Oh for the love of Elvis.

So I didn't have high hopes for today. The rest of the week was assy, getting progressively worse, so I fully anticipated today to suck. What I didn't expect was that it would suck a dead dog's dick so hard it's head collapsed.

So I come in to find a pay stub on my desk. Not a live check, as I had anticipated, since they said my direct deposit was a no-go. I check my bank, and there's no incoming deposit. Shit. OK. So I call the bank to confirm. Nope, no go. But try the branch- they say- becase maybe they can contact the ACH department.

So I call my branch. This happens to be the branch I worked for. The bad news is that the check isn't on its way to me. The OK news is that it should bounce back to the hospital on Monday, so I can get paid then. We hope. The shitty news? Mary informs me that Rob (who, because I feel a smidge guilty, is losing the Cokehead moniker for the time being) died a few months ago.

...Say what?

Dude was only 35. There's no reason for him to be up and croaking. So on top of all of the rest of this bullshit, sitting on hold for nine hundred hours with payroll, only to find out that I am NOT going to get paid till they get the money from my bank (and Elvis only knows when that will really happen), and I have less than 20 bucks in the account and an empty gas tank, and a 1 year old's birthday party tomorrow... (I can borrow, but I fucking hate that- nothing is more damned demeaning than asking your parents for money. NOTHING.) but now I'm freaking the fuck out. Granted, I'm more freaked out because I'm not freaked that he's dead. No. I am freaked out because I want to know HOW HE DIED. Seriously. If it was something communicable, I need to know. If he od'd, killed himself, had a heart attack, cancer, auto-erotic-asphyxiation, or his ego smothered him, I. Need. To. Know. That's what's freaking me out.

And I feel like an ass for not being more upset over the fact that he is dead, but we were no longer close, and things didn't end on wonderful terms. I feel bad for his family.

Magicdude has been put on the case, hopefully someone will know. I'm scheduled for my annual anyway, so I'll ask the ladies at PP to be extra vigilant, and we'll go from there.

And I am so freaking frustrated and stressed right now that I actually did go to my car and cry. I? Not a crier. My boss is being a douchebag, my ancillary bosses are being shirty, and apparently my direct boss may have just gotten a promotion to a vp level. And it's probably mean, but I really hope he doesn't take me with him. I hope he gets thrust onto someone else- because I'd rather have a different director than have to be HIS exec. sec.

And I have to kiss ass and be at work by 7 Monday so we can do breakfast for Boss's day. My stupid fucking idea. Here's a gift- you're off on the 16th, and you've got competent staff. That's fucking gift enough. *sigh*
lets hope that next week goes better, and I'm off to take a hot shower and play with the new batch of "stash cleanout" that the enabler gave me.