Category Archives: work

Tie Finish


Back in the day when I had a job (and what a satisfying way to start a sentence that is) I had to wear a tie to work every day.  I had nightmares of being choked by them.  Eventually I threw off the yoke of a necktie by simply not wearing one.  I extended my Casual Friday wardrobe to the entire week and my Fridays turned into One Step Above Slob Friday.

Even then, I would periodically have to show up at some event with something knotted around my neck.  R man didn’t have to wear one to his job, but he loved to buy them for me.  And I have to admit, a tableful of neckwear arranged tidily by Nordstrom or Saks or the like, is a lovely experience.  They’re so pretty and jewel-like.  By the time he died and I retired, I had quite a collection.   Then I moved and in packing up I realized I was never going to wear a single one of them again.

And so I put an ad in Craigslist announcing I was looking for someone to make a quilt out of them for me.  I got a surprising number of eager replies including one from the second place winner in quilting at the Marin County State Fair.  That was good enough for me and so she came and scooped them up and went off to do her quilting magic.

Time went by, as it does, and she would send me messages about the progress.  I would reply something along the lines of “That’s nice.”  Then she popped up last night, quilt in hand.


Shine on, you crazy diamond.

It really is gorgeous, shimmering and with the individual squares of the cut up ties cleverly placed to cohabit esthetically with its neighbor.

I slept under it last night, of course, and was surprised at its texture.  I had vaguely thought it would be supple and, well, silky, but I had forgotten ties have to be made with a heavy silk with lots of body so that the knot will be nice and substantial.  That means the quilt itself is stiffer than I had imagined, but not at all uncomfortable.  It has a flannel backing so it’s very warm.  Snuggy.

I had considered saving one tie in case of funerals, but should that sad obligation arise, I can always nip into any thrift store and have my pick them for a couple of bucks.   Or I might return to Nordstrom’s and those shining reefs of sartorial splendor.


This man is not wearing a tie.


Nor is this one.



Also, I Predict a Conservative Asshole is Going to Say Something Homophobic TODAY.


The local Business Journal is reporting that a guy I used to work with has been busted for running a “Ponzi-like” scheme.  Modifying the word Ponzi is one of the least tip-toe-iest parts of this story.  I have never read coverage that used the word “alleged” so many times.  That in conjunction with my former colleague apparently not having been charged with anything and the details of the scheme being both byzantine and vague make me think they must not have anything solid on the guy.

What’s interesting from the mrpeenee-universe centric point of view is my memory of my former boss always referring to this perp as “That little weasel.” Makes her seem really insightful  and percipacious, but since she always called pretty much everybody a “little weasel” what it really shows is if you say something often enough, eventually you wind up right and then everybody is impressed with your acumen.  Weathermen and financial advisors rely on this all the time.

Random, unrelated and really fine booty, cause that’s what everybody likes.

In Which the Well Runs Dry

Yet another post in which I reveal how very small I really am. Perhaps you may recall that I used to work for the Small Business Administration, before I slipped their leash last year by retiring. An important component of my job was running the classes we had for ingrate entrepreneurs. It was very much like being a producer; I would finagle small business people and other experts into volunteering to teach the classes, then organize the details, the room, the marketing, the registration, the attendees, the clean-up. More than 400 classes a year, about two classes every single fucking day. I now understand the main part of my job was worrying about those details, no wonder I was cranky.
Last week, I ran into one of the guys I had used as a teacher and without prompting, he launched into a bitter screed about how the whole thing is going to hell in a shabby handbag. Attendance is way down, since now no one is doing any marketing, no new class topics, and my former colleagues seem baffled and surly when the volunteer teachers show up.
I suppose I should be concerned that my former baby is struggling, but I all I felt was smug and gratified. We have all been there, haven’t we? Slogging along in a literally thankless job and thinking “They’d be sorry if I wasn’t here,” but knowing, really, that we’re just replaceable cogs and that things could stumble along just fine without us.
Hah. Not this time. Take me for granted much? Suck it bitches. How immensely flattering.
I think I’ll take a nap with the houseboys to celebrate.

Party Dogs

I attended a party at my old office this afternoon for three of my former colleagues who are retiring. Welcome aboard, that’s what I say. It was much more amusing than I expected, very much a reunion since I have steered clear of the joint since I retired last year.
Naturally, everyone asked me “So what are you doing these days?” and seemed baffled when I replied, firmly and honestly, “Nothing.” Look, I get paid for not working. Why should I feel compelled to do anything? If it weren’t for porn and trolling blogs at 3:00 in the morning I would be comatose. Speaking of which, a big thank you to MJ over at Infomaiac for turning me on to the band Juantrip. Too groovy.
I also had the dubious pleasure of running into a broad who used to have the cubicle next to mine and whose planning of her step-daughter’s wedding was the grinding bane of my existence for two fucking years. She was this fake sweet genteel Lady who tried to hide her homophobia from me but never succeeded. We had never liked each other particularly so why she came bouncing up to me today with a big kissypoo hug hello and stuck by my side until I almost had to scrape off my shoe with a stick was beyond me. What’s with that?
I kept remembering another party years ago when one of my bosses, who could be a steel hard bitch and also despised this woman, marched up to her and told her she was not invited and that she had to leave. Now. So let’s see, on one hand, we have the saccharine sweet Goody Two Shoes and on the other The Bitch Who Will Cut You and I like the bitch best. What’s with that?

The party could have definitely used a swimming pool and strippers. But then again, can’t they all?



A year ago, I posted the following:

But why can’t I be a Lady of Leisure? I have the attitude, I have the wardrobe (three pair of cashmere socks and some almost-clean tee shirts,) I have stacks of things to sit around reading, and I had 18 petit fours, but they seem to have been eaten. If it wasn’t for this stupid “employment” thing, I would be good to go. Just this afternoon, I was trapped in a committee meeting and thought, “Now this, this is the wrong life.”
So now, my whining dream finally has come true. On January 14, I filed my application to retire and now it has finally fought its way through the byzantine paths of federal personnel actions and as of March 16, I am retired, an ex-civil servant. Yes! Say it with me girls, I am OUT. I win. All it took was 22 years of listening to the public complain that I was not doing enough for them as I pondered where to go for lunch. Suck it bitches.

I worked for the Small Business Administration. I was a Business Development Specialist. I wrote press releases and speeches and dealt with the media (bitches) and made charming little speeches about topics I knew almost nothing about to the great unwashed. I developed and administered a training program of more than 400 classes attended by about 10,000 small businesses each year. I learned how to spell the word “entrepreneur.” I kicked out an old lady who insisted on bringing her cat with her to class. I was the go to guy for any design decisions because I was the office homo. I frequently ate cheese enchiladas for lunch.

And now all that is behind me.
My attendance once R Man got sick was spotty anyway, and by the time he was actively dying, I just stopped even pretending to go in. Everybody was cool with that. When he died, I announced I was not coming back, period, and that I was filing for an early, disability based retirement. Everybody was not cool with that, assuring me it was rash decision I would regret.
Let me see, retirement: getting paid for not working. What’s to regret? Anyway, I ignored their advice (as I so often did) and now I’m out and cheerful as all fuck about it. I have regarded the time since R Man died and I just have hung out, doing nothing, as practice. Turns out I have real talent for this, talent I have been wasting all these years in the office. Saki digs it.