Uncle An

While travelling behind a car yesterday, I saw a regrettably dirty vehicle with the words “uncle an forever” scrawled beside a tiny hand print.  My eyes welled up a bit as I began to envision someone’s dear Uncle Andy or Andrew or Anthony….  I thought of how a sweet little kid must really be missing their uncle and how the holidays would be particularly tough.  I pondered this…. and as luck would have it, we both pulled into the gas station.

I looked with sympathetic eyes at the man pumping gas.  He looked at me a bit confused, but gave me a half hearted smile.  I said, “I’m sorry about your Uncle”.  He furrowed his brow and ignored me.  I figured it was a touchy subject, so I finished filling my tank and then it hit me.  I had been so horribly wrong about what the sign had said.  It wasn’t a dear Uncle An, rather it was “unclean forever”.

And that my bloggies is why I can never visit that gas station again.  And also why I should stop binge watching those dang Hallmark Christmas movies because they are making me more emotional and wholesome than usual.

Just…take it all in.

Good morning bloggies! I just logged back in to my site after a really long hiatus that’s due to a demanding work load and a basic lack of energy.  A lot has happened in the years I’ve been gone, so I have much fodder for posts.  As I was going through my draft folder, I unearthed this gem.  It took me right back to where I was almost exactly 5 years ago today.  Why I didn’t post it? I’m not sure.  Probably traumatized by it.  Now, however, as time does… trauma morphed into a snort fit of laughter.


OH GOD.  This really did just happen…and I know I should be working rather than blogging, but I didn’t want to spare you guys one detail.

In order to appreciate the absurdity of it all, I must give you the back story.

My office mate has a rather putrid odor.  Not familiar?  Click here to see the letter I’d love to send him.  This is the same office mate that ripped his pants straight up the ass at work and wouldn’t go home to change them because… “um, why should I?”

His disdain for soap, basic hygiene and any sense of style aside, the first thing you think when you meet him is, “Wow.  He is wholly asexual.”  Honestly y’all, I’m pretty sure that if he wanted to, he could split and multiply.  I work in an office where really pretty people come in and out on a regular basis.  He doesn’t flirt, he doesn’t try to impress…and that’s both in and out of the office.  So, when the following happened, you can understand why I was both mortified and amused.

Me: Hello. I just need to grab these files.

Office Mate: Ba…uh…ba…ba…ba..ba..baw….. She’s a brick….. HOUSE…. She’s mighty mighty, just lettin it all hang out. Yeah your a brick….HOUSE….

Me: (deer in headlights look on my face – fight or flight response coming on – I don’t engage or acknowledge, which is hard because his knee is at my face.)

Office Mate: ‘s a brick….HOUSE. Your the one, the only one….

In abject terror, I get up from the file cabinet.  This was when he sneezes his spray sneeze all over the files in my hands….and probably me too, but I don’t like thinking about that.

He started laughing and said it was his new “song” (He’s in a band of middle aged crazy people that don’t sing as much as they do shout.) I just ran.  I guess when it comes down to it, fight or flight, I pick flight.  Stop judging me.

Bad Kitty

I have a cat named Daisy. I love her. However, she is a handful. Observe.


I had a particularly rough day at work, so I came home to my couch. I lit some tea lights, then snuggled in….kitties too. A little bit later, I needed to go to the restroom. I’m sitting there, and I smell smoldering. Instinct kicks in at this point. I leap up! Skivvies around my ankles, I start making a bee line for the living room. I look like a cross between a drunk sorority girl and a zombie as I’m tripping, stumbling and falling towards the living room. I fling off the unmentionables from my ankle and see my tea lights are all on and ok. My Daisy, however, has a smoldering ass.

She stares at me with a bright-eyed face and a sweet meow.

Me: What did you do!?!?!

Daisy: hunkers down, ears flat, smoke coming off her ass

Me: grab Daisy by the scruff and run to the kitchen sink

Daisy: lets out a growly cry

Me: I’m sorry!

Daisy: another growly cry

Me: plunge her smoldery smelly ass under the faucet and into the sink where the fur begins to literally fly

Fighting fur, a mad cat and the wretched smell of burnt hair, I assess the situation. It seems she jumped onto the table in the 30 seconds I was gone, swished her tail through the flames just enough to smolder, then jumped off the table.

Damn it Daisy. Then it got worse.


I wake up and go about my normal routine – noting that Daisy was acting a little weird, but I attributed that to her smelly burnt ass. On my 45 minute drive to work, I determine I’m starving. I pull into a place to eat and…. wallet is missing!

All day I panic. What did I do with my wallet? I backtracked. I called places. No one had it… but no one was making any charges either, which was refreshing. All day I panicked and couldn’t leave to make the long drive home, then back to work because of a busy schedule.

When I finally make it home, I walk in to see that my house looks like a confetti cannon went off. Before I continue, you must know that my sweet darling has pica according to the vet. This means she has a compulsion where she can’t NOT eat things that are random. She eats everything that isn’t tied down, much like a dog. But what’s horrid is that when she eats on naughty things like electric cords, she looks at me with these sad eyes that seem to say, “I know I’m not supposed to, but I can’t stop!” So….picture it if you will:

Daisy has jumped onto the top of the fridge (by way of a counter she’s not to be on) and knocked down my calendar. This was traumatic apparently because she ate most of said calendar and spit it all over my kitchen and living room. Apparently in the living room, she found a (non toxic) plant. She proceeded to eat and spray leaf bits all over my floor. THEN. My mistake, but I left a bag of bows out from an after holiday sale. Daisy ate through the bag and played with them. All over the place.


She runs to hide.

As I begin to vacuum and clean, I forget that I’ve lost my wallet. After the vacuum doesn’t suck up all the little bits… I get on my knees and start picking it out of my carpet. This is why I see ALL of Daisy’s toys from the holiday stuck in the back of her kitty house. I think that she’s probably been hoarding them from her sister. So I reach in to pull them out and put them in the collective toy bin. This is when I feel a lump.


My wallet was in there, so was some lip balm, a few hair ties and a Chanel lip stain I thought I lost. I have no idea how long she’s been playing kitty hoarder. And, the only way I think she got the wallet? She probably dug into my purse (which I admit on occasion I forget to zip and leave open on the kitchen table – which she doesn’t hop onto…apparently unless I’m in bed) to find another hair tie and knocked the wallet out by accident. The wallet was small, and she didn’t have to go far to get it to the hoarder kitty house…..apparently carrying it in her mouth like a prize bird….because the soft leather of my Coach wallet has teeth marks and is also stained with drool. I think that’s drool?

I’m glad I got it back, even if it isn’t pristine any more….. but DAMN IT DAISY. I guess that makes us even for me having open flame for her to burn her fur. Well played Daisy….

As I type this, she’s beside me sound to sleep. Clearly she’s had a long couple days.

Naughty Naughty

At my new office, a group of us have begun a weekly lunch group.   At this lunch, we were discussing gift ideas.  I, the ultimate gift giver, declared a particular website that I always use for gift idea inspiration.  Before I go further, I must say that this group I eat with is very diverse.

1) Lucy: she’s a numbers girl and extremely logical.  She has no filter.

2) Vince: older than us, heart of gold…. but his mind is always in the gutter.  No filter.

3) Jane: my wonderful, level headed sweet hearted co worker.  We have known each other for years – and she certainly has a filter.

At this lunch, we had an outsider – John.  As luck has it?  I hooked up with John in college.  Of course it was nothing serious and he’s got a wife an kid now… but imagine on your first day at work walking into the office of a co-worker and you both realizing that the last time you saw him?  You were scurrying around seeking your underwear and stumbling over beer cans and pizza boxes. Awesome….We swore not to talk about those nights back in the day to any of our co-workers.

Now.  We’re talking gifts and this seemingly sweet topic turned very bad.  While perusing this site on my iPhone, the following conversation took place:

Me: Oh! Corkcicle.  It’s a really cool wine chilling device- she’d love it!

Jane: Oh let me see!

Vince: The HELL is a pork cicle?

Me: CORK!!!

Vince: Pork?

Jane: CORK – like for wine

Vince:  Oh.

Lucy: Hey that reminds me of something I heard on the radio the other day.  Did you know a pig can have an orgasm for 30 minutes?

Jane: They can?  That’s not fair! (Then realizes she spoke that out loud and puts her hand over her mouth.)

We all laugh, then John walks in.

Me: taking my phone back, searching for distraction…. I happen upon plush toys.  I click the picture to enlarge and see this:


Jane: What is that?

Me: I’m not sure? It says plush toys but OH! (as I begin to look realistically at them and realize what they are)

Jane: realizes this at the same time

Me: Ok….so ovary, prostate and testicle.  So what’s the pink one?

Jane ponders and Vince grabs the phone

Vince: looks down over the brim of his glasses and very matter of factly and quite overly pronounced, he says: Testicle. Hmm.  Yes, I’m not sure what that pink thing is.

John: grabs my phone and exclaims: OH! I know!  It’s the C word!  (looks at me and turns bright red)

Me: eyes grow wide and looks around to see if anyone else saw

Lucy: which one?

John: even more beet red, speaking straight to me and NOT Lucy who asked the question: NO!  NOT THAT C, the other one the.. the… the…

Lucy: Clitoris?

John: Yeah…that one.

Me: still looking at him, then mentally sending him the message of “Hey.  I wish you’d known what that was back in college….”

Jane: I don’t think that’s right.

Vince: No. It can’t be…. (randomly poking at the phone)…. OH!  It says (again in his clinical voice) MAMMARY.

John:  Hmmm.  Mammary….

Me: beet red and wishing I had not visited this site.

Lucy: I don’t get it.  Are they vibrators?

Me: oh dear god…. want to crawl under the table

Jane: NO!  They are just toys.

Lucy:  How do you play with the toy? What do they do?

Jane: Not THAT kind of toy – it’s really like a pillow or a stuffed animal.

Lucy: Why?

Jane: I’m not sure?

Lucy: That’s stupid.  Why would I want to have plush organs lying around?

Me: I have no idea.

Lucy: OH! I could buy a couple of testicles and let my dogs have them!  Here boy!  Fetch the testicle!

Me: begin to wheeze in laughter because both Vince and John have a look on their face of pain and fear.

John: I gotta go…..

Lunch ended abruptly and we all kind of just dissipated.

And the best part dear readers?  Lucy?  She’s dubbed our HR Head.  Awesome….

Taylor’s Faux Pas

My beloved Taylor is having a rough month.  The cat has a wax belly and the dog peed on her Chistmas deer.

I had the pleasure of meeting up with Taylor for dinner, where she shared to stories of her week.  Enjoy.

Bad Dog!!!

If you’re single, we all have that item of clothing (or outfit) we wear for comfort and would simply die if anyone saw.  For me?  It’s a pair of blue pants I wore after back surgery.  The elastic in the waist is worn out so it gives me continual plumber crack.

Taylor hasn’t felt well lately, so she put on her comfort attire (which I will define shortly in detail).  I was envisioning her comfort attire as….well…. nothing heinous honestly.  She seems too put together to have comfort wear, but I suppose they say the same about me.

Anyway – Taylor’s comfort outfit is a salmon color tshirt that says ARUBA in nasty turquoise blue letters.  No bra.  Tucked into grey sweat pants with an elastic cuff, and big blue socks that have little balls on them.  Observe:


Now THIS is sexy….

Taylor was laying on the couch trying not to die when her doorbell rang.  Mortified that she was in her comfort wear, Taylor weekly made it to the door and squeaked “Who is it?”  Turns out it was a concerned co-worker there to bring meds and soup.  Awww.

Taylor told her to leave the materials at the door and she will get them.  No one would see Taylor in this outfit if she could help it!

A few minutes later, Taylor opens the door to get said items.  Call it slow reactions.  Call it bad dog.  Call it fate.  But something made Taylor’s dog Max make a mad dash for the outside world at this point.

Max is young and is not an outside dog, thus Taylor had to plow down the street of her neighborhood….. in her comfort-wear.  Here is how she said it went down, verbatim.

Taylor: YOU FU*&ING BASTARD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GET BACK HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Max: yelps and runs – this is a game for him now

Taylor: SON OF A BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Max: gives her a look like… um actually? Yes.

Taylor: STOP! BAD DOG!!!!!!!

Max: cuts through a neighbor’s yard and proceeds to poop on said yard

Taylor, winded from having run and scream, while sick, scooped Max up, pulled some toilet paper from her pocket (apparently she has a cold), and cleaned up best she could.  Max seemed pleased, but Taylor feels she now has to move because her street has seen her comfy wear.

God Bless Taylor.


A few days later, Taylor went back to work.   At lunch, Taylor went to the little grocery by her office where all the earth-friendly people go.  People were giving her the once over, and she thought it was because she hadn’t brought in her re-usable grocery bag.  She felt guilty, but kept perusing.  After many scowls, Taylor began scowling back.

At the check out, Taylor’s checkout guy was also giving her the eye.  Then he asked if she’d like to buy a bag. And then this happened:

Taylor: THAT’S IT!!!!!!!!!  No.  I don’t want a bag.  I’m sorry I forgot to bring my reusable bag in, but I feel like crap and I’m on cold meds.  Whatever.  Just give me my stuff.

Bagboy: Gives her the once over and says: Really?

Taylor looks down.

Taylor: Oh shit.

Then she quickly grabs her bag and runs out.

Why?  Taylor was forced to  participate in her office Ugly Sweater party.  Apparently, Taylor forgot she was wearing said hideous sweater and THAT was what folks were looking at…. not her lack of earth-friendly carry alls.

So in the course of a week, Taylor, has gone from pulled together cutie to What Not to Wear.  God BLESS Taylor.  Hope she feels better soon.

Merry Christmas-Happy Holidays! Stay out of the ugly sweaters and off the cold meds.


Semantics + Dirty Mind = …….

I told you I had a dirty mind lately.  Well, it got worse.

Proving, yet again, that semantics are important.  One man’s tomato is another man’s… well…. enjoy….

Coworker: Can we put up a link to fuzzy balls on my part of the website?

Me: What???

Coworker: Don’t be that way, look at it on the computer.   It’s fuzzyballs.com and I think it has good info on there.

Me: I’m not typing that in.  I’m afraid of what I might see.

Coworker:  silence

Me: Fine.  Ohhhhhhh.  It’s fuzzy YELLOW balls.com

Coworker: Yeah.  Isn’t that what I said?

Me: No.

Coworker: Oh.  Well whatever.  Can you link that for me?

Me: Sure…..

I then had to call HR and tell them that if they saw a search for “fuzzy balls” on my computer, it was NOT what it sounded like.  Rather, it was a coworker who had asked if I could link it to his web page and he left out yellow.  I sound like a moron.  A sick, twisted, moron.

I need wine.


Like Charlie Sheen Attracts Strippers and Coke

I sometimes get questions of “do you make this shit up” on my blog.  The answer is a tragic NO.  Sadly, I doubt I’m creative enough to come up with this.    I attract crazy and odd like Charlie Sheen attracts strippers and coke.  (Yes, verbatim I was told this.)  This story is one of those gems.  But first, a little background:

I am at this amazing new job.  I love what I do, I love where I am…. but my boss?  He is, bless him, about one nugget short of a Happy Meal.  My coworkers and I have dubbed him Doug E. Fresh.  I’m not sure why or how this happened, but it’s quite commonplace vernacular here now. Doug E. Fresh’s existence, I’m certain, is to make our lives as difficult as possible before he leaves this position.  We have a countdown clock now the we know when he’s leaving.  Tick Tock Doug E. Fresh… Tick Tock.

That being said, Doug E. Fresh tales from last week.  ONE day in my life with Doug E.

Me: Doug E. Fresh, (ok I used his REAL name but  you get me) I need you to sign this time request off form.  I’m taking the day after Christmas off if that is ok.

DEF: Oh yes that’s fine.  You are here all the time.  You need a day…

Me: smile (and think to myself it’s YOUR fault I’m here all the dang time)

DEF: Why did you date this with a smiley face?

Me: Oh! (blush) it’s 12/12/12 and I thought that was cool to write.  Sorry….

DEF: That’s right!  How cool is that!  Oh!  Next year it’s 13/13/13! Oh geez I hope it’s not on a Friday!  (laughter)

Me: (realizing he’s serious) Um… 13?  That’s not possible…. it’s December…12….

DEF: God DAMN it!!!!! Oh well.

Me: I’ll see you in our meeting!

I scurry away and flee to the bathroom where I erupt in a fit of laughter.


DEF: (in the middle of a meeting)  You know some days my whole goal is to just distract you.

Me:  Pardon?

DEF: Yea…. you are SO focused.  You just move right through and stay on track regardless of what I say or do.

Me:  Um…. thanks.  I try.  So, as I was saying, here we have the…

DEF: hummina-humminah (makes weird noises)

Me: Yes?

DEF: (more noises)

Me: Ok, So, as I was saying, you have the…..

DEF: (laughs)

Me: Yes?

DEF:  Really?  Do you take stuff for this? You are incredibly hyper focused man!

Me: I’m not on any medications for anything – I’m just a professional and I’d like to get done before dark.

DEF: hahaha!  Ok.  Carry on.

He left about five minutes later….


To understand this final section, you must understand Doug E. Fresh’s work (haha) schedule.

9am: arrive, fuss about computer, check emails, drink coffee, walk around the office areas and interrupts all head employees

11am: declare hunger and/or may attend a meeting

11:30-noon: leave for lunch

1pm: attend a fitness class or go hit golf balls for a few hours

3pm: back in office, check email, may attend a meeting

4pm: leave for the day
Earlier this week, not surprisingly  Doug E. Fresh declared I had to do a special presentation just for him and include some people via phone. I was already doing this presentation twice on Monday, but Doug E. Fresh wanted it for his on Friday. Fine.  It was absurd, and useless, but I did it.  Then I get this email:

“Yours truly is taking some much deserved time off on Friday. If you need me, I’ll be checking emails”

So, I reply:

“Dipshit.  YOU need time off?  I work more hours in day than you did in two months.  TIME OFF?  You make me pull favors to get a presentation just for you on Friday and now you aren’t even coming?? OR did it mean so little to you that you forgot.  Sweet mother Mary.  You are batshit crazy.  Please, don’t come back….just run away and don’t stop.”

Ok.  I didn’t.  Well, I did, but I erased it.  What I really wrote was:

“You made me schedule a meeting for you on Friday as a test run presentation.  I have a,b,c lined up for the conference call.  Are you really not attending?”

Doug E. Fresh:

“We can do another on on Monday early if you needed to.  I don’t think it’s necessary on Friday.  I trust you.  You’re the bestest!!!”

Ya’ll!  He did.  He said bestest.  And used three !!!. I can only assume the man was drunk or high as a kite.  What 60-something year old man says that?  I think he’s messing with me.  Wait….maybe he’s the Beebs after all.  Maybe it was HIM messing with me and not… no?  You think?  I need wine…..