Let Me Sleep on It

Yesterday was the cookie exchange at work! I amassed a real collection of divine goodies.

Then later, I had to go meet up with some friends for this photo shoot so I took all the cookies to share and get rid of them, and they ate most of them but one of my friends (whose name rhymes with Sharon) was like, “They are all good except I really don’t know about these weird cookies with the powdered sugar on them. Who makes those, honestly?”

And I was all like, “I made those.”

Long winter’s cat nap
photo courtesy of Flickr and dominiqs81

Also, are animals still hibernating these days? Or was that some weird ’80s trend? I am having trouble still believing they’re all curled up in the woods getting their deep sleep on. It sounds pretty made up. Hold on, let me check. Ok well, Wikipedia says it still exists. So, I don’t know. Go forth with that knowledge.

To Dream, Perchance to Caffeinate

Blurgh. I thought three weeks without coffee would allow me to pooh-pooh my addiction right in the face, but it seems these days I just reminisce nostalgically about my former BFF (yes, as in holding hands with giant takeaway cup frolicking through a field), and about how much more alert I would be if I could just have one teeny-tiny, itsy-bitsy sip. The very idea of it is like a sweet melody gently massaging my ears.

I mean, I’m all for naps (for example, I voted yes on Prop ZZzzZz), but a 24-hour zombie dreamstate is a bit much, even for me.

Coffee cups make for great moments of reflection.
photo courtesy of Flickr and Gunjan Karun

On a more life-sustaining note, every day this week has been a reason to celebrate some occasion in the office, whether it be a farewell party or a holiday potluck or a gift basket arriving fortuitously and perkily, and today, a birthday!

It really doesn’t get old. I can’t imagine this getting old. I just can’t. I know there was that Seinfeld episode where Elaine got sick of office cake, but I often yearn for superficial conversation and forced camaraderie right in the middle of the day, and it happens just like clockwork.


I was most recently advised to joke around with the negative voices in my head, i.e., the ones who disparage everything I do.

I’m going to try it out on paper first. I named my voice Negativitina. Yeah, don’t worry, she thought it was dumb too.

Negativitina: You are doing a horrible job. Everybody hates you. Please give up immediately.
Me: Oh, Tina! You put the T in tease! I swear, it’s just all sunshine and candy rain with you. Hee heee hooo hohooooo!

I’m thinking that I might have to come up with better burns. At this point, I’m trying to tame a phoenix with a squeaky toy. I should go read some YouTube comments. That will pwn the n00b right out of me.


In conclusion, Gchat conversations that are NEVER OK look a little something like this:

Oh but there’s more…

Setting the Bar(ista) for Service

Yesterday afternoon, I bought a weekend coffee so I could bask in the sun and sip it. No big deal. I went to a family-owned place with a nice patio outside for sitting and ogling other people’s dogs.

The barista was of fair-enough friendliness. She half-smiled at me as if we were acquaintances (not friends) and fulfilled all her responsibilities with no great fanfare. I didn’t get the feeling she thought much of me, but I couldn’t really tell either way.

But then! When she handed me my coffee, the following happened.

Barista (B): So it’s pretty nice outside today, huh?

Me (M): (jumping at the chance for brief human connection) Oh yes, it’s very nice outside.

B: I bet. I have been inside all day…(musing off into distance)…in fact, since 9 a.m.!

M: Aw, that’s too bad.

B: Yeah, and I have to work until 7 p.m.! (overworked pout) I’ve been working really hard.

M: Oh dear.

B: My father asked me if I would work today last week, but I didn’t know it was going to be so nice outside…

M: Yes yes.

B: And now, it’s work all day! And work all the time!

M: Ok, thank you.

I really didn’t know how to exit the conversation except to give her an understanding head tilt and warm puppy eyes while backing away slowly to imply earnest empathy for her situation.

But I felt like she wanted something more from me. Else why all the outpouring of gritty sentiments!

You guys, here’s what I think played out! She wanted me to regift her the coffee she just made me. It was really all I could offer her…besides my credit card again (as I am a non-cash-carrying buffoon).

Then she could add it to her vast pile of sympathy coffee cups (similar to the pile of bones giants have in their cave that make up a fond display of their past victims). And thus make the day worthwhile somehow.

I hope you like your espresso made via guilt drip.
photo courtesy of Flickr and gahdjun

But here’s what I did! Walked away without a smidgeon of external remorse!

Because I am more scared of customer servants than they are of me. An exception to the rule they probably learned in training. Be warned; I will bolt at the first sign of solidarity.

Also, aren’t most revolutions planned in coffee shops?! Free trade and all that.

Rite Aid Is No Walk in the Park

Just call me Survivorwoman because I accidentally eat hair sometimes. Not true! Here is something else not true: people “accidentally” eating spiders in their sleep.

PART I: Nature Calls

I went for a walk in the park on Monday afternoon! Twas all my own doing. It’s part of my staring-at-desktop-picture-does-not-count-as-fresh-air campaign. Photo documentation below. I did it all renegade-style too in that I just pulled over on a major scenic highway willynilly, and announced “I’m going to the park, dammit!”

And nobody answered because I was in the remotest part of the suburban DC jungle. No, but it was after work when I had a smidgeon of time, and it. was. still. most. spectacular. I almost fell down a steep incline of about 10 degrees, but other than that, the afternoon passed without incident.

Holy Sweet Columbus Day! The first sign of civilization in at least a quarter of a mile!

This is actually a postcard I picked up in the gift shop after my walk. PSYCH! I took it myself!! Impressed? ShuT uP!

Here was where I found myself.

This is where I acted out a monologue from the hit TV series “Dr. Quinn: Medicine Woman”.

Part IIa: Nature Calls Again

Then I went to Rite Aid (not at the park, different undisclosed location), and had not one, but TWO incidents. Or at least witnessed them. Ok, I had one and witnessed one, but I talked it over with my lawyers, and they said I was allowed to recount both to an unassuming public since I was a witness in one and a victim in the other. Ethically curious enough now? Sheesh.

This sums it up about right.
photo courtesy of Flickr and The Consumerist

Well, first off I needed some tummy appeasement. So I go to the trail mix aisle because that’s where you find wholesome snacks; I’m not sure how many of you know that straight off the bat. I mean, snacks in the form of dried fruit, nuts, chocolate morsels, and the occasional random bolt.

Anyway, there was a man in the aisle cruising for his own hot snack action at the time. I shimmed past him, momentarily cutting off his line of vision, but I did it pretty quick muttering a fast courtesy under my breath, which he probably didn’t hear as I myself could not make out the exact wording.

But right as I cross him, he announces, “Excuse me!” quite loudly and with an attitude of gusto, and I sort of become sheepish as I really should have been the one to utter the dramatic line. Then shortly thereafter, he exits the aisle stage right.

I affirmatively and passively nod at all of these events, and as I am standing there, innocently perusing, my nose catches a whiff of the raunchiest wind ever passed. I’m talking fartropolis, population: stank; the case of the angry butt spasm v. the innocent do-gooder; who let the smogs out?, the new hit song topping the odor charts; a steaming bowl of egg dropping soup; fill in your own rotten analogy, etc. This was serious business, as in someone just did their business and hid it somewhere up in the trail mix of things.

It was so bad, I started to get a little dizzy. But not in a light-hearted, I’m-in-love way. More like in a who-farted, I’m-in-a-biohazardous-area-without-my-suit-on way.

Anyway, I put poo and poo together, and realized the guy’s “Excuse me” was in reference to his flatulence rather than my impertinence. I immediately exit stage left to take a literal breather. And I come back a few minutes later, and at this point, it’s escalated to a Code Purple (i.e., evacuate all life specimens) situation. I just grabbed a random selection and hightailed it to the registers.

Well, it was no ghost fart, that’s for sure.
photo courtesy of Flickr and banjo d

Moral of the story: Being rude is easily trumped by being crude (even if you try and cover for yourself by verbally pre-announcing it).

Part IIb: Nature Calls But Then Hangs Up When You Answer

(If you last recall, our brave heroine was making her way over to the cash registers…)

At the cash registers, I see this woman waiting in line lifting up this man’s shirt who’s in front of her and getting all up in the face of his pecs. I imagine some kind of couply incident is going on. WRONG ON ALL COUNTS! They are both strangers to each other. She was merely getting a good look at his body tats, of which he had an entire intricate collective suit made up of tribal symbols and other historical graffiti.

Then, as if to explain herself, she loudly exclaims, “Hey! Life is short! Bwahahahahahah!”

And the guy, who is totally game, goes, “Sure is.”

Then the woman at the cash register goes, “You are too much!” in regard to show-me-yer-tatties girl.

Then this random old lady comes along out of nowhere, just walking through the lines, not even respecting them, and she goes, “What’s going on?”

And Tatties girl goes, “Nothing! I was just admiring his tats! Bwahahahahah!”…the ultimate in guilty laughter. Closely followed by “I’m sorry if I offended you. My friends think I’m pretty bold. Bwahahahaha!” directed at the guy.

He says, “Not at all.” (Of course he says that! He’s basking in the glow of all these ladies, spanning all different ages and walks of life!)

Then the old lady gets all up in the guy’s personal space and knowledgeably comments, “You know I find most tattoos too busy. Yours aren’t too busy.”

The guy says, “Well, thank you. I appreciate you saying that.”

Then the lady behind the register says, “How did you pick them?”

And he says, “I actually studied cultures that are thousands of years old and have a history of tattooing in them. Because they know what is going to look good 40 years from now.”

Ok, I kind of see his point but I still threw up after hearing that. Couldn’t help it. Gut reaction.

Moral of the Story: People with several tattoos on their body will always have a story to back them up. They will always want to tell this story to anybody or anything with ears (including corn).

When this guy got his tattoos, he requested “Nothing too busy please!”
photo courtesy of Flickr and mikebaird

Sass-quatch Punching In for Work

I am feeling SASSY today, folks!

Lookit what Gmail recommends I buy:

6 ft Lion-Tiger-Giraffe
Lifelike Cheetah-White Tiger huge plush zebra-elephant-chimp

Awwwwwwww, thanks Gmail! You know what I love.

Gives great hugs.

Also, I dressed up for work today for no particular reason. Most of work peoples are away at a conference! So it’s a purely selfish move on my part. Plus I keep sporting these wide-neck tops where the neck is so wide that the bra straps can’t help but get a little sunlight, naw mean? I’m not sure who I’m offending besides fashion in general. I’m thinking of pulling a turtleneck coup over the whole ensemble and calling it a day, for sighing out loud!

That’s what I’m talking ’bout!
photo courtesy of Flickr and maidRomyCD_MistressDarkLady

I had one of those moments of mundane heroism this morning when the elevator was closing on someone’s face, and I found the OPEN DOOR button just in time! And you could tell he and I were both surprised it worked out. Then he asked me to press the 3rd floor button, and that ended up being a whole hullabaloo. Then I ended up pressing the button with my middle finger because I was holding something at the same time (subtle rudeness).

But he did ask me how I was doing, and I said “Ok” which is my go-to answer in the morning (more like mourning, am I right people?!) and then I said “How are you doing?” And HE SAID, “I’m well. I’m not always perfect, but I’m always well.” This guy is the most contented person in the world. He also always has this look in his eyes like he’s gazing far off into the distance even when he’s looking directly at your face (cinematographical features?). It’s a wonderful thing. In conclusion, I’m glad the elevator worked out for both of us. He imparted some words of wisdom, I showed a mild grasp of basic technology. Really; it was gold for a Wednesday.