The One With the New Cubicle

Good morning, everyone. I realize that I haven't blogged in awhile, but things have been really crazy around my office. As you all know, I have (or should I say "had"!!!) the boss from hell. She was critical, over-bearing and the worst micromanager I've ever had. To go from being an independent reporter to having to ask permission to use the restroom was a pretty big leap. Anyway, the squeaky wheel finally got oiled.

After getting my offer letter to the opposite District as my crazy boss, things starting getting worse. She wanted every minute of my time accounted for. I had to tell her where I was going at all times and what I was working on. Unfortunately, I was working on projects that she couldn't know about. This was a big problem with her and resulted in several spats. I've never her seen her so angry as she was at me last week. So I went to my new General Manager and several other managers at my new District and began to complain about my hostile work environment. Finally, Tuesday, the GM told me that I was being moved downstairs into a temporary cubicle and was going to be given an interim manager until they hire the person who will be my manager. Needless to say, this was the happiest day of my PR career.

I am currently residing in a cubicle half the size of my old one, but all the pictures of my dogs still fit on the walls and all my books still fit on the shelves. I don't have a window anymore, but it's not like I can't find one. At this point, I'm really not that picky. I'm just ecstatic to not have to work for the she-devil anymore. I now come and go as I please and work on what I want. My new manager told me that as long as the work was getting done, he didn't care if I included him in anything. I'm just supposed to let him know if I need any help.

Plus, my department is great. There's only one other girl in the department, a huge plus. If you've ever worked in a department with all women, you'll know what I mean. I was going nuts. I don't like to talk about stupid girl things, I don't spen $150 on my haircuts and I hate mani-pedis. I also don't act vengeful and catty when someone is different from me. Not to say that all women are like this -- I'm a woman myself, of course -- but when I first moved here, one of my friend's husbands said to me, "Los Angeles women are their own breed." I think it's true.

With that drama solved, I now had to turn my attention to Muggsy, who has been melting down a little too frequently lately. It was time to get his blood drawn again to test for thyroid problems. This is just as hard for me as it is for him. No matter how hard I try to calm myself down, I cannot stop my stomach from churning at the thought of this. I hate making Muggsy do things that so completely stress him out. But it's a part of life and it has to be done. So I did it, with the help of my blood draw team, of course -- my boss, my boyfriend and the toughest vet tech chick I've ever seen.

While behind the door, Muggsy bucked and kicked and somehow managed to turn himself over, cutting and banging his nose. Well, for all of you who've had a bloody nose, you know how much blood that can be. When we pulled him from behind the door and I saw a huge pool of blood coming from my best friend, I started crying. The vet tech made me leave. I've never been more embarrassed. What a terrible mother! How could I not toughen up and be there for my dog. Muggsy and I are both fine. I left, he got cleaned up and his nose was swollen for a couple of days. I'm still waiting for the results of the blood panel. Muggsy dumped his anal glans on me and I had to go teach class afterward -- always pleasant. Such is the life of a dog trainer, I guess.

But everyone did admit to me afterward that they were all queasy and upset by the site of Muggsy's blood. They were just better at composing themselves.