I FEEL LIKE A WANKER

I have been reading blogs from all over the world and picked up a few new terms. My understanding of the word "wanker" from the context I have read it in seems to mean penis. Now, I don't feel like a penis, exactly. I feel like a really limp penis. I worked twelve and a half hours today because "I don't need a calendar, I can remember."

Well, not quite. I forgot that I had an online discussion to run tonight at work and instead of going in later, I went in at my regular, crack of dawn, 8 AM. I didn't even realize I had the discussion until 11 when I was notified, by e-mail, to log on and do a test run. Shit! So, there I was at 7 PM all ready to be the moderator, when the invited guest has computer problems, the manager of the discussion doesn't have her cell phone because her husband took it with him and she has no land line...and, the rules change very quickly. It seems that now, the manager will be the moderator, I will "be" the speaker. I will accomplish this by calling her, submitting the questions the moderator has chosen verbally and type in the answers as she gives them to me verbally.

Now, for over 40 of my 57 years I have lied about my typing. Why? Because I grew up in a generation that if you knew how to type, that's what you did. So, here I am, reading these questions to a very verbal woman in upstate New York and typing in the longest and most detailed answers that anyone could imagine. And, I'm transcribing these like a son of a bitch. After 45 minutes my hands were cramping up and I was watching the clock on the computer crawl slowly towards 8 PM. That's when I realized that the person in New York couldn't see the answers I was typing, the moderator couldn't hear what she was saying and I became an editor. Let me tell you, honey, those long winded answers were pared down to almost snippy replies.

What the hell. I 'm an accountant. I put numbers into boxes and they add up and all is well with the world. I am not supposed to have to deal with people. I, unfortunately, put myself in this position since no one else had volunteered to be the "moderator." And, of course, being the wonderful, people pleasing martyr that I am, said "Sure, I'll do it." I meant moderate. Not be a transcriber to, what I am sure was, a very nice woman who didn't realize how much I hated talking to her, typing answers to a bunch of questions that I could barely field, and not just slip over to Blog Explosion for a little surfing.

So, that's why I feel like a limp wanker. Now, if I were Australian I could head out and play a little "pokie." Which is poker to them, and with a limp wanker attitude would be about all I could manage.

Know what tomorrow is? Another installment of "What's In Sarah's Bed?" It will probably be me, with all the crap piled up and watching Heaven's Gate which I got from Netflix. And, with any luck at all, Monday won't turn into "What's Sarah Going to Whine About Today?" 'Night, all.