Hoot-Dawg, Meat Suits and Hashtags

I fully intended to write something different today.  However, something just happened and I needed to share.

I work with a women’s organization.  Four times a year we have a rather important group gather here at the office to do business stuff.  These women average around the age of 65 and are wildly successful in their normal day-to-day lives. If I didn’t witness this, I’d say you were lying.  But no.  This really happened. All of it.

First order of business today? Let me talk to them about the meaning of the hashtag.  You all know it: #.  Here’s how that all went down:

Me: A hashtag looks like this: # And it’s primary use for us is to mark important….

Member1: That’s a pound sign.

Me: Yes. The symbol also is known as a pound sign.

Member 2: That’s stupid.

Me: Well, I’m sorry you feel that way.  So.  As I was saying, we use it in our Twitter feeds to designate key words….

Member 3: That’s the number sign too.

Member 1: RIGHT! Why can’t we just call it that- this tag hash thing is confusing.

Me: It’s quite simple actually if you’d let me finish.

Member 2: Does it involve hash or tagging?

(Room erupts in laughter)

Me: Pardon? Um… it does involve tagging.  As I was saying….

Member 1: Do we have to do this or can you just handle it?

Me: You all requested me to speak on this, correct?

Member 3: Yes but this is boring and complicated.

Me: Blink. Blink. Blink.


I was at my desk, which is tragically located near both the conference room and the main traffic area.  I hear this:

Member 1: She was wearing…. get this….a meat suit.  Serious hand to God, made out of real meat.

Member 2: WHAT???

I envision her clutching her pearls and it makes me giggle.

Member 3: That’s unsanitary.

Member 1: Right! I didn’t believe my daughter, but she showed me pictures online.

Member 2: That’s disgusting.

Member 3: Who does she think she is?

Member 1: I’m not sure, but she’s royalty.  Her name is Lady something.

At this point I can’t control it any longer and I burst with laughter.  So much so that I had to flee from my cubicle, hands over mouth.  I think they thought I might be ill.  But, that doesn’t really surprise any of them considering who I work with….bless him.


This started as an innocent remark that went way down Beevus and Butthead lane.

Coworker: So, ladies, where would you like us to cater your lunch today?  The only place that’s not open since your last visit is Hooters.  It closed a few months back.

Member 1: chuckle

Member 2: giggle snort


Coworker looks at me – we blink and exchange um… why are they laughing looks.

Member 1: she said Hooters.

Member 2: I’ll show you hooters!  shakes her chest towards the other members

Member 3: Is laughing so hard she is now crying and wheezing.  That’s…so….funny….

Member 1: We went there last time – remember girls?

Member 2: That was so funny!!!  Hoot-Dawgs in the house!

Member 3: SHHHH! Staff is here!!!

Member 1: Makes a zip the lip gesture and then shakes her chest wildly.

Member 2: Throws some gang sign and does the same.

Member 3: Throws a new sign and then they all three chest butt.

Coworker: So…. I recommend the new mexican restaurant down the street…..

Me: They make a mean burrito.

Members 1, 2 & 3: WAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!

Coworker: I’ll leave the menu book here for you ladies.  Let us know what you decide.

Incidentally, they picked another chain restaurant.  They also opted to go eat there rather than us bring it in.  I can only imagine what holy hell they unleashed on the poor servers.  Bless….  So, blogland….be on the lookout for old ladies with beehive hair.  They are up to no good I guarantee….but it’ll probably amuse you.

Where’s my wine?  Is it wine o clock yet?



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