Current Outlook = Giant Question Mark/Poor

Oh man, so I opened up my Outlook calendar and saw that I have an hour-long “planning meeting” scheduled for bright and early tomorrow morning but I couldn’t recall what it was about, and so I opened it up and it said this:

Hi all,

Please try to attend this meeting, because upcoming events will be discussed.



Uh, could I be any vaguer?!

Plus I didn’t invite anybody else AND I scheduled it at a time before I normally even get to work AND I have no recollection of setting up this meeting.

Please choose the best option that summarizes this situation:

a) I am officially bonkerbananas.
b) My mandatory company Microsoft Outlook courses (with hands-on, real-life simulation exercises!!!) are bleeding into my real life.
c) My mandatory company Microsoft Outlook courses are ruining my life in a very mundane, trivial way.
d) All of the above.
e) Alien ghost babies.

P.S. In other office-related news, I just got aged cheddar crumbles all over my mouse. The saddest part is the first thing I thought after it happened was, good thing mice love cheese!!!

(No, nothing? Too soon apparently. After all, the poor lil’ guy can see everything I’m typing. Nobody is Ling-OL at his expense! You hear me? Nobody!

But golly gee, if cheese got under his buttons, I am going to have one stinky robo-rodent on my hands…IT halp request, stat!)

In Which Judgment Calls, and I Do Not Answer

This morning I had to walk by some construction workers. Call me old-fashioned but I get uncomfy at the mere prospect of passing construction workers up ahead. The “Men at Work” sign makes me break out into a frozen sweat. Let me qualify.

photo courtesy of Flickr and General Wesc

As a female specimen, I’m not in the beauty-invasion-gams-from-outer-space category wherein I am catcalled even by inanimate objects. And I am also not in the category where I wear a giant paper bag over my head and torso so that people will not even think to acknowledge me as a fellow human. I’m in the regular ole could-go-either-way-depends-what-day-and-who’s-lookin’ category.

To complicate things further, as for fashion sense, my only rule is that I always buy pants bigger than the size I wear. It’s a weird thing I have. So my pants are almost always in the process of, or already, falling down (in minimal increments, don’t get all excited!)

So my underwear is, 8 out of 9 times, probably noticeably showing* (hence my affinity for wearing dresses over pants, and you thought I was being bohemian).

Girl underwear (i.e., panties) exposure is a Pavlovian bell for hetero-males since the time of cave playgrounds and Stone Age recess (i.e., I see London, I see France, I SEE DEM PANTIES, GRRRRRL!!!)

So whenever I see construction workers, my Pavlovian response is to pull my pants up all the way to my chin. The epitome of ladylike behavior! If I’m feeling extra sensual, I follow it up with a jovial crotch itch.

And whenever construction workers yip nonsense at me, I know it’s because they saw some little butt clouds or whatever cutesie design I have starring in that day’s sidewalk booty parade.

Let’s be real. I am no better than the average bum clown!

Don’t be fooled by the ditwitted smile!
photo courtesy of Jormanda H.

*Yeah, I know about belts; I just keep forgetting to wear them. Plus, just to show off, I would probably end up looking like these guys!


Also on Tuesday, the power was out at work so we got an impromptubular holiday! What did I do? I cleaned my room. I had to make good on a punishment rendered upon me years ago!

I also took a nap and felt sorry for myself. So it evened out? I realize now I might have been duped by my ne’er-do-well alterego, What the Craparna.

In my natural state (dormant)
photo courtesy of Jormanda H.