Oh, poopy.

I'm waiting to see if Squoosh poopies; if not, it's back to the vet. He's been doing fine, but I'm not sure whether or not he's poopied today, and he's farting.

Squoosh farts are not attractive.

So I've put him back in the hall bathroom; we'll see what comes of it. He is a people person, and when I let him out, he gets so excited that he might be holding off on poopying, or something. He's amazing; he's litter trained himself! But when I come into the bathroom, he gets overly excited--he got so excited one time that he just jumped out of the litterbox without covering what he'd done up. So I think he might be holding it, hoping I won't put him back.

My meeting with RCG was...well...disappointing. I have, admittedly, a big problem with people who don't do as they should. This includes following simple directions that harm no one and benefit someone, fundamental rules of social interaction, obligations, and so forth. This doesn't mean someone has to toe the line all the time--hell; I'm freaking Generation Slack, if I remember how those silly generational names go. Sure--cut corners. Ride coattails to benefit yourself; it's all good. But overall, you should do as you should. It's the Jew in me--if someone is paying you, you are obligated to them for an amount of work commensurate with your salary. If you don't like the job, leave. But unless you're self-employed, you don't have the luxury, odds are, of doing only what benefits yourself; your employer has an agenda, and you are charged with furthering that agenda without exception. Otherwise, you are a thief, an embezzler. So in your heart of hearts, you don't care about a damn thing your employer cares about...welcome to my life at Eviljob. That check is the causa sine qua non of your loyalty, fealty, and obedience. Welcome to Adulthood--a lot of us feel that way.

I'm not talking about thefting god damn pencils. Go steal pencils and stickynotes if that's your joy. But you should not do it to excess, and it's nicer of you if you do it off the clock. I myself became unnaturally attached to a particular keyboard in my early days at Eviljob; even though computer stuffs are all labelled and coded and only belong to one station, cube, or office, I took my keyboard with me as I changed places, functional groups, and so forth. Some keys fell off, yet it remained. Finally, I was forced to retire it when everyone had to switch to black workstations. So I took my keyboard home. It's mine. We've been through a lot, my keyboard and me.

Yes...I know...

I believe you have my stapler?

Giggle.

Ok, so I'm pathetic. But my point is that sure, call in sick when you aren't; liberate pencils and staplers (though not in excess); sneak an extra five minutes into your fifteen minute break when you need it. But don't take on a project, say that you're going to do one thing, and then turn around and plot out another thing (that your job doesn't want, but will benefit you) and hope nobody notices. Especially if I'm that nobody. No matter how damn cute you are, you're not that cute.

So what happened? Think of it this way: The Royal Canadian Mounted Police had an extra USD $52 (CAD $65.80) in the coffee kitty one week, so they contracted a group of canine psychics to determine whether or not RCMP dogs like their spiffy new red doggie coats with official RCMP hats, and what the public thinks of it--do those sneaky-ass Americans think the pooches are more intimidating as they cross the border, for instance?

So we're multi-talented puppy psychics. Suspend disbelief for a second.

Now this is a boring as hell question. In all likelihood, not even the RCMP themselves give a damn about an answer, it just sounds good when the press or someone else asks. It's probably even going to be used to justify spending money that would be better spent some other way, like William Shatner's acting lessons, for example. Now there's a public service.

Butsoanyway: Puppy psychics don't get a vote on how the money is spent. The RCMP asked, "Who wants $52 to investigate this?" Fido Fortunetellers, LTD. said "We do!" To my way of thinking, it ends there; we (Fido Fortunetellers), are beholden to produce something relevant to RCMP dogs, their uniforms, their opinions of their uniforms, and the public's perception(s) of their uniforms. After all, we're getting a dollar a week to study it for a year--right?

So I meet with RCG to discuss the dogs. We're going to be working on channelling Rin Tin Tin to get his opinion on the epaulettes.

Admittedly boring. Yet it's paid work, all the same. And this type of work is rife in this field. It pays the mortgage. And the more you do, the more you get; next couple of months, we will be getting USD $104 per year, 'cos we've handled this so smashingly. So basically, if you can't at least go through the motions, you might want to consider doing something else with your life. This boring ass shit enables you to buy new crystal balls on the RCMP's tab that you can use to do all your "real interest" stuff with later on--after you get their work done.

So Ancodia wants to hammer out whether we should observe feng shui principles when we set out the crystal balls and incense. This semester we are, after all, channelling Rin Tin Tin. Plus feng shui's all sexy right now, so we might get published in the International Journal of Feng Shui Police Puppies if we play our cards right.

RCG however, wants to spend half of the time allotted reading up on the Pythagorean Theorem and transmogrification of souls, and then maybe do something with that.

"...I'm sorry," says I, "come again?"

Well, RCG is writing his own Magnificent Octopus. The Big Octopus. And he's in the Reading Other People's Stuff stage. He wants to determine if all poets become cockroaches and all Cleopatras become alley cats when their souls transmogrify. And the cool thing is, the RCMP can buy all the things he needs, and pay him to do it. And since Ancodia's not writing her own Major Magnificent Octopus yet, she can help pore over all these dusty books we're going to go gather up. And at the end (of this period, not of his Octopus), we'll give them a hastily put-together paper and Powerpoint about transmogrification and cockroaches, and tell them this is imperative to know before doing something complex like channelling Rin Tin Tin, 'cos he might have transmogrifed into like, Art Bell already. If he did, we can just call Art--that'll save money in crystal balls, and we'll only need a prepaid calling card to the Kingdom of Nye. So we'll tempt the RCMP with saving money falsely. We'll explain to them that poets into cockroaches and Cleopatras into cats are the only documented examples, so we had to research them. After all, they are just cops; what difference will they know?

Ummm, no. Number one, that's stealing, and it's reprehensible. Aside from that, that's lying, and that's even worse. Add to that the fact that Ancodia is not going to research part of your Octopus for you--that's your job, just like my Octopus will be my job. As important as that is, I don't know why you'd trust someone else to read stuff for your Octopus. I mean, I could be retarded for all you know about me, Mister. Add to *that* the fact that it is not taken for granted that your work on your Octopus will be paid for; if it is, great. Most of the time it isn't, or at least not completely. When your Octopus deviates so significantly from the goal--getting Rin Tin Tin's opinion of the epaulettes--it's wrong of you to try to force it just so that you can get paid to produce an Octopus. Especially when that Major Octopus ups your value so much. Incorrect, my friend; Ancodia's not helping. Count me out. Especially when I'm supposed to meet with a big RCMP Kahuna because he's really really interested in Rin Tin Tin. Has all his movies, even carries a Rin Tin Tin lunchpail to work every day. That means that *I* have to lie, and I try to keep my lies to a minimum, 'cos I'm retarded and forget what I've lied about.

Though I said it politely. And probably not as firmly as it merited, because he's cute. Damn it all.

RCG was nice about it; he even tried the "are you *certain* you understood our goals? I think my interpretation is the right one, and even if it isn't, we're being Thorough" tack. Being thorough is an appealing tack after all, the argument goes; no other puppy psychics would have been this Thorough, and that would make for one hell of a joint authorship...

Octopi aren't joint authored, Ancodia points out. I believe that's a checkmate, bubelah.

To his credit, and in one of his sexier moments, RCG paused. And smiled. I'm right, he admits; they aren't. Pause. Why don't we check with The Powers That Be and get clarification, he suggests.

Because TPTB don't give a royal god damn, and would say your way is fine. TPTB don't like Mounties, anyway. TPTB just do this because it's prestigious, brings a dollar a week in, and keeps them rolling in new crystal balls. And you know it, but I can tell you don't know it for certain. So I obfuscated to buy some time. I made something with someone higher than TPTB seem more imminent than it is.

And I woke up early this morning, and went to TPTB myself. First. And I proposed to TPTB that RCG shouldn't be hemmed in by the restrictions on this silly channelling Rin Tin Tin crap. After all, he's got an Octopus to think about. So Ancodia will set up her crystal ball and incense, and channel on her own. RCG can do his own thing, and be a Rin Tin Tin channeller in name only; Ancodia will do all of the boring RCMP shit, and RCG can do the gravy transmogrification stuff. After all no one, even Ancodia, gives a flying flip about epaulettes. It's just another something on our "gotta do" list.

TPTB said that sounded great.

Woof, baby.

So I will be working alone yet again, and admiring RCG from a distance. Which is good, because although he's sweet (and cute, and really really pretty, and so forth), I'm not crazy about what I saw close up. I'm hoping this was a Weak and Confuzzled Moment brought about by the stresses of an Octopus, and not proof positive that he's a moral attractive nuisance.

A moral attractive nuisance is like an unfenced swimming pool that looks so fucking luscious that you just *have* to dive in but when you do, you can't remember why looting the owner's house was such a bad idea before. It's the blue soup of the ethical world, and I avoid it like the plague. Or try to, when I'm bright enough to recognise it, that is.

Not that I'm saying he is. I don't know, you know, who knows? :-) But I'm wary now. That laid-back "it's all good" attitude could be more ominous than it seems. And that royally sucks. But oh, well.

This doing the right thing thing really blows goats.

And in the time it has taken me to vent I went in to give Squoosh his antibiotics, and yay! Poopy!

Who'd have thought my life would ever come to this? I've ditched a Truly Hot Guy, and am thrilled over cat shit. This is perverse. And so totally not the life in which I thought I'd end up.

G'night, Squoosh. I love you.