Here’s my dilemma.

Alpha and the Underdog are currently sucking the very lifeforce out of me.  At least, that’s how it seems.

Which is why I haven’t really been writing in this blog.  I feel as though I don’t have much to write about, unless it’s to bitch about work.  It’s not that I’m not doing anything else — it’s just that work, especially if it’s a poor working environment, tends to get the best of me when things aren’t running smoothly.

And things are not running smoothly.

Believe it or not, it’s the Underdog who’s been getting on my nerves lately, even more than our bipolar Alpha.  Apparently the Underdog has forgotten that she had a hand in hiring a perfectly capable, competent person to do her marketing.

Through recent collaboration with the Underdog, I’ve learned that one of the worst feelings ever is that nausea that swells up from your stomach and into your throat when a “superior” speaks to you as though you’re a 2-year-old who just attempted to eat your own toes just because you stepped in a puddle of melted chocolate, and you can’t say anything in an attempt to prove otherwise — that you’re actually very knowledgeable about these things she’s trying to show you and in fact might know more about it than she does, because then she becomes indignant that a mere hourly employee dares to think she might know more about a piece of computer software than a licensed  professional.

I mean, jeez.  It’s not like her license is in Professional Flyer Creation.  It’s Real Estate.

Give me a break.

I will feel awful if Alpha and the Underdog ever discover this blog, probably because I’d no longer have a job, but seriously.

Also, there’s this whole eviction thing.

I know that people cannot expect to live in someone else’s home for free.

I know this.

But I honestly don’t think there will ever be a part of me that finds joy in eviction.

Alpha has tried to teach it to me — this glee she experiences when she gets to kick someone out of a property — but it’s just not in me.  That is the type of mentality that fits someone who used to throw rocks at homeless people in high school.

Not me.

I’m sure there is a certain shell one would have to build in order to do property management long-term.  It’s not for the weak of heart.  And some people will say anything to live somewhere for free.  So, for the sake of a homeowner who needs rent to pay his or her mortgage, I can stay tough.  I can evict.

But I’m never — ever — going to like it.

The thing is, there are aspects about this job I could really learn to love.  But, I need a role model I can respect and who respects me in return.

Is that too much to ask?

Apparently.

Fortunately, the real boss should be back soon, and I’m thinking things will be more pleasant after that.

Aside from all of that, the news is good.  The office is progressing, albeit slowly.  Also, I’m an aunt.

Well, not a real aunt, but a kind-of-sort-of pseudo aunt because my best friend in the world, the one who let her friends throw her a baby hot tub party, finally had her baby.

In a bed, not a hot tub.

Sorry for the blurry face — I was excited and apparently unable to operate my camera.

And, her husband already knows how to swaddle her because of the relay race, I’m pretty sure.

How to swaddle a fake baby.

How to swaddle a real baby.  Like a baby burrito.

Except you should never eat a real baby.

No matter how much you might want to.

So, how are all of you?  I’ll admit I felt a little rejected when almost no one responded to my chick flick post from the weekend.  But then I realized with all the chick flick talk and the baby talk, you might feel like I’m going all soft on you and am going to start giving tutorials on how to hug babies and why it’s okay to wear footsie PJ’s while watching reruns of Dawson’s Creek, and I just want to assure you that’s not the case.

And if it is, you have my permission to feel very, very sorry for me.