Saturday, July 09, 2005

Chocolate Cake?!

Have you ever known someone who you have to deal with on a regular basis but you can't stand to even look at them? Like, you haven't even seen them yet today, but you're already wishing the day was over b/c they tire you out? Or, you'd like to be heavily medicated all day so that the sound of their voice is muted?

I have an employee like that.

Let's call her Bambi.

For the record, I have to say that Bambi does have a heart of gold, and, I believe would do anything for any of the people in her life, including me. That being said, she dumber than dirt, and she drives me insane. And I'm not alone.

She's become the office joke.

The problem is that she comments on everything. But not in a normal, good, quirky, funny way like the rest of us....but rather in a random (read stupid) way.

I usually use chocolate cake as an example for this story. Mainly b/c this tends to be something I make that makes people smile, but also b/c not many people talk about chocolate cake on a regular basis, and so you will understand how FREAKIN random Bambi is.

Picture it-an office. 3 or 4 of us standing around, laughing, making fun of each other, sharing each others' lives. We'll be talking about, let's say, the babies that Megan's sisters just had:

Judy: Megan! Let's see more pictures of those cute babies!

Megan: Oh my God! They just had their first bath this weekend! Look at how adorable they are!

Mags: Oh my GOD! Look at those fat little legs-I just want to bite them!

Megan: I KNOW!

Bambi: Oh-that's nothin' should see this chocolate cake my sister in law to be made this weekend.





(Did I miss something?)

In fact, no.

The only person missing something here is Bambi. It seems she's not wired right. It seems that she:

1. Thinks that she's contributing to our conversation when in fact, she's really killing it.

2. Calls everyone by their title-which really freakin pisses me off. "my husband, my mother in law, my soon to be sister in law" (WE KNOW THEIR NAMES! USE THEM!)

3. Has no clue that people laugh at her.

This last statement is sad, really. However, all of us are truly kind, patient people, who are generally open minded and welcoming.

We've tried.

And we've tried some more.

It's not working.

Bambi likes chocolate cake, and there's nothing we can do about it but laugh.

Is that wrong?

Friday, July 08, 2005

Hairy Carey

This post my raise your eyebrows....or at least make you think about plucking them.

I have a confession:

I'm addicted to plucking. I pluck everyday. I have 2 pairs of tweezers and 1 pair of tiny grooming scissors. If I see (or worse, feel) a hair that grew in during the day, I often sit and think about going home to pull it out. I try to pull it out without tweezers until I have a red spot in the place the hair has grown. When talking to people up close, I think: "Can they see the enormous hair that's protruding from my face right now?".

You may be thinking, "My GOD! How hairy ARE you anyway?" Well, try being Italian-hair is as much of a part of our culture as are tomatoes and red wine. Plus, I'm really white, and my hair is really dark-not a good combination.

I feel good about not having to bring tweezers with me wherever I go-though I know at least one of you (you know who you are) is just as obsessed, and, in fact, you DO carry them with you in your pocket book. To you I say, "Get counseling"

....and while you're there....I'll hold your purse.

Pluck free or die.


Backing In...

Why do people back into parking spaces? The only reason I can imagine is if you passed an open space accidentally, and are fortunate enough that no one was behind you. Backing in is then acceptable, if and ONLY if you can do it!

WTF is up with lopsided backer inners? First of all, why is it so hard, but second of all, JUST OPEN YOUR DAMN DOOR! If you are over the line, pull forward and fix it!

Don't leave your freaking car criss crossed into other spaces! Or worse, don't dry hump my car with yours. Do you really think I can squeeze into that 1/2 millimeter that you left me? And no, I am NOT going to climb over the passenger seat! Get the fuck out of the laundry mat and move your beat up station wagon so other people can get on their way. And while you're at it, put the Slim Jim down and PULL INTO the space. Maybe then you'll be able to park straight you freak!

I love this blog stuff...thanks to it, the Slim Jim hog in the blue station wagon didn't get body checked today. 8-)


Ms. Mags

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

The circumference of what?

Ok. What's up with teachers these days? They're fighting for the right to show their belly buttons? Administrators are worried they'll become "fashion police" so they are making their dress codes less specific? WHAT? Be MORE specific, please!

I'm sorry-am I missing something? Since when should teachers be showing our children their six pack? What message does it send to our kids when their math teacher is wearing a see through blouse? Not exactly the circumference I was looking for, thanks...

I guess I just remember the day when I got in trouble for wearing knee length shorts to school. I was wearing nylons and dress shoes with a blazer-a very snazzy get up from the Gap-hey-it was 1992, leave me alone! But it was conservative-and I got sent to the principal! Can you imagine if there was a nipple showing? God forbid! I think I would have been flogged in the cafe to make a statement: No skin prior to May 1st! I wonder what Mr. R is thinking now that the students come practically naked. He must have died of a heart attack, poor man.

And then there's the shoe issue. I'm leary to even think about teachers wearing flip flops....I mean, some of these teachers are nasty-that couldn't have changed much since I was in school. I can't image hairy, slimy Mr. C wearing flip flops. The sweaty *squish, squish* as he loped down the hallway would have been enough to make me drop out. I can't even IMAGINE his toe nails! UGH! I feel the need to vomit just thinking about it. Cover those tootsies up teachers-no good can come from freeing your feet. Keep your socks on like the rest of us, bear all in the privacy of your own home!

Clothes, not toes...

Peace out.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Monkey Madness

"How much would you give me if I bludgeoned her to death with my monkey?"

THAT was the best question I've ever heard asked in my office. Well, it wasn't technically asked. It was maturely written on a post-it note and stuck to my hand as I walked by my best friend's desk. We're so grown up. But WTF? SOMETHING has to be done!

The one we'd like the Grape Ape to body slam is a new manager. She's a power hungry, condescending bitch who makes everyone feel like they've just shit their pants in front of out biggest client. Why, I would like to ask, does she feel the need to make everyone feel bad? Why does she have to call everyone by their last names, and why, why, WHY does she have to say, "You see what I'm sayin" after everything?

The worst part? She has no clue what she's doing. So, her attitude is obviously over compensation for what she lacks in her business skills. If she were a man, she'd have a BIG truck.

So, to all of you who have stuffed monkeys, prepare them for battle. I'm thinkin crazy flying Wizard of Oz monkey stunts would work....what do you think?

About Me

I like peanut butter & jelly crackers and randomivity. I don't like milk. I love tequila. I have a loud laugh and I laugh often. I sneeze even louder and I love it. I achieved a life long dream of going to culinary school & am trying to start my own catering company. I like abstract art. I'm a lefty. I am terrible at keeping in touch. I call datable men, "boys". I just moved to Boston without knowing anyone so I could re-invent myself. I'm doing a good job. I worked for Walt Disney World. When I don't feel emotionally strong enough, I fake it. I often start projects but never finish them, but when I really put my mind to something it gets done right away. I do not like to sweat, which sucks because I have hyperhydrosis. I am afraid of snakes. And also, bald men. My favorite smells are fresh lemon, garlic and olive oil sauteing, autumn air and clean boys in the sun. I don't really like chocolate a lot. I can type, like, a billion words per minute. I love the Red Sox, even when they lose. I find joy in very small things and that makes people look at me funny, but I don't care anymore. I've met Rosa Parks. I love wearing sweaters/sweatshirts with turtlenecks under them, even though it's out of style. I am afraid that my parents hate each other even though I am an adult who lives away from home. I didn't like my dad until I moved to Florida. I hate feet. I am enthralled with deviance. I could live on cheese. I like crunchy French Fries. I hate to be pruney. I like the smell of skunks. I am not afraid of failing but I am afraid of people seeing me fail. I once saves someone from being raped by pushing over a man who was the size of Alaska. I've been hit by a man-I didn't do anything about it at first, but I will never allow that to happen again. I like to think I like spontaneity, but really, I like a plan. I can read a map. Before I die, I would like to learn how to play the piano. I can play the flute and the piccolo. I find as much comfort in being alone as I find it to be lonely. I once owned a pencil signed original Dali for about 1/2 hour. I weirdest place I've ever had sex is in a handicapped bathroom. I sometimes wish I was more memorable. I still like more people than I hate.