Happy New Year's Eve!

All right, time for some updates. Didn’t post sooner because 1) I was busy with the end of the school quarter and making sure I wasn’t a spaz who didn’t enroll for the next quarter (Enrolled: check! Fees paid: check! Fall quarter successfully completed: check check check!) and 2) I got lazy because… well, I’m me.

So here it is, final updates from November’s (holy shnikes its almost January) To Do List:

The Reunion

Lame.

My 10 year high school reunion was the lamest thing in all of lamesville. Seriously folks, it was a waste of time. A waste of money. A waste of thought and energy. It wasn’t worth attending in the slightest.

But...

The hour or so me and my three best girlfriends and the HB spent at the Denny’s afterward was priceless. It redeemed the whole night for me, as only the power of laughter can. It was why I wanted the HB to go with me that night; not to meet my girlfriends (which he has) but to know more about them. About what makes them funny and beautiful women. And why I love them so.

I see them occasionally so going to the reunion wasn’t about seeing them. But the evening started and ended with them and in the end I’m glad they bugged me into going.

Fan Festival

Loved it.

I thought I’d be out of my element there. And I was a little bit, but nowhere near the degree to which I expected. The HB and one of his sisters were there as well as two friends we’ve made from playing this online video game. Those two were a blast to hang out with.

I spent the weekend surrounded by gamer geeks and it was a lot of fun. Now, I’m more of a dork than geek/nerd. Another friend from the game found my picture last night (more on that later... maybe... :) and said I didn't look nerdy enough to be a gamer chick. I couldn't tell if he was serious or just being nice. If I don't look it, its still deep in my soul. :)

I'm proud to say I'm a dork/geek/whatever. I don't mind owning up to it. But I still rarely talk about video games in front of non-video game players. So on that Thursday night while we stood in line to pick up our badges for the event that started on Friday we talked a lot of shop. What else are you going to do for two hours in a long ass line? Everyone else had the same idea. I was constantly hearing people talk about the game. Honestly, it felt weird for a couple of minutes. It's one thing to talk about it with a small group of friends somewhere. It's another to talk about it in a large crowd. At first I was all, What are you doing? Shush! You sound like a big dork! Then I realized we were all in good company, all in the same situation really, and it wasn't weird anymore.

Until all the gamer geeks started staring at my chest.

(To read my character name on my entry badge)

(And yeah, probably to stare at my big boobies too. Two for one and all that jazz.)

November's To Do's

1. Figure out my class schedule for next quarter early for once.

* It's not the greatest schedule, but its been figured out as best I could.

2. Sign up for classes during my special Super Senior Priority Enrollment Period!

(which is like, holy crap, this afternoon!)

* I actually took advantage of the early enrollment and got into a class that everyone complains about not getting into every quarter because the college is silly and only offers one class when there are enough people who want, or, better yet NEED to take it to fill three classes. So, uh, yea... Go me!

3. Coordinate much needed eye doctor appointment and spanish placement test to take place on the same day.

(Super Efficiency Powers Activate!)

4. Then ask for that day off from work. Or make plague type coughing noises the day before.

5. Go to my ten year high school reunion on the 10th.

6. Be really snarky with my best friends in regards to all the lame beautiful successful people so as to not feel so down on myself.

7. Buy shiny sparkly dress that makes me look purty! Score!

8. Buy shoes to go with Shiny Sparkly Purty dress.

* They be ugly, but oh well!

9. Oh, and a new bra because Shiny Sparkly dress is really low cut.

(Damn this is getting expensive.)

* Check!

10. Catch up on homework.

11. Catch up on bills.

12. Meet a couple "strangers" I've become friends with while playing an online game that consumes so much of my time.

(This will be a first. I'm predicting it to be weird, nerve-wracking, but exciting at the same time.)

13. Hang out with them at the game's fan festival / convention thingy from the 15th through the 17th.

(Another first! Hopefully the HB can still buy tickets. I want someone to hold my hand :) I'm going to feel so out of place there.)

14. Figure out where I'm eating turkey on Happy Turkey day.

15. Write the next great American novel. AKA Participate in NaNoWriMo.

(Words so far: 0 hehehe great start!)

16. Post the damn ant story already so it stops nagging at me.

(I added this to the list mainly so I could cross it off and make it look like I'm accomplishing stuff. 'cause I'm awesome like that.)

* Edited 11/9/07 @ 11:15 a.m. real quick like while I kill the last 15 minutes of my half work day :)

The Ant Story

And now for another I Had A Bug In My Mouth story that was almost as traumatizing as the Hot Cocoa Bug Incident of '97 (tm) story.


I was sitting here, minding my own business (which was personal email business), when I look down at my half full coffee cup and see a floating ant.

'Well that sucks,' I think to myself. I'm kind of grossed out, but whatever, it's a little baby ant. So harmless. So dead. So germing up my coffee.

I get up, go to the bathroom and dump the coffee down the sink (we have no kitchen back here, just a cabinet and a coffeepot.)

Then I think to myself, "Self, if I were a dead ant floating in a cup of coffee, where would I have come from?"

I checked the sugar container. It looked sort of old and worn like it could have been sitting on the shelf for a millennium.

I looked through the hole. Nothing. No ants crawling around Sugar Valley.

Then I checked out the creamer container. Nothing. But something compelled me to keep looking. So I shook it a little. And then a little more. And a little more. And... *gasp* I saw something! Something small and round and dark. There isn't supposed to be anything dark in the creamer container!

I spilled some creamer onto the lid and showed it as evidence to my couldn't-care-less coworkers that I wasn't crazy.

Look! Ants in the creamer! I'm justified in my freaking-out-ness!

Gross, to say the least.

I was going to toss the whole thing, container and creamer and all, but thought: what if someone sees it, thinks it was a mistake that a half full container of delicious powdered creamer was thrown away, and takes it back out. That's gross too, but I felt it my duty to save them the trouble of making the decision.

I dumped the creamer into the sink in the bathroom and turned on the faucet.

HUGE mistake.

I saw, quite frankly, a million little, black, curled up Ant Balls of Death.

It looked like cookies 'n cream ice cream.

Icky! Icky! Icky! Icky! etc

This was around Wednesday or Thursday. Which meant I'd probably put dead ants in my coffee for a whole freaking week. How many mother@#$%& ants had I eaten?!?!

I couldn't drink coffee here for at least a week. And another couple weeks after that I was still checking the creamer for dead ants.

Icky!

Why is it...

... that I never notice the stains on my shirt until after I get to work?

Seriously. W T F.

P is for...

No, Jack, P is not for poop. Not that you even read this blog any more (when I bother to post) what with your busy new job and your new friends and that new stick up your butt.

That's right, I went there.

You don't talk to me any more. What's up with that? You barely respond to my emails. If I page you over the loudspeaker, would you even bother to return my calls?

Why don't you love me anymore???????????????

/emo

Gosh, its tiring being all emo and shit. And I'm sure I'm not even doing it %100 percent right.

I fail. At everything.

See, this is the anxiety talking. I'm anxious about a story due tomorrow for my creative writing class. I kinda like the idea that's in my head. I'm excited to explore and play with it. The problem? I can't fucking get anything written! Every time I start to write, the sentences that come out consist of boring drivel. The brain to paper translator button is on the fritz.

Frustrating, that is.

I'm also anxious about my high school reunion that's... holy shit... two weekends from now. I even dreamed about it last night. Me and the HB were wandering around, doing stuff, and I was wearing my new dress. And it looked really good on me. And I was pleased. Which is so not how I'll be feeling during the actual reunion. With all those people looking and judging and thinking... such a shame, she had a little potential.

Anywho...

P is for PROCRASTINATION

I was going to post the ant story alluded to a couple of posts ago. I actually wrote most of it while composing that post, but edited it out for later. It's later now, but I don't have time to finish it. To polish it and make it shiny. Because I have actual writing homework to get to.

Which is why I'm writing this instead.

Logic, they name is Lisa.

I don't know if that makes sense. But I'm leaving it there anyway. The Art of Stream of Conscienceness or Some Shit Like That.

Ack... I'm done. I need to write. My story demands it to be written. Maybe now my brain will work. Even if its crap, its crap that needs to be written.

Crap, here I come!

Oh... I guess maybe P is for Poop after all.

Damn you Jack! You win again!

But first, before I sign off, let me share the following email exchange I partook in this morning. If I didn't have to deal with this moronic stuff I'd have more time to goof off and do homework. Grrrrrrr.

From: Nob
Sent: Wednesday, October 31, 2007 6:55 AM
To: Lisa

Good Morning ! Hey Lisa do you know if the parts I requested from
NEQUAK ever got ordered or came in? # 09F5329

From: Lisa
Sent: Wednesday, October 31, 2007 7:21 AM
To: Nob

That part number has been discontinued. The vendor recommended a different number, 22K8388. Will this do? If so, what quantity is needed?

From: Nob
Sent: Wednesday, October 31, 2007 8:34 AM
To: Lisa

The same.

Okay, what kind of a friggin answer is that? It doesn't answer either one of the questions I asked! The first was a yes/no question. The second required a numerical answer. The same doesn't fit either of those categories!

Friggin moron.

If I were a Man-Rabbit I'd totally touch me too.

As previously mentioned in the last post I had a string of dreams a couple of weeks ago. I mean, there's a dream-remembering dry spell, then whammo hello here's four dreams to remember, then nothingness again. What is up with that?

Dream # 1 Synopsis:

Act I) I do weird embarrassing things in front of people who are not weirded out which weirds me out because they should be totally weirded out by the fact that I'm doing these weird things. Right in front of them no less.

Act II) I um... well... havemyfirstsexdreamever.

*cough*

Seriously. It was awesome. There was this guy, escorting me around some town in a car, we stop at some corner, he hands me six bucks, and directs me to go talk to the women standing on the corner. But they're not like Hooker-Corner-Standing. They're like... flea market setting-up-wares standing. I think they were selling baskets or something. And I uh... well... me and one of the girls end up in the back seat of the car. The end.

EPIC!

;)

Dream # 2 Synopsis:

I was in the videogame I was playing earlier that day (like, I was in that world, actually a part of the game... no, I don't play too much, thanks for asking), and we were doing stuff that we were doing in the game, then the location in the game morphed into the street next to my apartment complex.

We were all heading somewhere. The "where" wasn't too important at the time.

Eventually that somewhere turned into some underground bunker-like museum. It was a cross between the underground lab from the second Star Trek movie and Q's lab from the James Bond movies. And Tim Gunn was our tour guide.

I love it when celebrities guest star in my dreams.

Dream # 3 Synopsis:

Act I) something having to do with the DMV. I wrote it down somewhere so I wouldn't forget, but I don't remember it being too interesting. So meh, whatever. I can't remember the last time the DMV popped into my head, so my subconscious really had to reach deep for that one.

Act II) I'm outside in the DMV's backyard. There's a garden. At one point I start getting pawed by these strange Man-Rabbits.

That dream memory of the Man-Rabbits (like men in rabbit suits, only they're not a suits) will stick with me for awhile. I wasn't scared or worried. I was just mystified as to the Man-Rabbit's motivations behind touching me.

Other than the fact that in my dreams I'm, like, totally hot.

Well, not really, but I'm not my uberfat self either.

Did I look like a Woman-Carrot or something?


Dream # 4 Synopsis:

I was at work. Doing work. There was a little more too it than that, but that's what I woke up remembering. Doing paper work.

It was an awful feeling. Especially since I had to get dressed and go do more of it for real.

What the hell is up with that crap? I'm supposed to be having dreams about sex or Tim Gunn or creepy affectionate Man-Rabbit creatures. I'm not supposed to dream about all the paper work I have to do!

I love remembering my dreams, but good lord, these were getting progressively worse. I'm glad it stopped after the work dream. I don't want to think about how much worse it would have gotten.

I've heard from the HB, and from others, who have had dreams about doing homework. The HB, while taking Calculus 4, would have dreams about working out complicated calculus problems. He'd wake up exhausted, with hours of real calculus homework in front of him.

So at least I didn't have a calculus dream... I guess.

It has been 5,486 days since my last confession.

Well, maybe not that many days, but it sure feels like it.

Man, do I fail at this whole blogging thing or what?!

I should have been posting during that week a couple weeks ago where I practically had four dreams in a row. Each one stranger and more disturbing than the last.

This here blog is the perfect place to record stuff, to save important and historical events in The Life Of Lisa to be savored at a later date - you know, in case I happen to suffer from temporary/nontemporary amnesia in the future, or whatever. Or you do, dear reader, and wonder why the hell you're here. So yeah, important and historical and blah blah blah. Let me tell you something, that first dream was definitely historical.

Here, a taste.

Dream 1: Sex!
Dream 2: Tim Gunn as Tour Guide!
Dream 3: Man-Rabbits from the DMV's garden!
Dream 4: My job, it haunts me! *cry*

All that dreamy goodness, and still no posts from I.

Then came the Ant Incident of '07.

I think I may have consumed a whole colony.

Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration. But there were several of them. And I'm sure once they mixed with the toxic acids of my stomach they became mutant Godzilla ants that mated with each other to produce gabillions of baby Godzilla ants

True story.

But more on dreams and ants later. I have to pee, but I need to post this first before Some Work Emergency happens which causes a rip in the space time continuum that is my brain and I totally forget that I have something to post.

Because my brain is a leaky sieve of a bitch like that lately.

Which coincides nicely with the fact that I've started a new school quarter!

/cheer

Dear Diary

Work sucks.

And...

...

...yeah.

So how you's doin'?



Geez... I typed "Dairy" in the title field and i swear, it felt like it took me at least a minute to figure out why that just looked wrong. "Is it spelled dairie maybe? No, that's not it..." My brain, its deadified.

sigh

/facepalm

etc, etc, etc

So, I guess Bound Manual is a story about a young mexican sex slave worker?

Mr. Jack trained us shlubs about six months ago on How To Do Our Jobs in the New System.

He printed and handed out many printed handouts. He used big shiny alligator clips to keep the different sections together, and separate from each other. We ooohed and ahhhed appropriately.

Well, at least I did. The other two knuckleheads whined about not having a binder to put it all in.

Ungrateful bastards. They should have been rejoicing in the fact that we had handouts. With pictures! What more could a lowly confused office drone hope for?

Then came the Other Trainers. Those trainers that would train me in the Art Of Buying Shit. They would have to really shine to outdo Mr. Jack's training.

And boy did they shine.

Well, if only in the Grand Offerings department. These Other Trainers came to us with preassembled gifts from the gods. Bound Manuals. On purple paper!

Mr. Jack suffered from Manual Envy.

But he was not to be outdone.

On no, not he! Not the Training God amongst the mightiest of gods!

Because you see, as it turns out, The Powers That Be had decided earlier to actually, in fact, delay the inevitable. We were given time to redo all of our last minute preparations, because if hectic last minute crunch time preparations are fun the first time around, they're certainly more enjoyable/insightful/helpful/life fulfilling the second time around.

"Oh joy!" shouted my fellow employees from across the land. "More prep time after years of prepping!"

And with more prep time came the need for more training. Refresher training if you will. Because most of the stuff we learned 6 months ago had quietly and secretly oozed from our memory retention cells.

Enter stage left: the awesome Mr. Jack, Training God to the Stars. And with him all three inches of nothing less than ambrosia from the gods themselves.

I am now the proud owner of a three inch binder full of reference material on How To Do My Job. My sweet lil office Man-u-well has color coded alphabetical dividers for easy access. And it has three, count them three different Table of Contents!

I love my Manual. He makes my life so much easier, now that we've entered The Final Stage on our road to Tartarus. The Big Change is just around the corner. The day we've been preparing for, and crying over, for months - nay years! - is just around the corner. But I've got Manual to keep me company, to keep me safe.

I love you Office Manual.

*smoooooch*

sorry, there is no little puking emoticon for me to select from *

* The above post title comes from an IM conversation I had with Jack yesterday. Like the good little time waster that he is, he eventually found me one. A puking emoticon that is. I meant to save it and use it as my new computer wallpaper... but I lost it. Le sigh.

Today's post comes from the category of Things I Never Wanted To Learn About My Coworkers.

Random Coworker (one of two that has made the comment that I sound like a phone sex operator when I use my 'quiet voice' on voice messages - eek!) is in the office and says, "The second thing..." And I'm suddenly wondering what the first thing was. I wasn't paying attention and can easily tune out surrounding conversations when the mood suits. The mood suits often enough, especially when I've got a cold. (Like I do now, just a week or two after getting over the last one. *whine*)

Random Coworker sounded kind of hurt, like Mr. Desk Neighbor had made some joke about clowns without knowing that Random Coworker's mom is a clown who's won National Clown awards for Recognition in Promoting Clown Excellence across the country or something, which then caused Random Coworker to be so deeply offended by said clown joke that he, naturally, felt compelled to school Mr. Desk Neighbor in what to avoid saying as to not make him so upset.

I don't know if Random Coworker's mom is a clown or not. All I know is that the whole thing sounded kind of awkward by the time I tuned into the conversation. And then I heard the rest of that sentence.

"The second thing that really burns me up? Going to the bathroom and finding the seat warm."

Oh good lord.

"I just can't do it. I have to come back when the seats cold..."

I thought he was joking at first. He was just pulling Mr. Desk Neighbor's leg, trying to make him feel bad, then whammo! Out comes the punch line.

But I think he was kind of serious.

"...Someone's ass had made it warm!"

Seriously. I didn't need to know.

"You agree Lisa?"

Huh? Whaaaaaat?

"Uh... no comment."

I went back to ignoring them after that. He got my attention again when he asked me a question.

"I'm sorry," I said, dragging my attention from the Very Important Work I'm engrossed in. "What did you ask?"

"Never mind. Sorry for bothering you," he said.

"You're not. I have to pay attention to you for you to bother me."

Ah ha! Score one for me! That put him in his place. For a bit. Playing with me was like playing with fire - he got burned! - so he went back to joking with Mr. Desk Neighbor and I went back to ignoring them.

But one snippet made it through the filters.

"I have to watch my weight... so I can wear my thong."

That almost elicited a response, but I know that's what they were hoping for. So I kept on ignoring them as best I could.

Kind of like when the boogeyman is standing in your room, in the shadows, ready to pounce. If you just shut your eyes real tight, throw the covers over your head and pretend he doesn't exist, he eventually gets bored, gives up, and finds someone else to annoy.

Oh, its on like donkey kong now!

The other day, right before a very (yeah right) important business meeting, someone told me I should be a comedian.

I can't remember why he said that. I'm really not that funny. And he doesn't need to kiss my ass for any reason...

Well, it doesn't matter. I was mystified all the same because being a comedian, especially of the stand-up variety, is the last thing I'm qualified for.

That and Resident Rocket Science Expert. But I digress...

I told him he was wrong, gave Jack the evil eye, then I left the conference room to get a snack before the Big Meeting Of Nothingness commenced. I meant to get a snack when I was at the vending machine only minutes before, but some whore (re: Jack) snuck up behind me and screamed which made me scream and skip a few heart beats and curse like a fourth grader who just learned a new cuss word.

It also made me completely forget I'd wanted a damn snack in the first place. So... I guess I almost owe you a 'thank you' for that Jack. Next time though, make the forgetfulness last a bit longer so I don't gravitate back towards the Evil Vending Machines.

I mean, if you're going to be a bitch, be the best bitch you can be.

:)

Anywho, I get back to the conference room to find that my dear friend Jack has drawn me a picture. A little visualization cue card if you will.

I don't know why I'm wearing a 'pwnd' dress but that's pretty awesome. I'll need to get me one of those sometime.

And now he's resorted to calling me names on his own blog.

*tee hee*

It's almost pointless to link to his blog since there's nothing there. Except for the one post where he lovingly (I'm sure) calls me a bayatch.

I guess he got drunk one night and ate all the posts. All three posts or whatnot.

Sheesh. You're such a slacker dude. Now go validate my data!!!

A post about my mom that deserves a better title than this lame ass one

So my mom just called me. I was ending a phone conversation with my boss when my pants started to vibrate (ooh la la). I pulled out my cell and saw the name MOM scroll across the screen. Considering the last time she called (see explanation below**) I didn't want to miss her call so I hit the little 'talk' button and hoped she hadn't been sent to voicemail yet.

Me: Hello?
Mom: Hellooo. So whatcha doing?
Me: Uh... work.
Mom: Oh. Ohhhhhh. I thought it was Saturday!

Hahahahahaha.

My mom's not retired. Or senile. So she's generally on top of what day of the week it is.

She doesn't work Fridays but apparently for the last couple of weeks she has. Today was her first Friday off in awhile. Hence that warm fuzzy Saturday feeling.

Mom: Your father has the day off too! We're just running around, getting things done.
Me: Uh huh.
Mom: Thought I'd see how you were enjoying the weekend.
Me: Sigh.
Mom: Okay, call me later.

At least this wasn't one of her "guess-where-we're-at-that's-right-the-beach-nayh-nayh-nayh-nayh-nayh!" phone calls. (I swear, I get one of those every time they go, which is often. They're a couple of beach-aholics.) That might have made this Friday sucks just a little bit more.

But hey, its Friday! This is supposed to be a Suck-Free-Zone for crying out loud.

So thanks for the phone call Mom. It made my day. Even if you did point out how much fun your having not being at work today. :)


** The last time my mom called me was last Wednesday (july 4th). Some girl had just called her, a girl who, under the duress she was obviously under, sounded an awful lot like me.

All she said was, "Mom? Are you there? Mommmmmm????" And then the phone disconnected.

The girl was crying and upset and needing to talk to her mom in a very bad way.

The girl didn't sound exactly like me, but people don't always sound like they normally do when they're really upset. So my mom worried. And called me on my cell.

I was driving at the time and didn't answer.

Which worried my poor mom even more.

I called her back when I got home and reassured her I was fine. I think she was still a little shaken by the phone call so I reassured her several times that I was perfectly wonderfully and enjoying the holiday.

I don't know if I'll ever have kids. It'd be nice to have someone do my chores and feel obligated to wipe my ass when I'm old and senile and needing a place to stay. But those aren't exactly primo reasons to spawn.

And yes I know children are wonderful and change your lives and are blessings and fill your hearts with joy and love and blah blah blah. I know they're worth all the pain and angst you might have in direct result of them being in your lives.

But if I never have kids, at least I'll never have that gut ripping parental fear that something bad might be happening to your child.

So mad props to any parents out there. I don't know how you do it. Maybe one day I'll know... maybe.

My brain is unlike that of any mortal! It consists of witchcraft, spells, and ideas for pastries that the world has yet to see! *

Driving into work this morning I smelled something weird.

Now, I don't have the greatest sense of smell. I'm not sure if that's always been the case or if moving down to smogsville has affected my allergies so much its messed with my nose. Sometimes I can't smell anything. That I can see as being a side effect of the allergies. But sometimes I smell things that others can't. (And I've never been pregnant so no excuse there.) Sometimes there's a faint smell in the air, just under everyone else's radar, but for some reason my nose can pick up the scent.

And then my brain messes up the signal so it makes me think I'm smelling something I'm not.

Like yesterday... the coffee in the coffee pot was burning. Or something. That's what New Girl said as she came back from turning the burner off. Then all of a sudden I smelled it. But it wasn't burnt coffee I was smelling. It was tuna. Yes, I smelled tuna. And there was no tuna to be found. On further sniffing however I was able to define the smell into a more clearer... I don't know, memory I guess. It smelled like tuna sandwiches on toast. Did the burnt coffee, which was the basis for the burnt bread smell, make me think of the last time I made a homemade tuna sandwich? Is that why I smelled tuna?

I smelled myself as best I could. No tuna smell there. I swear.

Actually, now that I recall, New Girl had eaten a tuna sandwich for lunch yesterday. But that was around 9 in the morning (so it was more of a brunch I guess) and the coffee/tuna smell hit me around 2 in the afternoon. So I doubt I was picking up on the sandwich wrapper in the trash can across the room and...

Well anyway, where was I before the tangent... ah yes, weird smells at work.

I work in a warehouse district. Lots of big processing plants and packing plants and etc. While driving down one of the streets around here I almost always smell fried chicken. This weirds me the hell out. Why in the hell am I smelling fried chicken in the middle of nowhere? There's no KFC anywhere close. Are one of these buildings a frozen chicken farm? If so, they sure as hell shouldn't be smelling like fried chicken. I almost always picture those cute little chickens from the Fosters Farms commercials. I don't want to associate their cuteness with the fried greasiness but I just can't help it. Poor lil chickens.

I'm not even sure if others can smell it. I've pointed it out to people. We'll be driving along and I'll say something like, "Dude! There's that fried chicken smell again! What the hell is that?" and the passenger usually ignores me. Or doesn't find it as intriguing as I do. So I'm not sure if they smell it. It's strange. Coworker Jack, you've smelled the fried chicken, right? What the hell is making that smell????

But anyway, that's not the weird smell I felt compelled to write about today.

It's play-doh.

That's what I smelled on my way to work this morning.

What in the world smells like play-doh other than play-doh???

Maybe I drove by a new play-doh factory. Oh god, could you imagine working in a hot smelly play-doh factory. I think I'd rather die.

Or not, because dieing sucks.

Have I mentioned yet that I only got 4 hours of sleep last night? Hmmmm.....

* I couldn't think of a blog title, so I tried a web search for nose/smell quotes and found this fabulous site.

How My Tuesday Morning Was Almost Ruined

So I'm driving into work this morning and I turn down the street that I park on, the street parallel to my Place of Employment that's always littered with big honking semi's that feel its their god given truckers right to park right in the middle of the friggin street, right before the curve in the road so that I can't pass them without fearing for my life. Grrrrr....

So, anyway, I turn down the street and see a little bunny chilling his little bunny butt right there on the yellow lane divider strip.

And, naturally, I yelled, "BUNNYYYYY! HI BUNNY!!!!!" because I'm a dork like that and no one else was in the car.

I think that was the first time I've ever seen a bunny near my Place of Employment. Poor fella must have been lost.

As well as mentally imbalanced.

Because when the little bunny heard me scream his name, his ears perked up and he ran. But did he run away from The Big Speeding Car of Death? No. He chose to run in front of The BSCoD.

I was just joking around before, but now I was really truly yelling.

"NO BUNNY NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

I swear to all things fuzzy that's exactly what I said. As if the damn bunny could understand me.

Stupid bunny.

And no I didn't run him over. He had a nice set of bunny angel wings on his back and zoomed just a little bit faster than my car was going.

Let the therapy begin...

I wrote the following a couple of months ago as a way to relieve stress. I had nothing to hit, nothing to throw of any substantial substance, and no zen garden to tend to. So I typed. Great therapy, this typing thing is. Venting out loud also works but I don't believe I had an ear to bend under the weight of my annoyance. So I typed and ranted and relieved myself over the page.

Hmmm... that sounds kind of gross.

Anywho. This is what I wrote.

I got an email just a bit ago from someone who orders stuff in our system. The email said: "Please mark this PO as received."

I don't know how many times I've explained this to the chick, but I can't receive PO's. I order stuff so its kind of a conflict of interest. The Guy Who Receives Things receives them. That's why he's called The Guy Who Receives Things. Why is this so hard to understand?

He gets the paper work that says X amount of X item from X vendor on X order has been dropped off. Then he goes on the computer and updates the order in the system. Just because she says its here isn't good enough. Great! Its here! Good to know! But how much of its here? Just because she ordered 500 of whatever doesn't mean they shipped 500 of whatever. Sometimes they ship 510. Or 487. It varies. (Which may seem stupid, I know, but they charge us for the overall weight of the item and not the individual pieces.)

Which I've told her several times now. How many more times do I have to say it???

She says she knows the item is here because her inventory is bigger. Great. But by how much? We can't just receive the order and fix the quantity later. It's a pain in the ass. Does she know how much they shipped? No? Then we have to call the vendor or wait for the paper work. The Guy Who Receives Things should have the paperwork, but the guys in her department squirrel the paper away for rainy days. Maybe for when they run out of tp and need something to wipe their asses with. Who knows.

The other day she sent me an email asking me to "update" the order. Which I can't do. Instead of explaining it again, since in-your-face-rationalization doesn't work for her, I tried subtlety. I replied to her email, and copied Guy Who Receives Things and asked if he had the paper work yet for the item. In doing so I'd hoped that she'd realize, 'Ooooooh yeah. If I want an ordered updated in the system I should ask the guy who *&#@ing updates the *&#^%ing system.'

But alas, she's still sending me emails asking me to receive orders. Bah!

So yeah. I work with morons.

I got a similar email this morning. Different Order Placer Girl, same department. And she too knows, maybe more than the other girl, that The Guy Who Receives Things is the guy that receives orders in the system. That's his job. And yet today she sends ME an email telling ME an order needs to be received.

I really wanted to respond with, "And I'm supposed to do what exactly? I personally can't friggin receive the order so it must not be that? Hmmm... Where you just letting me know so I didn't worry about the status of an order I had no idea existed? Gee golly thanks."

But I didn't. I Replied to All and CC'd the Guy Who Receives Things and said, 'hey, apparently there's an order for you to receive and apparently know one knows your name or knows your job and they're afraid to make contact with you via email lest they catch some nasty Receiver Guy Germs so receive please!'

It's a silly thing to be annoyed by and if this is the worst of my day I am very fortunate indeed. I know this. And yet it still gets to me. So I vent, vocally and in print, and then I get some damn prospective and get the hell over it. Hopefully.

Damn morons.

I get stuff done. No really, I do!

Because I have nothing interesting to write about at the moment (other than the snot that is STILL taking up residence in my body), I shall share a very entertaining correspondence session I had with some fellow coworkers yesterday.


From: Lisa
Sent: Tuesday, June 26, 2007 11:42 AM
To: Mr. Desk Neighbor; New Girl; Jack
Subject: Award Time

And award for Most Retarded Parents of The Year < tm>goes to these people:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/lifestylebritainnames

"The little girl's mother Maria, in keeping with her boxing-mad family's bizarre tradition, decided to give her 25 middle names - all culled from the greatest exponents inside the ring."

Seriously. Why are parents so cruel?

Actually, after reading the article I found better candidates. I saw a link on the side to a video with the following explanation:
"New Zealand authorities have blocked a couple's bid to officially name their new son '4real,' saying numerals are not allowed. (June 22)"

That's just too stupid for words.


From: Jack
Sent: Tuesday, June 26, 2007 11:42 AM
To: Mr. Desk Neighbor; New Girl; Lisa

thank you for this important information. Don’t you have any data validation to do?

jeez


From: Lisa
Sent: Tuesday, June 26, 2007 12:07 PM
To: Mr. Desk Neighbor; New Girl; Jack

Well apparently you don't pay attention to your emails very well. There is nothing to validate at this moment. In regards to SAP. So in order to fulfill my data validating needs I have been forced to look elsewhere, and am currently validating AP news data.

Thank you for your concern in regards to this matter.


From: New Girl
Sent: Tuesday, June 26, 2007 12:07 PM
To: Lisa and only Lisa

You go Girl !!!!


From: Jack
Sent: Tuesday, June 26, 2007 12:12 PM
To: The Gang

Thank you for the clarification. Perhaps you would like a handy tip sheet on e-mail etiquette. You may find it useful.


From: Mr. Desk Neighbor
Sent: Tuesday, June 26, 2007 12:12 PM
To: The Gang

I've got $10 on the Purchaser in the third round.

Note for Clarification for all you folks following along at home: Purchaser = me!


From: Lisa
Sent: Tuesday, June 26, 2007 12:17 PM
To: The Gang

Thank you for your quick response. That would be most appreciated, though I am not convinced of the so called usefulness of this tip sheet. Have you, in fact, read it? I find no evidence of such in your correspondence.


From: Jack
Sent: Tuesday, June 26, 2007 12:19 PM
To: The Gang

Thank you for your thoughts of the aforementioned "Sheet of proper Email Etiquette" hereinafter and heretofore known as "tip sheet." Whereas we feel the litigious and castigious nature of your previous messages bespoke a hint of negativity and therefore hostility, we respectfully request that furtherheretomore you refrain from mentioning the aforementioned tip sheet, lest problems of pride and prestige beseech you hereinafter.


From: Jack
Sent: Tuesday, June 26, 2007 12:25 PM
To: The Gang



An aside from the peanut gallery: Awe, look at that... isn't that cute? He astricked out the naughty words to preserve my poor little sensibilities. I mean, its not like he thought the doctored version would save his ass from getting fired or anything.

"Well Jack, we saw the email and thought we'd have to let you go for improper use of profanity in the work place, but on further review all we can see are those damn asterisks. Well played son, well played!"


From: Lisa
Sent: Tuesday, June 26, 2007 12:28 PM
To: The Gang

Thank you for your thank you. Might I inquire into the identities of this "we" that you speak of? Are we being visited by the voices again? And if I am forevermore never to mention the previously knicknamed 'tip sheet' am I also to be hindered from the use of the phrase "Sheet of Proper Email Etiquette". If so, I may have to look into changing my middle names from "Girl of The Many Sheets of Proper Email Etiquette" to something plain. Like Jane.


From: Lisa
Sent: Tuesday, June 26, 2007 12:30 PM
To: The Gang

You want PIE? Well...
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.



From: Jack
Sent: Tuesday, June 26, 2007 12:31 PM
To: The Gang

The next email is hard to show in its entirety so that you understand the full force of it. It was this image...


...repeated over 100 times.

Seriously, for research into this post, and because I was suddenly curious, I tried counting all the little folder garps. I stopped counting at 50 and I wasn't even halfway down the page.

The whole thing looked like this (though severly minimized so it fits... and not this color but for some reason frickin paint wouldn't save as jpeg and bmp frelled it up even more, stupid piece of crap program)



I almost called defeat after this one. I mean, how can you top not just one garp, but a whole wall of garp?! All 3 frickin MB of email space worth of it. Well, as I was typing up my white flag of truce it hit me. (The idea, not the email). It was time to pull out the big guns.


From: Lisa
Sent: Tuesday, June 26, 2007 12:51 PM
To: The Gang




From: Jack
Sent: Tuesday, June 26, 2007 1:28 PM
To: Lisa

Yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It’s the synthesis of garp, cartman and haysus!!!!


Note the time delay between the last three posts. We were getting distracted by real work. At least I was. That, and the fact that its not easy to whip a talking jesus out your ass. I mean, Jack's a pro at that kind of stuff, but it takes me time to finesse things. Like finding just the right speech bubble.

But anywho, moral to the story is that I won. And there the fun stopped for the rest of the work day.

And no Jack, I'm still not validating any damn data. =P

And the saga continues...

Okay, so to continue today's blog posting theme that is All About Snot, let me tell you about my nose.

It's dripping like a mo-fo.

And I'm tired of fighting it. I've been fighting against the scratchy throat, trying not to cough while on the phone or in front of coworkers, all to no avail. All I get out of it is watery leaky eyeballs and people asking me, "Are you okay?"

Do I look/sound okay??? No, but thanks for your concern. Next time though, pretend the Phlegm Monster doesn't exist so that I can pretend you don't notice me being all gross and stuff. Okay? That's how this is supposed to work. I can't work on my denial if you keep throwing reality in my face. Sheesh.

I hate when I turn into a Phlegm Monster. Out of no where comes this phlegm infused cough/sneeze combo that scares everyone in the office.

"Don't worry! I'm okay! My monitor is okay! Nothing green flew out of any of my orifices! It is now safe to move about the cabin!"

I go into the bathroom to blow my nose (I'm a considerate coworker and try to make the icky snot noises elsewhere) and nothing comes out. Then as I'm walking back to my desk my nose leaks like a faulty faucet and I have to run for a tissue.

My brilliant solution? Stuffing Kleenex up my nose.

That way, when the nose wants to drip, it can drip, and I don't have to keep whipping my poor little sensitive nose.

I've never attempted this at work before. Never in front of someone who doesn't have family/best friend/boyfriend status. As I type this I have half a Kleenex wadded up and stuffed in each nostril. And I don't care who sees me.

Well, I didn't, until a Very Important National Bigwig Of Much Importance walked into the office on her tour of the facility. The VINBOMI who stopped at this particular office in the back of the building to see me specifically. D'oh.

I pulled those wads out of my nose faster than you can say, "holy shit a complete stranger who just happens to be my boss's boss's boss's (etc to some unknown degree up the food chain) just saw me with fucking kleenix hanging out my nose!"

Yep.

I'd say the whole thing was embarrassing. Mortifying even. But I'm positive she didn't see anything since she was a few feet away from me. And she was small (i.e. tiny eyes i.e. poor vision). And busy talking to her entourage. And disoriented after having come from a hot, noisy, dark part of the facility into the bright, cold, quiet office. Yeah, I bet the light blinded her for a second.

Uh huh.

That's my perception of reality and I'm stickin' to it.

Down with the Sickness

The Sickness, it is consuming me.

It has taken over all motor functions, to the point where I now know what living in Jello World must feel like.

(which me thinks would be totally awesome btw)

The sickness is in control of all my higher reasoning brain portals.

(See the above, and obviously retarded, parenthetical statement for proof.)

I can not focus on anything. I can no longer even fake the ability that is Intelligent Speaking.

So I'm going to blog again about being sick. Because its all I can think about, what with the sinus cavities about to EXPLODE.

Seriously.

They are seconds away from EXPLODING!

Monday was the worst, because the snot was dripping down my throat, causing it to be all sore and shit. My sinus cavities weren't on the verge of EXPLODING, but it hurt like hell to swallow, which, try as I might, was unavoidable. So that was the worst, and thankfully that ohmygodithurtstoswallow stage was over soon enough.

Because then Tuesday came along, and with it the Evil Swelling of the Sinuses. Which in turn led to the great Office Massacre of '07.

Okay, so it wasn't exactly a massacre. Per se. I only bit one guys head off. Chewed it up and spit it out and stomped on it until it stopped twitching.

Guy comes up to me, like, two seconds after I step into the office in the morning, and tells me an order wasn't received in the system. And I think to myself, and I should care because..., because really, I'm not the person who receives stuff. If something needs to be received, talk to The Guy Who Receives Stuff. Not a hard concept to grasp. I don't say anything to the guy and continue making my way through the imaginary sludge that is my jello sickness world. I sit at my desk and before I can even turn on the computer he grabs a paper from the printer, proof of said delivery, and proceeds to shove the proof in my face.

And I snapped.

Before he can explain it, which for some reason he is most eager to do, I asked, "Why are you showing this to me?"

Guy looks stunned. Confused. What a silly thing to ask, his contorted face says to me.

"This wasn't received-" he starts to say.

"Yeah, so why are you SHOWING IT TO ME????????"

Guy blinks. Uh oh, he looks like I've hurt his feelings.

"Seriously. What am I supposed to do? What? WHAT????"

Guy walks away, pissed all to hell. And he wouldn't talk to me for hours afterward, other than to say asshole-ish things. Which was fine, because if he was going to bother me with crap that I don't need to be bothered with first freaking thing in the morning when I'm obviously cranky with sickness (the constant coughing should have been a HUGE clue) then I could care less if his feelings were hurt. Which is a lie, because I felt bad that I'd snapped at him. But not bad enough to apologize. Meh.

I don't know what he expected from me. A round of applause? I scooby snack for a job well done?

Today my throat feels better. Yeah! But only because there's no snot drippage because the sinuses are at about DefCon 5000.

EXPLOSION time I tell ya!

I'm also having trouble talking today. More so than usual. I can talk to the people in the office just fine, but once I get on the phone to talk to a vendor my throat seizes and The Throat Tickle From Hell is unleashed and I start to cough like its going out of style. I had to hang up on one guy because I couldn't even say, 'excuse me sir while I hack up a lung, I'll be right back.' I hung up and ran outside so I could hack in peace. Being sick in an office full of people, even sparsely populated with people, sucks the Big One.

And now it is Wednesday, aka The Day of The Drippy Nose. Which I'll blog about in another post because its time to get to work. Which dammit it all the hell in back involves more talking on phones. Bah!

No time for morons

So this is what happened just a little bit ago...

A coworker walks into the office and sits down at his desk.

I continue to cough sporadically like I've been doing for the last couple of days.

And not dainty coughs mind you. Really gross phlegm-y painful coughs.

A couple of minutes later the coworker stands up and walks over to the fax machine.

I cough again.

The coworker pauses, turns to me, and asks: "You sick?"

Well no shit dumbass.

"No. I think coughing's fun!"

Seriously. Don't ask me stupid questions. If you'd like to send your condolences re: my awful sucky condition, then by all means, go ahead. But don't ask if I'm fucking sick after I've been coughing germs all over my desk for the last couple of days.

Grrrrrr!

Why does a sinus headache make me bitchier than normal? Hmmm...

And then we broke out in song and danced gaily down the street.

Or maybe not. I can't quite remember how the dream ended, but we were doing something in the street, so why shouldn't it be singing and dancing. It's not like we were snapping our fingers, looking to shank some Jets/Sharks punks.

No, my dreams more often than not center around the weird than the violent.

So yeah, I had this dream the other night about my best friend. My BBBF I'll refer to here as Z.

The dream started (as far as I can remember) with me in the parking lot of my apartment complex. I was dressed in clothes I normally wear for work. Why that's significant, I don't know. But it was for some reason. As I watched the dream unfold in Playback Mode the following morning I remember noticing the work pants I was wearing. I just think its weird the small little details that stick out in dreams. Because in the dream it wasn't just 'pants', it was 'those pants I wear to work!'

I wonder if there's a translation of 'work clothes' dream symbolism somewhere...

Anywhoo, I was at the mailbox (which is located on the edge of the parking lot a few cars down from where I normally park) when all of a sudden a car pulls up next to me. And who happens to be in the car? Why its Z! In the backseat while her parents are in the front! And the car is the old blue rodeo her mom used to drive us around in when we were in high school! I was chauffeured around a lot in that car, by both her parents and later by Z (when her knight rider car was on the fritz) so I guess my brain didn't want to bother picturing her mom's new car.

Actually, I can't picture it now... d'oh!

So Z (who lives a couple hours north of me) decided to show up early in the morning. In the middle of the week. With her parents. Okaaaaaay.

Now, I'd just come from checking the mailbox (which I'd been doing for a couple days prior in real life, looking for something Z had sent me) but I didn't have anything in my hand except my atm card (which I need to use to buy Z's b-day present. Don't worry Z! It's coming!)

I remember feeling... well I guess I can't remember exactly what I was feeling a couple of days after the dream. I was going to say embarrassed, but that's wrong. I was more anxious than anything, that they might - *gasp* - see the atm card! I quickly hid it in my pants pocket. I'm not sure what my subconscious was trying to say there, but I think I was just anxious about buying her present, and presents are secrets until they're open. So I wanted to keep the card a secret. Or something.

So I squirrel away my atm card and Z rolls down the window. She holds up a huge zip lock freezer bag (a regular one would have done just fine, I remember noting the strange use of the too-big bag) with a couple of mini sandwiches inside. She'd made me ham sandwiches that looked just like the ones I'd had two weekends ago when I went to the beach and hung out with family. Those sandwiches were full of awesome. Simply made, with fresh-from-the-bakery wheat bread and some Dijon mustard and pickles. Cut into four small mini sandwiches. Oh so yummy.

So to recap so far: my BBBF shows up with her parents, in an old car from the memory banks of my childhood, with mini ham sandwiches in a huge-ass zip lock freezer bag, all while I'm standing near my mailbox in work clothes waving around my atm card for all the hoodlums in the neighborhood to see.

Then the weird stuff started happening.

The memory of the dream gets a little fuzzy after Z holds up the baggie of sandwiches. Next thing I remember is the four of us standing in the middle of the parking lot. Why were we standing in the middle of the parking lot? I have no idea. Easier to talk to maybe?

And suddenly there was a fifth person standing in our little social group. It was a guy. A faceless shadow of a guy because my brain didn't have enough information to fill him in. Whoever it was though, it was definitely a guy. It wasn't the HB, or Z's brother, or my brother, or anyone I knew at all. But it was definitely someone Z knew. Someone who came Z to this lil' gathering.

(And yes Z, I'm sure he was mucho hunky.)

So the five of us are standing in the parking lot, just chillin', talking about stuff, and it somehow comes out that they all play FFXI, which is the videogame I'm addicted to. Ohmygosh! I have that game! You play too? Ohmygosh!

So needless to say, after we learned that, we all had to pull out our gaming consoles and play online together. Right there in the parking lot. Because I don't remember inviting them up to my apartment!

Mwhahahahah!

I'm such a bad host, making my friends and Z's hunky boyfriend who plays videogames play outside in the parking lot.

And that's all I remember.

So Z, start hanging out in videogame stores. That's where you'll find Mr. Hunky. I'm sure that's what my dream was ultimately trying to tell me. And hey, who knows, maybe this guy is the videogame store owner, and owns a franchise of video game store chains across the globe!

Mr. Rich N. Hunky

:)

One more until immortality!

Today is my 28th birthday. However, yesterday was the actual anniversary of the day of my birth, (I was born on the other side of the globe, several time zones ahead of the one I habitat now, so yesterday it was the 8th here and the 9th there, so technically it was my birthday) but no one seemed keen to celebrate it with me. Which is a total crock.

My parents never let me open presents early. "You were born on the 9th, you can open presents on the 9th." And no amount of "but mom" reasoning could change my mom's mind.

The HB celebrates two birthdays. He was born on one day, but his birth certificate lists a different day (two days later). So he celebrates his real birthday and his official, legal birthday. No, he doesn't get twice the presents. He just gets to use the 'but its my birthday!' line for two whole days.

I let him get away with this because I'm his girlfriend. It's just what girlfriends do. Plus, he's cute. And can be real adorable when he wants to be.

But you know what, I'm cute too dammit. I should get to use the but its my birthday! line twice too.

I tried telling people yesterday that it was my birth anniversary, the actual anniversary of my birth all those years ago, and that there should be cake and balloons and monkeys with parrots on their shoulders singing happy birthday telegrams, but no one was buying it.

Silly people.

Anywhoo, today is my "official" birthday, and its turning out to be a great day (despite having to wake up at 5am. Ug.) So far I've received the following:

A "happy birthday honey!" from the HB as soon as the alarm went off.
A couple 'happy birthdays' from my office-mates.
A happy birthday email from the best friend.
A photoshopped picture of a festive religious figure from Jack.
A happy birthday serenade and phone call from my mom.
And a 9.7 score from Mr. Desk Neighbor.

I have no idea where the last one came from. For some reason he felt compelled to print out a sheet of paper with big bold "9.7" in the center, and then hang it up on my cubicle wall. I asked what happened to the ".3". He said my delivery was a little faulty.

Huh?

Exactly.

** Edited to Add:

I forgot to include the email Jack sent of him singing happy birthday. Which didn't work because I couldn't hear it. And he still hasn't sent it in different format so I can here it. :P

Also to add to the list, a fellow 28-er just sent me a happy bday text message, from one old lady to another. :)

Second Favorite Overheard Office Conversation of the Day

It was really a one sided conversation, because whenever coworker #1 tells a story he takes center stage, but here it is anyway...

Coworker #1: So we had both Chihuahuas over last night.
Coworker #2: Uh huh.
Coworker #1: And my wife started dancing like this.

Coworker #1 performs spastic twister dance.

Coworker #1: She had both dogs on a leash and was all tangled up.

Coworker #1 continues spastic twister dance.

Coworker #1: I was laughing so hard my ass *mumble mumble mumble*
Coworker #2: What?
Coworker #3: What?
Coworker #1: My ass trumpet went off!

Favorite Overheard Office Conversation of the Day

We build stuff here. And stuff, as always, is in need of being built. So people in the office were discussing said stuff. Mechanical know-how jargon was being bandied about. I was only half paying attention. Then I heard this:

Supervisor: Is this my exit hole right here?
Coworker: ...
Supervisor: Oh. Heh heh heh.

I once kept a record of all the stuff I overheard at work, that sounded dirty in my gutter residing mind. It was hard at the beginning, when I first started working here, because the 10 year old boy inside me wanted to giggle every time someone talked about vibrators or nipples or shafts or female/male ends connecting to each other. Luckily, the 20-something girl on the outside was able to keep her cool. Because I'm a professional. Yep indeed-y-do.

Here's another addition to the ongoing series of entries in the category of Things That Annoy Me

I should start using category tags. (yes, I know Jack, shush, I'll get to it). That way, when every category has double digit numbers and the Things That Annoy me category has a quadruple digit number, my head will explode and I'll come to the realization that I probably shouldn't let things annoy me so much.

But until then...

Annoyance # 427: people clapping in the movie theater at the end of the movie.

Why? Why do you clap at the end of a movie? It makes no freaking sense. And its retarded. So just knock it off, will ya? You're annoying the sane, reasonable, nonretarded people.

Okay, I can understand clapping if you're at a movie premier in say, Hollywood or New York or wherever, and the cast is there, or the director, or producer, or grip boy, or anyone even remotely connected to the making of the movie is there. You like the movie, and you want to give the people involved their due. Give them mad props. Go ahead. Clap the fuck away.

And I can understand clapping at the end of a movie that is particularly moving. Did it make you cry? Did it touch you to the very depths of your soul? Then clap. Go ahead. Let it out. Clap and cry and clap and sing out in praise for the glory and beauty of the film you just saw.

This makes sense.

And therefore, this kind of clapping is not annoying.

But for the love of all things purple and fuzzy, don't fucking clap at the end of Spiderman 3!!!

Seriously, what the hell is up with that?

Spiderman 3?

Really?

This movie inspired you to let loose with the clapfest?

What the bloody hell is wrong with you?

Of course, when I write "you", I'm talking to the people I shared movie theater space with this weekend. And anyone else that claps at a silly movie. If you didn't/don't clap, I have no beef with you.

If you did/do clap... can you tell me why? Maybe explain it to me? It'll still annoy me, but maybe I'll understand your strange species a little bit better. And that's good for everyone.

The first movie I can remember people clapping at the end of (and they were clapping furiously too) was the Omega Code, possibly one of the worst movies of all time. The movie was a trifecta of bad: bad acting, bad script, bad everything. And at the end of the film, as I'm about to jump from my seat to make a hasty exist, the theater erupts in a storm of applause.

There was a moment there where panic seized my body. Holy shit, I thought. These people have been possessed by aliens. Aliens who enjoy watching horribly torturous movies.

Of course, I survived the encounter with the aliens, for I am still alive today to tell about it.

And there have been movies since then that have garnered applause from possessed theater patrons.

And then Spiderman 3 came out. And people went to see it. In droves. And some of them felt compelled to clap at the end of it.

And I felt compelled to slap some sense into all of them.

Spiderman 3? Really?

Sure, it was an entertaining movie but...

...but...

WHY???

I love it when the chatbot implies that I'm crazy.

I was having the best conversation I've ever had with jabberwacky this morning. I'd type a response, hit send, go about some work, come back to the page and laugh, then send the bot another line. It was marvelous. Then I hit the "our conversation so far" link to save the conversation for posterity and... nothing. Error. Conversation lost because I took too long between chats.

Sigh.

So I typed it up from memory and you know what? It wasn't that marvelous after all. But here it is anyway. The wording isn't exact, but its pretty darn close.

jw: Do you like your name?
me: Yes, I'm quite attached to it.
jw: I'm in my computer.
me: Holy cow, are you a foot tall?
jw: No, are you?
me: No, but I have a foot. Two actually.
jw: Tell me about your foot.
me: Why, do you have a foot fetish or something?
jw: What is wrong with me?
me: Do you want a list?
jw: Yes.
me: 1) you smell. 2) you ask weird questions. 3) you want to know about my foot. Shall I go on?
jw: Do you like me?

(Okay, the following is now an exact copy. Because its all the jabby bothered to save. Silly bot.)

me: Of course, I don't cyber with just anyone.
jw: I'm not just anyone.
me: Of course not baby. You're special.
jw: Are you sure it's not you that needs a shrink and not me?
me: What are you trying to tell me jabbermuffin?
jw: No Neo... I'm just trying to free your Mind.
me: Sweet! I've been needing that.

And the folders, they started talking to me, and... Garp!

I think CoWorker Jack has read yesterday's post. The one in which I claimed to be sunny. Because this is what I found in my email this morning.



Gee Jack, your microsoft paint skillz are really improving. Good job!

Bitch.

:P

Interview Me

I saw this at fauve's and thought, 'I haven't done one of those before' so I offered to be interviewed, even though later I thought, 'hmm, actually, I think I have done one before'.

But I got some questions anyways so I'll be talking about myself, regardless. Which is always a plus. At least for me. I've had the questions for a couple of days now, but I've been sick with an Evil Stomach Virus From Hell, so I've been out of commission. Even back at work, I still feel out of commission. Meh. Stupid evil hell born stomach virus.


1. What is your greatest strength?

The ability to crack walnuts with my Tits of Steel (tm).

But seriously, um... I'd probably say it was my sunny disposition.

(Don't laugh Coworker Jack. I'm sunny dammit! I am! I am! I am!)

I'm usually (i.e. when not-work-stressed or evil-virus-recovering) positive and upbeat and can find the silver lining on almost every cloud. I dunno, I think that's a strength.

2. What is your biggest weakness?

This question reminds me of some of the interviews I've been on where they've asked this question. It's like good lord, do they really expect me to tell a possible future employer that I sing Neil Diamond songs in the shower? How does that make me look like a team player?

Seriously messed up work interview question. What's the point?!?! They don't want the truth. They want an imaginative lie. And I'm not good at on-the-spot lying. It's hard to come up with something that's bad but not 'pension for lighting squirrels on fire' bad. I guess I should have had a standard standby Weakness answer.

I usually responded with whatever I answered to the 'greatest strength' question, because that one always precedes the 'weakness' question. Like, if I'd answered, 'Oh, I'm very helpful' to the first question, I would responded with, 'Well, gosh, you see, sometimes I'm tooooo helpful.'

Such a hard question when being interviewed for a job.

But this isn't a job. So its easy to answer :)

A: laziness!

3. If you had $100 to spend on anything you wanted, what would you buy?

The new Sookie book. But that's not that expensive.

I could spend it on clothes. I was in my favorite clothes store the other day with my mom, days before my birthday, a combination that just screamed, "BIRTHDAY PRESENT TIME!" but this was the first day of the Evil Stomach Virus From Hell so I didn't even feel like trying anything on. :( No fancy pretty clothes from mommy for my birthday this year. So sad.

Is a $100 bucks enough to by a digital camera? If so, I'd buy one of those. One of the good ones.

If not, I'd spend it on a new flat screen monitor for the computer. Or better yet, I'd spend it on a new video card. I really need to start pimping the computer up a bit. Give it more juice. More bling bling. The monitor is like, huge and bulky and so 2001.

4. Are you superstitious? If so, what about?

No. Or at least I try not to be. I might have been when I was younger, I just can't quite remember at this time.

I do remember being in high school, on the water polo team, and seeing someone stick different coins under their swim cap for good luck. They would do this every game, and get all antsy if they were ever running out of time to do so. Watching the girl get all antsy made me think, "What if she didn't have time to put the coins under her cap? Would she think she's going to have bad luck? Is that going to totally mess her up in the game?"

So from then I tried not to have any superstitious rituals. Because if I forgot to touch a certain item or say a certain word or wear a certain item, it would have messed me up. You do the ritual for good luck. You do it because you believe to some extent that it will work. So if you break the ritual, how can you think that everything will still be fine and hunky dory? Trying to convince yourself that you didn't just curse yourself is not a good mind set to be in when you're about to compete against the enemy.

Oooh I just remembered a superstitious act I used to follow as a kid. When I walked home from school I wouldn't step on any cracks. You know, so my momma's back wouldn't break. It was more because I was bored than I was worried about the state of my mom's back, but I followed it almost religiously. Because the walk home was so boring.

Today, I'll step on the crack, I don't care. My mom's back isn't getting any worse.

If I spill salt, I'll toss some over my shoulder, but only because its silly fun.

I do knock on wood sometimes... mainly to hedge my bets. I guess that's the most superstitious that I get nowadays.

5. Have you ever tried online dating? If so, what were your experiences like?

Never tried it. I started dating the HB before that ever got big. Would I ever try it? Well... I'd hate to say no, never. But I'd be very reluctant, and hesitant for a long while, mainly because I would dread putting up a picture of myself. Bleagh.



Obligatory Addendum:

Don't forget to add the rules at the bottom:
If you want to continue, here are the rules:
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me." And your email address.
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the
questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else
in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five
questions.

Sticky Forehead

If I didn't loathe the idea of posting a picture of myself on the internet, and if I had a digital camera like I've been wanting to get for the past gabillion years, I would so take a picture of myself with this post-it note stuck to my forehead that has the words "SMILE DAMMIT!" scribbled across it and post it here for the world to see.

I really would.

It made the stressed out Mr. Desk Neighbor chuckle, so I guess I could take it off now. Post-it note glue is kinda itchy after awhile. But I kinda like seeing the blue note hanging over my eyes. Like I'm a rebel with blue bangs or something.

In before quittin' time.

You know what, eating lunch at 9 in the morning really throws my day out of whack. A coworker went on a food run for the rest of us in the office this morning. Some people opted to eat breakfast. I opted to go the sandwich route.

And by 1pm this afternoon it felt like my day should have been long over. My brain kept thinking, "but we ate lunch hours ago! We should be heading home on the freeway by now! Why are we still here?"

My brain's kind of whiny like that sometimes.

I've decided to end this posting marathon (because yes, for me, four posts in one day means I've been marathoning it up like a post-marathoning-mutha-effer) with a post of:


Favorite Office Sayings Of The Day

"Don't get all butt-hurt"

(Question Time: Is the phrase hyphenated? Or is it 'butthurt'? Or maybe just two words like I'd originally typed before anal-y (heh) analyzing it? Hmmmm...)


Coworker #1: "Look, I found a power cord!"
Coworker #2: "Hey, more power to ya!"

(bwahahahahahahahahaha)


"Garp."

(Inside office joke that will never get old!)


And my ultimate favorite and one I want to work into conversation at the first available opportunity:

"Don't trip, Biscuit, it's alright."

Things That Annoy Me: #238

I have a brother. (No, he's not Annoyance #238. Keep reading. Sheesh.) As far as I can remember, as long as we lived together (~16 years) we shared a bathroom. And I was fine with that. Sharing a bathroom with a boy, even one that happened to be my little brother, was a-okay with me. In fact, it never occurred to me to ever not be fine with it.

I mean, sure, he peed on the toilet seat occasionally, which, yeah, is kinda gross. But he's my brother. He's family. So it's not like it was 'ew I'm gonna die' gross. Close, but... anyway, I didn't mind sharing a bathroom with my brother.

When I moved away to college I moved into the dorms and shared a bathroom with a bunch of girls. But bathroom sharing with girls is not the topic of this post so let's move along shall we? Cool.

After a year of that I moved into a house with three guys and another girl and shared a bathroom with two of the guys. There was never a problem with this arrangement. I didn't mind sharing a bathroom with them. They were clean, friendly people. They were fellow swimmers, they was my peeps. In fact, I was probably the messiest of the three. Plus, I was a girl and had Girl Only products hidden in my little under-the-sink-cabinet so if anyone had a problem it was probably one of those two knuckleheads.

(Plus, I had this weird habit of putting strands of loose hair that came out after shampooing up on the wall (so they wouldn't clog up the drain) and sort of... sometimes... forgot to remove it when I removed myself from the shower. So they might have... uh... sometimes... stepped into the shower to find a big hairball hanging from the wall. I'm better at removing the hairy wall art now. Really.)

After a year of that I moved in with the HB. Who is a boy. And I've been sharing a bathroom with this boy for awhile now. And again, I'm in a situation where I'm the messiest bathroom occupant so sharing it with a neat person hasn't been that bad. Plus, he doesn't pee on the seat like my lil brother used to do. So its been all good.

So ever since I was little, and mommy and daddy came home with a brother of all things, I've shared a bathroom with someone of the opposite gender (except for that one wild year in college where I experimented sharing space with girls - heh). I've never really had a bad experience. Nothing that has ever made me throw my fist in there air, shout at the sky and proclaim, "NEVER AGAIN!" in regards to boy-bathroom-sharing.

But that was before They moved me into an office in the back of the warehouse.

The bathroom situation here at work hasn't always been the greatest. For a couple of years, as I worked in a different office here in the back, I had to think/plan ahead. It was about a five minute walk to the nearest bathroom (no joke, I timed it once) so it wasn't wise to hold it. (Which I tend to do. Don't ask me why, might just be a girl thing... or just a weird person thing). Because if you were in that office, and really had to go, it was really embarrassing to speed walk past people in the No-Pee-Pee squinch walk.

This new office though, has a bathroom right around the corner. Yeah!

Unfortunately, this bathroom is RIGHT across the hall (and by hall I mean tiny little area barely wide enough for 2 people to stand in and not touch inappropriately) from one of my bosses. And unfortunately, they didn't build these rooms back here with sound efficiency in mind. So any noise you make can be heard by anyone within a several foot radius. Any private stuff you want to do better be done when everyone is on their coffee break.

And yes, there is only one bathroom here. It's communal. Which means I have to share a bathroom with a bunch of boys. I didn't think I'd have a problem with this because I've shared bathrooms with boys before! Sharing bathroom space with boys is fine!

Uh.

Yeah.

Not so much anymore. Not with the guys I have to work with.

I won't get into any of the 'omg ew I'm gonna die' grossness that's happened. But its definitely starting to annoy me. I've been tempted several times to make the 7 to 8 minute trek over to nearest bathroom.

Boys are so gross :P

I'm Loonzilla. Here me roar.

Work is starting to stress me out. To the point where I'm randomly busting out with my best Godzilla impression.

"AaaaaAAAaaarrrrrRRRrrrrrggggh."

Trust me, it's enchanting. Like I'm channeling the power of an ancient siren or something.

We put all this work and effort into preparing for The Big Switch Over. It was supposed to happen this past January.

It didn't happen.

We were then told that most departments would Switch Over the following year, next January. My department, along with a few others, were told we'd enjoy the Switch Over in May.

So we've been preparing.

Gearing up for the Big Heave Hoe to the Old, girding our work-loins for the Big Howdy Do to the New. It's been a pain in the ass to say the least.

But there was comfort to be found, in the Fast As Hell approaching month of May. Almost every week, starting near the end of March, has brought this realization to mind:

"Holy crap nuggets its almost May! Do you know what the means? We're almost done with this crap!!!!"

Mental Snoopy dances quickly followed.

But everything can't remain peachy and rosy and snoopy happy forever. Not in Business World.

So I'm on this conference call earlier this week, getting a refresher on one of many aspects of my new job as it will appear in Big Switch Over Land. At the end of the call, at the end of the slideshow (conference meetings via the web are awesome), the leader of the call asked if there were any questions.

No one voiced any, and I'm hoping its because they're all like me: there are too many to ask, so were do we begin? I mean, the slideshow made sense. It was all neat and simple and to the point. But it doesn't talk about what to do when a), b), c), etc goes wrong. Because nothing in the Real World is ever so neat and simple and to the point. Well, at least when you work with morons. And really, who doesn't?

Seriously. Who doesn't? I want to know where to send in my resume!

One person grunted. A few people sighed. Someone laughed in a nervous twitter. But no questions were asked. The leader of the call then said, and I swear this is a direct quote:

"It's not as bad as you think."

Gee, I feel so much better now.

Well, I did, at least until someone mentions that The Big Switch over has been postponed. Again. For a couple of months at least. So all the hectic last minute rushes we've been doing has been a waste. Because we'll have to do it all over again in a couple of months.

"AaaaaAAAaaarrrrrRRRrrrrrggggh."

Noodles! And how they annoy me.

I'm going to see how often I can post today. I've got a post already written. And a few ideas already noted down in this little word doc where I corral all the lame little ideas I get. And I'm kinda in a mood to write and post a bunch of them.

Possible Blog Fodder for Today: the bathroom situation at work and how it annoys me, insurance companies and how they annoy me, moronic coworkers and how they annoy me (common topic, but oh so fun to write about), and a cute conversation with the HB (who only annoys me every now and then, but makes up for it by listening to me complain about moronic coworkers and how they annoy me).

So I've got this idea to post a lot today. Which means total and utter chaos will happen here at work which will keep me from reaching this goal. Because that's what always happens when I plan something like this. And Fridays seems to be a prime time for all the work shit to hit the work fan.

Soooooo.... place your bets. Make your guess. Pick a number. How many posts can a post poster post if a post poster could post posts? And don't anyone think one, just this one, because then my feelings will be hurt.

Because I'm totally posting at least twice. Even if its just a one line "noodles!" post. :)

Friday's Are Full of Awesome

7:35 AM

Show up for work late.
For the second day in a row.
Maybe I shouldn't try and catch up on tivo'd shows in the morning.

7:40 AM

Grab a cup of coffee.
Open outlook.
Revel in the fact that today is MUTHA EFFIN FRIDAY!

7:45 AM

An outlook meeting reminder pops up.
For an 8 o'clock conference call.
That I completely forgot about. Bleagh.

8:00 AM

Try and connect to the conference call several times.
My phone doesn't work. Two other phones don't work. WTF?
It's potty mouth time.

8:05 AM

Check outlook again and see everyone else is having trouble connecting.
Get a new number to dial.
It works! Yay!

8:21 AM

The guy who's supposed to be running the call finally joins in.
People start talking about stuff that doesn't make any sense.
Why are we talking about stuff we've talked about a gabillion times before?

9:07 AM

The call finally ends. All the work that we (i.e. Super Co-Worker ZackJack) did validating data was a waste of time. Because that data was apparently crap. So they're re-downloading our data - hopefully in an un-crap-afied manner - and resending it overseas to those Overseas Data People, who will then compile it into files to be sent back to us to peruse and decipher and validate.

And do you wanna know when they want a final "OK!" from us? Today! Last time we had several days to go over it. Now we have several hours. If that. Which, okay, is fine, because there should be less to go over. If we ever get the damn files. Someone on the call said they'd update us every thirty minutes on that status of the new files.

9:35 AM

The first email update is sent out.
"The files haven't dropped yet."
Are we birthing them?

10:56 AM

The second email update is sent out.
The files have been updated from our site and sent to Those People.
We're still waiting for the files to come back.
And the bunnies frolicked in the fields in rapturous majesty.

11:19 AM

I translated a lyric for Mr. Desk Neighbor.
ME: They're singing 'I want to get to you and that booty.'
DN: Ohhhh.
ME: 'I want to get to you and that monkey.'
DN: ...
ME: Monkey? What the hell does that mean anyway?
After much laughing Mr. DN pointed... er... downwards.

11:37 AM

Chow down on awesome graham cracker cereal for lunch.
Sippin' on the Juicy Juice.
Play with the squirrels.

11:54 AM

The third email update: "Still waiting on the files."
Poor east coast guys.
They might have to work late, or work Saturday, to finalize the files.
If we ever get them.

1:37 PM

Hmmmm... when they said they'd update us every 30 minutes I laughed.
Every 30 minutes? Really? Will there be that many?
Apparently there will be.
So many, in fact, that they're skipping a few to conserve email bandwidth or something.

There's been no update since noon.
I feel so lost without them.

1:47 PM

Oooh! Ooooh! Another status email update!
All files but one have been uploaded!
Weeeeee! Time to validate data!
And the chipmunks dance merrily in fields of rainbows.



[ The Awesome Friday isn't over yet, but I'm posting this now because odds are something CATASTROPHIC will happen right before I need to leave for the day which means I'll be running around like a headless chicken and have no time to finish it, and no foresight to email this to myself to finish it at home. I guess I could email it now... but that would make too much sense now wouldn't it. ]

Certifiably Me

You know how when you were little, and in grade school, and your teacher licked his/her finger when counting out pages of paper to pass out to each row of students? Do you remember how gross that was?

Ewwwwww! Teacher spit on my paper! I can't touch it! I can't! Accccckkkkk!

Well, I remember.

And you know what? I lick paper all the time now.

All. The. Time.

Who knew it was such a normal adult thing to do. Certainly not me, back in the day. The good old days when teacher spit was toxic.

It's hard to think of myself as an adult sometimes. I mean, to me, I'm the same person I was back in high school. Yeah, I'm fatter and slower and more wise to the world than I was back then. But I still feel... I don't know. I kind of feel like I'm that same person. Or at least the early-college-barely-20 me. I've had new experiences, grown up a bit, raised a hamster... I'm more me than I was back then. More me than I knew was in me to be. If that makes sense.

And yet I don't feel like its been ten years since I was in high school, hanging out behind the Spanish building eating lunch with my girlfriends and their boyfriends. Sometimes it's a little jolt to realize that I'm someone different now. And no, I don't constantly live in that time, reminiscing about nothing else. I guess I just need to adjust my frame of reference. Get it more up to date.

This summer is my high school class's 10 year reunion. That's almost more unbelievable than my upcoming 28th birthday. I was freaking mystified when I turned 27. I don't know how to feel about 28 yet.

It's not that I feel I'm getting old. Because 28 isn't old. It never seemed like an old age to be when I was young. It was just... different. It's not that people in their late-20's/30's/etc are old, its that they're different than me. They're something I'll become way, waaaaaaaaay in the future.

And holy crap that future is now. Because I'm in my late 20's.

When I was little, I idolized the big kids on my swim team. They were so cool. I used to follow them around whenever they would let me. One girl in particular. She was a backstroke superstar and when she took time out to show me some tricks I almost melted into the water in joy overload. And then I became one of The Big Kids. I remember once wondering, 'do any of these little kids look at me the same way?' And I realized I'd advanced into that next 'age group'.

I guess that's probably what's at the core of it all. I should be/feel/act differently now that I'm in this other group. I mean, I do to some extent... just not enough apparently. I'm no longer the little girl looking up at these people, admiring them, idolizing, etc. I'm one of those people.

A grownup.

Wait... let me rephrase that...

A grownup?

Legally I'm an adult. That happened when I turned 18.

When the hell did I become a grownup?!?!

Well, I lick my fingers when I sort through papers.

I have for a long time now.

So I guess it's official.

finger licking = certified adulthood

Wow, this started off as just a little reminiscence over teacher spit and look what it turned into. A few minutes ago I licked my finger, began rifling through a stack of papers on my desk and then WHAMO - an instantaneous flashback of my fifth grade teacher slobbering all over our handouts. So I started writing about it and then WHAMO - instantaneous introspection.

The Muse is A Flaky Whore! News at 11

I know I haven't written here in awhile. My bad. Same excuse as usual: I've been either busy doing school work (end-of-the-quarter-rush-a-thon) or busy doing work work (governor to declare my desk a disaster area! news at 11!) that I neglected to do while I was busy doing school work. Or I've been home (the computer-for-games-only zone).

Or I've been procrastinating with work-inspired art.

It won't make any sense, but this is some of the stuff I've been creating, then sending along in e-mails.



I have thought about blogging, but then felt immediately guilty for not doing what I should be doing.

Or I've been creating more work-art.



But Coworker Jack has requested a new post. Actually, he requested it awhile ago. But there was the guilt factor. And the Muse Is A Flaky Whore factor. I had nothing to write about really, other than the boring drivel I've been writing about lately. I'm usually highly amused by my own musings, but even those were on the verge of driving me crazy.

I thought about complaining about the 9 straight hours of training I was schedule for last week (only ended up being half that, with a huge break in the middle) but after I complained to co-workers and the HB I didn't feel like complaining here. I was just going to make something up, something that was more exciting than what's actually going on in the World Of Me, but... well, the Muse Is A Flaky Whore.

I was going to write about how cute the HB is. Had it all written up actually, on valentines day, but when I tried to post it the Internet Gods denied me access to blogger. So meh. I was going to post it later, when the Internet Gods realized their folly, but then the HB ticked me off, and I wasn't in the luvy-duvy posting mood. Now? He's on the road to being cute again. So maybe in the future there will be a luvy-duvy gooey post of HB adorableness.

But for now, until the Muse gets back in gear (which is hopefully soon since after I turn in my 10-pager in the next hour or so I'll be officially done with the current school quarter), I will share the following Office Conversation I had with Mr. Desk Neighbor while we were trying to 'one-up' each other.

Me: *slaving away at the computer in a very intensive-mouse-click-y exercise*
Mr. Desk Neighbor: Why can't you close the records all at once?
Me: I can't, I have to skip some. I have to close them in chunks.
Mr. DN: I remember chunks.
Me: ...
Mr. DN: I remember blowing chunks. [insert self-congratulator-chuckling here]
Me: Who's Chunks?