Posts Tagged 'work'

taste of mexico

I love the break room at work, if not actually for gastronomic reasons, then for sheer entertainment factor. Nowhere else can I assemble crappy portable food on a plate from the 1970s that makes anything look unappetizing and eat with mismatched cutlery while being asked work questions by colleagues who preface everything with, “I know you’re at lunch, but…” And trying not to overhear about Mrs. M’s latest colon troubles.

Today, I plopped my steaming chimichanga out of its microwaveable cellophane packaging onto a plate next to my sliced up mango and realized for once I had done some meal planning! By accident! GUYS THESE ARE BOTH PRODUCTS OF MEXICO.

My lunch just went up from things-i-could-grab-while-Pants-stood-in-my-doorway-this-morning to something that deserves a real lunch line title, like I don’t know… MEXICAN MEDLEY.

BEHOLD.

Mexican Medley circa 1973

don’t make me get out my harsh language

I know, I’ve been slacking. No posts. No funny. No drawings. There are a few reasons.

Reason number one is, I am currently insane. Insane with lady hormones coursing through my system like never before. If you’ve ever been on birth control for a really long time and then went off, then you know what I mean. I forgot how INTENSE things get when not numbed by the pill. The day I shouted that I was on my period, at work in front of several members of the Public? That was just the start of it.

But at least I’m starting to get a handle on the crazy. I mean I’m still crazy. But fewer people are aware of it. For instance. I recently walked into work where they are conducting job interviews, luckily for a position I will have little contact with. I say luckily because today I see a member of the Public who creeps me out. And he is dressed all fancy. Almost as though he expects to be interviewed today. Pants sees my “ugh” face as I walk into the staff office.

Pants: “What?”
me: “So-and-so got an interview?”
Pants: “Ha! I love the disdain.”
me: “Whatever. Like you want to work at a place he has keys to.”

Sunday was Beerfest. The crazy was just starting to set in on that day, lurking underneath the sunshine, the drunkenness and the rejoicing with friends and sharing shade with the random vomit-covered unconscious man. Hot Lunch and I each bought 17 tokens worth of beer and did our best to drink them all. Score at the end of the day, me 7, Hot Lunch 27. Level of drunkenness, equal. Drunk Hot Lunch is flirty affectionate Hot Lunch, always an arm around me, a hand caressing the back of my neck, or his forehead pressed affectionately against mine, gazing into my eyes. I have to remind myself that there’s nothing rekindling between Hot Lunch and me. The arm around me all day was just to keep his drunk ass from falling down. Once home in my own apartment, the buzz is wearing off. And the crazy is rising.

The phone rings.
Hot Lunch: “Are you ok? You were kind of quiet on the way home.”
me: “Not really. I guess I’m kind of sad. And frustrated.”

A few minutes into the conversation.
me: “WHAT I WANT? I WANT YOU TO GET LOST! I’M BUSY DATING OTHER GUYS! YEAH! OTHER GUYS! AND THAT’S YOUR LOSS, DUMBASS! BECAUSE YOU DON’T WANT TO DATE ME! BECAUSE YOU’RE A FUCKING IDIOT!”

And the other reason I haven’t blogged is that my computer died. I think my sister’s wedding killed it. Or maybe it’s scared. Of the crazy.

life’s hard, especially if you’re made of synthetic materials

I entitle all my storytimes for quick reference purposes later. Last week’s storytime was “Extraordinary Poultry.” There were chickens saving lives and ducks wearing underwear and we danced the Chicken Dance and it was extraordinary.

I tidied up my work space today FINALLY, sifting through a pile of papers and junk while Motormouth laughed and snapped candids and Facebooked them for the world or at least my network to see my shame. I found a lot of things including not my dignity but at least my storytime puppet that went missing last week (wearing a smooshed look between a stack of reports and craft supplies) and a copy of Diary of a Wimpy Kid, which I’d finally given up and paid for a month ago.

I also ran across a storytime plan from April 2nd. It was entitled “i just broke up ha!” Wow. I’d forgotten that morning after Hot Lunch and I broke up was really something. I brandished the piece of paper at Motormouth and described what it had been like:

I remember I’d just kept thinking, How am I doing this? How am I going around like my life didn’t just end last night, smiling and storytiming and singing SHAKE YOUR FUCKIN SILLIES OUT!?!

Whew. Life is much better now. In fact, I’m doing pretty good on the loving myself front. I took myself on my first date, just the one of us, a couple of Fridays ago. For my first try, there were only a few slight hitches.

I got embroiled in a one-sided conversation with my waiter that I didn’t know how to extricate myself from without wolfing down my meal and escaping. Which I did. While in line for my ticket I got a phone call from my mom who, when I boasted about what I was doing, responded thusly:

me: “I’m going to see Toy Story 3 by MYSELF!” 😀
Mom: “Oh I’m SO SORRY! What happened? Where is everyone?”
me: “I don’t know, I didn’t ask. I wanted to go by MYSELF!”
Mom: “Well I’m so sorry I’m not in town, I could have gone with you! We’ll take a rain check, ok?”
me: “It’s ok, Mom. I’m here on purpose. By myself. It’s FUN!”
Mom: “Ok then, take care of yourself, ok? And I’ll go to a movie with you when I get back.”

Toy Story 3 turned out to be a bad choice given the conditions. Long story short, if you were the family seated near the strange lone woman mopping tears from behind her 3D glasses, I am sorry for creeping your kids out. Blame those sadists at Pixar.

funny, funny diseases

at work.  loaned mark my chapstick.
he hands it back, saying, "don't worry, i only have gonosyphiherpeaids."

what happened to a simple "thank you"?

gonosyphiherpeaids (gn-sf-hûrpdz) n.
really gross.  do not loan chapstick to.

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i think it goes WA-WA-WAAAAH

one of the ladies at work when she saw my outfit today asked "what's the costume for?"

i just KNOW there's a sound effect to go with that moment, it's just a matter of finding the RIGHT ONE.

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first impressions are total bollocks

a while ago, i ran across an old (10/7/04) journal entry i had made about my initial impression of grifflet, who i first met erroneously as the guy who got the job i wanted primarily due to better attendance.  the entry was such a rude commentary, so uncharacteristic of me and so grossly inaccurate regarding grifflet, that of course i just had to post it here for the world to see. :D  (hey, and plus grifflet said i should, so.)

…And the guy they hired… does he actually DO anything?!?  Every time I walk by, he's just sitting at the desk looking vapid.  But at least he's there 100% of the time, doing nothing.  He never calls in to say he's too sick to sit at a desk and stare at things.

i think it's particularly fitting that a mere 3 weeks later was the first of many times i'd have to eat these bitter, petty words: namely that Halloween when grifflet showed up to work as a blood-soaked zombie.  since then i've come to know him as the ringleader of the revolution at work, a kick-ass GM, a generous friend, a scary-smart dude and a surrogate big brother.

i shudder to think of life's near wrong turns and the great things we'd never know we'd missed if we got everything we wanted when we wanted it.

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this is a worthless post – don’t read it

i've been watching a lot of Star Trek: The Next Generation lately and, walking around work today, i realized i really love my new shoes for a completely unexpected reason.  they make me feel like i'm in Starfleet.  they're identical to that shiny black footwear the uber cool officers wear.  i'll post a picture as soon as i can find my sister's phone.

what are you complaining about?  i told you not to read it.

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