I punished the world for making me work by wearing corduroys, sneakers, and NO MAKEUP. Oy, the blotchy skin tone and the red-rimmed eyes and middle-aged frumpiness. TAKE THAT, WORLD!
I glued myself to a tacky Christmas ornament at work in July and spent two hours trying to help customers without letting on that my right-handed self had a ceramic puppy driving a choo-choo train glued to her right hand.
If you are unhappy in your job, quit. If you're looking for some new air, move. If you want a new look, cut it off.
I woke up this morning like every other day, wishing I didn't have to work for a living!
Talent alone will never get it and neither will hard work, despite the lies that we tell our children.
I chalk just about every physical symptom up to anxiety. I'm thinking my gravestone will read: "She thought it was a panic attack."