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…..

Cheers,

Me

My Office Is Possessed

My office has taken on 84 needy children for the holidays.  So sweet right?

Well, the stash of stuff is partly in my office.  Off and on for the past few days I have been hearing things.  I dismiss them to long hours, thin walls and a chef that beats meat.    Last night, however, I for a brief time believed my office was possessed.

I, working late like a good girl, kept hearing a jibber-jabber noise.  A few minutes later, I hear a muffled but distinctly creepy voice singing “Clementine”.

Alright.  Now I’m creeped out, but I’m certain I’m hearing things.

I head over to the piles of gifts and poke at them a little.

Silence in all the bags.

I sit down

Then I hear a different pitch chatter.

I get up to investigate again.

Silence.

I begin to move the bags I feel might contain said sound out from my office.

When I put down the bags, I hear the most demonic sounding “See you laaaa–ttt—eerrr” I’ve ever heard.

I squealed like a little girl, ran into my office, slammed the door and screamed, “Sweet Mother Of GOD!!!  Leave me alone!!!”

I sit back down and all is quiet for an hour.  I get up to open the door because I fear security will alarm me in if the door is shut.

Sit back down and you know what I hear?  HARMONIZING.

I begin to giggle.  Come on!  Demons don’t harmonize…..

I gather my courage to go investigate, dig under the bags until I find it….open the bag and…. I bet all you parents out there know what I found.

No?  It’s a Sing-a-ma-jig.  Have you heard of them?  Here’s a link to their official video page.  Note: I am not a paid spokeswoman for them, nor do I own one.  It’s just here for you to refer to them and know what creepy sounds I heard.   

Four Sing-a-ma-jigs dolls

Four Sing-a-ma-jigs dolls (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Creepy little bastards.

Enjoy your holidays!
Me

 

 

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.

Taylor

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.

 

 

Oh. Dear. God.

Bloggies!!!!  Oh how I missed you!  The new job certainly keeps me busier than the old one…. here is a post long past promised.

***********

Oh. Dear. God.

Having come from an office of a rank, foul smelling dude (remember him?) I am no stranger to odd smells that make a day of dumpster diving (yes I did do that once….) smell like a partylite party.

At the new job, we don’t have smelly people.  So when I began getting a whiff of something odoriferous, I thought it must be PTSD (post traumatic smell disorder).  I was oddly whimsical about it.  Sigh.  Who knew foul smells could make one nostalgic?

However, the smell began to permeate my office.  I began feeling queasy.  I search around and find nothing.  As luck has it, I have an intern in with me.  She looks green as well.  We search.  About this time, I get up so that I can go find some Glade.  That’s when my hand accidentally knocks the hanging plant and the smell sends me violently bending over the trashcan.

Me: Oh. Dear. God.  What IS that?

Intern:  I think it’s in the plant. She says with disgust and fear.

Me:  I don’t know how that???…. but yes I think you are right.

I climb slowly up and unhook the plant from it’s chain…..gradually peak over the edge…..

Me: AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Sweet baby Moses!!!!!!!!!!! I say as I began tottering off the chair and trying to keep the plant away from my face and yet NOT spill whatever it is inside making the odor.

Intern: WHAT!!!

Me: It’s furry!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I do not drop the plant.  I do not flinch.  I hurdle over my desk (making all Olympians proud); dodge the intern; and go sprinting fast as I can to the front of my office.  I’m not sure why.  Perhaps I thought my co workers could help.  Perhaps I already had it in for the interim GM.  Perhaps I just needed it as far away from my office as I could.  Regardless, as I ran, the smell happily invaded the nostrils of each staffer in the office area.

Office Mate 1: Sweetie….. what are you doing with your plant?

Me: It’s dead and furry and bloated!

OM1: What?  then the stink hits OH DEAR GOD!  What have you done!?

At this point I have managed to stink up the office enough, create enough commotion, that the GM, the other office mates and security all happen to converge.

Security:  I heard screaming – you ok?

Me: NO.  It’s dead and furry and bloated.  Please remove it. I say as I thrust the foul plant toward the sweet, unknowing officer.

Security:  It’s not that WOAH!!!!! That’s awful!  What do I do with it?

Me:  I don’t care – just don’t leave it here.

Security: Should I take it outside?

Me:  I don’t care!!!!!

Security: gags OK.

I’m not sure what sort of critter it was.  Nor do I want to know.  What bugs me most is that I don’t know how it got there, how long it had been there….and why my plant dude who was here the day before didn’t notice it.  Perhaps it was  the Godfather horse head in the bed version from the gangster squirrel mafia.  I’m not sure.  But I’ve got my eyes open.

My office smelled of dead for a couple of days, but then became normal.  I now burn candles in here on a regular basis.  I was told it helped “soothe” angry members in my industry.  I’m not sure, but it sure as hell soothes me from gagging.

Until next time….

Me

 

That’s How You Know

I have a slight case of plague, so this is going to be super short.

PIC, my ever best bestie, brought me a pasta salad today that I adore.  It almost brought a tear to my eyes.  Why?  Because not only did she bring me the only pasta salad that might tempt my palate…. but she went through and picked out all the olives for me.

That’s how you know she’s your bestie.  She picks out the olives for me because she knows the site of them makes me hurl….even on days where I am not likely to hurl.  I didn’t have to ask.  I didn’t even have to say a word.  She knew.  She acted.  SHE ROCKS.

I love PIC.

I’ll rest up and will write more soon.  Off to the land of plague,

Me