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 had some serious make out sessions 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….


My Dirty Mind

Normally, I’m the last to get a dirty joke.  Normally, I’m the last to TELL a dirty joke.  I, however, have clearly been cooped up for too long as my last two encounters with the chef I work with left me giggling like a twelve year old boy.  I think that I am now the proud owner of a dirty mind.  Crap.

The Nuts

I have to send out menus as part of my regular duties.  Many times our chef, love his heart, just can’t spell to save his life.  For instance, we recently had “camel” sauce on ice cream and “chicken beets” for an entrée.  So.  I proof the hell out of his menus.

This particular day the menu consisted of  “root beer float wet nuts and cherries.”  Immediately, I get the giggles.  I assume he means WITH nuts, not wet nuts.  So I go solicit the wisdom of a trusted coworker and she gets the giggles too.  Wet nuts.  Neither of us had a clue what the poor chef was talking about….. I brilliantly determine we should google it, but then realize quickly that I love my job and I don’t want to be dismissed for looking at porn.  So, we left it be.  For days, I’d walk by her office and whisper WET NUTS.  Or we’d have a bad moment and I’d say aw…wet nuts.  We had a lot of belly laughs over this.

Then we went to the event…..and passed by a table…. of wet nuts.  Turns out?  They are just nuts in syrup.  Or at least that’s what my mom called them.  But then again, she’d never utter the phrase wet nuts.

Strike 1:  Your girl here immediately leaps to conclusions.


The Beating

The same wet nuts coworker?  Well, we were in my office…which is incidentally next to the kitchen.   Invariably I hear weird noises, thumps and bangs.  However today, we hear a consistent beating sound. Thump-thump-thump-thump…. rhythmic and sustained.  After a few minutes, I decide to go get water and investigate said sound.

I enter the kitchen and see chef with a mallet.  He’s pounding out the beef entrée for the night.

Me: So YOU are the one that’s making so much noise!  Goodness Chef, I can hear you through my wall. (I laugh.)

Chef:  What!?  I’m beatin’ my meat!

Me: pause – look stunned/shocked

Chef: look of awareness crosses his face; I’m pretty sure I saw his eyes flash an “oh hell did I just say that???” followed by an awkward silence

Me: awkward silence…start to back away, willing myself not to giggle

Chef: What? Shit.  Damn.   Um… I …. Um… Leave me alone!

Me:  Ok!  Have a great day!

I ran-walked back to my office, without the water I went to get.  I shared Chef’s comment with the coworker, and we both laughed until we cried. Come on.  Don’t judge.  You are so giggling over beatin’ my meat.  You know it!!!

Strike 2: I tried to be good and I still couldn’t help but laugh.

So.  Moral of the story?  Wet Nuts and Beatin Meat.  Not always what you think they mean….. sometimes it’s just delicious ice cream toppings and a necessary step in beef Braciole.

Taylor Had a Bad Day

Remember Taylor?  My sweet little polly-pocket of sass?    Well, she recently went all Martha Stewart on her place and bought awesome decorations, lovely smelling candles, etc.  She also has two pets: a cat named Lila and a dog named Max.  Lila is a devil in a very long fur coat.  She doesn’t mind and she doesn’t care.  Max is young and dumb.  Bless.

Today was one of those days where I’ve done nothing but meet.  I do that here.  We meet to decide when we meet next.  It’s extraordinary what people do with time on their hands…..what they deem important now vs. what they did when they were actually in jobs.  But I digress.  After my meetings I drug myself back to the desk to check my never-ending inbox.   I see this email from Taylor and almost pee my pants.

Re: Saturday plans

Okay-  let’s see how it goes…I may need to crash.  Lila got a wild hair to jump on the microwave.  When she did, her belly hair drug through the candle wax in my wax warmer.  I’m not sure how many times she did this as I was at work.  All I know is there was no more wax in the warmer and Lila’s belly is coated in candle wax.  F*%king a…because I’m going to have to shave her tomorrow…

Max is on my shit list too.  He peed on and humped my Christmas Deer and also peed on my tree skirt, so it’s just been a nightmare at the apartment.  I need a vodka or a Valium.  Maybe both.

I hope you have a good day and I will see you later.


I’ve tried several times to reply and all I can do is sit here and laugh til tears stream down my face.  I picture Lila with a shaved belly looking pissed off.  I picture Max (a small-medium dog) thinking the Christmas Deer is now his girlfriend and being all sorts of mad when she no longer smells like him.  But most of all I picture Taylor coming back to a home she left looking like something out of a magazine shoot.  Fully believing it would be as she left it, but instead, seeing a cat with a wax belly and a Christmas Deer that wreaks of pee and Max.  I picture the look on her face.  The grasping of the pearls.  And the string of obscenities that inevitably flew from her lips, followed by a mortified look around to ensure no one heard her utter such words.

God bless Taylor.  She’s had a rough day.



Twilight Zone

Forgive me bloggies for being MIA last week.  My grandma passed.  I intend to do a funny/cool tribute on her later, but here was the initial one I promised. 🙂

I’m pretty sure I’ve crossed into the Twilight Zone.   Monday was the day I was supposed to come out, guns blazing, and resign.  Instead, I’m feeling oddly off-put.  You know – like when you psych yourself up for a big presentation in front of a very crowded room, and you walk in…and the room has like five people?  Half relieved, half confused….and a little let down.  Yeah.  That’s about how I feel.

To recap, my soon to be ex boss?  She’s batshit crazy.  Check out a lovely story of her here.

Me: Today I have some good news and some bad news.  The good news is I’ve been offered the job as Her Awesomeness (yes, I totally made that up and I didn’t say it, but it’s a super cool job and hell….can I have business cards that say that?) at….

Boss: You’re leaving me aren’t you?

Me: Um…yes.

Boss: I can’t say I’m surprised…or didn’t see this coming.

Me: fighting back a look of shock

Boss: I knew you were worth more than we could ever pay you when we hired you.

Me:  Oh…. well…. thanks.

Boss: Your timing is bad though.

Me: Yes, I know. I’m very sorry.

Boss: It’s going to be great.  Don’t you worry.  I’m proud of you.


So, here I was expecting fireworks and a lot of screw you guys I’m going home….but it was gentle.  Where has THIS boss been?  Then this happened.

Remember Beast?  If not, catch up here.

Beast: bear hugs me from behind, tears rolling down her face I just got used to you….

Me: Pardon?

Beast: I am going to miss you SO much.

Me: Pardon?

Beast: I’d rather lose anyone else here but you.

Me: Wow…. I didn’t know you felt that way.

Beast: Why? I’m always nicer to you.

Me: True (No.  That’s a lie guys.  She’s not nice to anyone, myself included, hence we call her Beast….but I so thrown off by her kind behavior that I couldn’t muster up any bitchy retort.)


My co-worker who is  my friend here?  My one piece of sanity?  The one I bailed out of jail?  Here was her response:

Me: I need to tell you something.

Coworker: I know what you are about to say don’t I?

Me: Yeah…

Coworker: How could you DO THIS to me?

Me: Hon, it’s not about you.  I’m actually doing something for myself.

Coworker: Whatever. This is really unprofessional timing. I’m shocked and disappointed at you.  Of all people, I thought YOU would have more class.  You know what…. it IS like you.  You are so selfish.

Me: Seriously?

The coworker gives me the death stare and has refrained from speaking to me since. I feel like this is an episode of the freaking Twilight Zone!!!  The bad is good.  The good is bad.  Maybe I’m drunk and this was just a really odd dream. If so, can I please have any guy from Magic Mike, Ryan Gosling and/or Adam Levine make an appearance?  Thankyouverymuch.

Happy Monday,


Like Clint Eastwood from Gran Torino, but Cooler….and Not Dead

You know how you meet someone for the first time, and you think WOW.  This person is going to either annoy the hell out of me, or become my new friend.

Meet Izzy. If I ever had a polar opposite, Izzy is it.  She is loud, boisterous and brash.  She is short, plump and very devil may care.  (Her first words to me were to grab my waist and say, “Damn girl, your legs could be a push-up bra for me….come here!”  To this, I recoiled and looked at her with a mix of fear and amusement.)

Izzy is like Marci….but without the biting or ED.

Turns out? She’s hysterically funny and totally fearless.  Rest assured, there will be a blog post whenever I encounter Miss Izzy.

The entire night was spent in stitches from Izzy. My favorite story of the night is as follows.


Izzy lives in the roughest neighborhood in town.  This is a foul place creeping with drug dealers, gangs and violence.  Izzy’s house?  3,000 sq. ft.  on a corner lot with a huge yard.  Price? $200,000.  That was years back when the housing market was peaking….does that tell you how ghetto it is?  Izzy was new here, she had no idea what she’d gotten in to.

Izzy:  The first day I moved in, there was some rap song that sampled ‘Whistle While You Work’.  You know….like from Snow White?  The whole time I’m moving in, I hear these guys humming and whistling it.

My first thought? Wow! I’ve moved to Disneyland!  This is lovely!

But I was wrong.  Drug dealers and screaming kept me up for weeks.  Then I got an idea.

I bought two massive speakers and put them in my upstairs windows.  Then, I bought Mary Poppins and The Essential John Denver CDs.  Triggered by motion sensors, I blared Supercalifragilisticexpiealidocious, Chim Chim Cher-ee, Sunshine on My Shoulders, Country Roads every time someone entered my property line….it was madness.

But, you know what?  No human can be thugtastic when those tunes are spinning.

They fled from my yard like rats in The Pied Piper of Hamelin.

After a few months, the gangs got more used to the tunes and the spaces where the motion detection didn’t trip.  I had to just play them 24/7.  I bought earplugs.

Then, I turned to fox urine.  Have you ever smelled fox urine?  It’s potent.  It’s like skunk and burnt rubber had a baby.  I doused my yard in the stuff.

You know what?  Not only was I free of random animals like squirrels, but the gangs didn’t like it either.  Again, you can’t be thugtastic if it smells like ass.

So, I’m pleased to say they have given up.  I don’t blare music anymore, but I keep the speakers up as a warning, and on occasion I’ll re-up the fox urine….as reminders.

There is a rumor running that the yard is booby-trapped.  It’s not….but if it keeps my yard safe?  I’m cool with it.  They even pull their pants up around me now and wave like polite men.  I feel like Clint Eastwood from Gran Torino, but cooler….and not dead.


Cheers Izzy.  Bless your heart.

Ducks & Tanning

Taylor  and I spent some time together the other day and, since she hasn’t been on the blog in a while, I thought I’d share two of the blogable stories.


I’m allergic to feathers.  Taylor and I were discussing whether the pillows on the hotel beds were indeed feather or not.  Note: This is after a few cocktails.

Me: They feel ok.

Taylor: Lay on one and let’s see if you die.


Taylor: What? I’m right here – I have your epi pen….you won’t DIE, but if you start to, I’ll be here to stab at you.

Me: Did you really just say you’d stab AT me.  STAB.  AT.  ME.

Taylor: Oh now I feel bad.  I really don’t want you to die. I’d miss you.  I was just sayin’ that I could fix you.  And then we’d know for sure if these were feather or not.  I don’t like feathers either.

Me: Uh-huh.

Taylor: Oh look! This one has a duck on it!

Me: Yeah….raising my eyebrows at her

Taylor: That must mean feathers!

Me: ….Or it’s their logo…. (hotel’s logo was indeed a duck)

Taylor: This is why I don’t drink.  It makes me stupid.

Me: And a little evil….I think you just want to stab me with an epi pen.

Taylor: giggles and hiccups



Taylor used to work at a tanning salon when she was in college.  Always the polly-pocket of sass, here is the story.

Taylor: Omigod.  LOOK at her.

Me: Holy hell! She looks like a prune rolled in Doritos.

Taylor: She looks like the customer from the tanning salon that peed in trashcans.

Me: Huh?

Taylor: Yeah, she was upset at me once and peed in all our trashcans.  So, I put a notice on her record so it flashed “PEES IN TRASHCANS” across the screen every time she came in.

Me: Nice…. she sounds charming!  I bet you have some great stories.

Taylor: Yeah… the worst were the old men who wanted to shock me.

Me: Like …with a taser?

Taylor: NO with their behavior!

Me: What did they say?

Taylor: This one guy came in and (in her burliest voice) Will my d*^k burn in there?

Me: huge eyes WHAT?

Taylor: Yeah. I said to him, “Has your d*^k seen the light of day?  If not, I suggest you put a sock on it.”

Me: literally fell in the floor laughing

Taylor: What? It’s true.  Skin is skin.

Me: I…can’t…breathe…

Taylor: with a sassy head nod and smile Want me to stab at you with the epi pen?

Me: hahahahhahaha Seriously….can’t…. stop…. laughing….


Devil Went Down to…Where Exactly?

As a kid, I was terrorized with stories about centaurs.  Half men/half beast things that would eat me if I wandered off into the woods alone, didn’t finish my homework, had premarital sex or didn’t finish my vegetables. Thankfully, I’m still alive…..which should be proof that they don’t exist…..however, I still have an irrational shiver to all things half man/half beast.

Enter my workplace.

At random, these freaking things pop up.  Check out what creeptastic creature was at the door today.


The Devil Went Down to Georgia

Me: AH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Coworker: What’s wrong?

Me: Who put that here?

Coworker: Someone dropped it off.  I thought it was cute there.

Me: NO.  There is nothing cute about a devil child….

Coworker: …with furry legs.

Me: I kind of hate you.  And now I feel oddly inspired to sing Devil Went Down To Georgia.

Coworker: You’re safe.  Devil doesn’t want your soul.  It’s too twisted.

Me: Ah! You BITCH!

Coworker: See.


A few hours later I migrate into another room where I am met with another critter of man/beast proportions.

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