Lucky computer, but still

A while back my agency moved into a new building with loads of window offices, many of which sit empty. There were also loads of interior offices and work stations (new age word for cubicle).

I got an interior office with a dry erase board and immediately drew a window on my board (when life gives you chocolate cake…). Being that it was winter, I drew some snow, skiers and birds. As it started to warm up, I decided to spice things up a bit and drew a Peeping Tom.

One of my coworkers suggested I add some detail to the binoculars, so I asked him the brand he keeps in his car. Bushnell. I told him I just knew he was the stalking type and he told me he really liked that orange number I wore on the weekends.

A few days later coworker was back, again commenting on my window. I decided to change the name on the peepers shirt, just for him. Now I have a Peeping Duane (PD).

So PD and I are sitting next to each other at a really long meeting the other day and I’m telling him my laptop, which was rested on my lap, had not been working very well lately. The keyboard doesn’t always work, the battery doesn’t last and I don’t get the ‘insert an alternative power source’ message (which PD found amusing), until seconds before it dies. “It’s jut a piece of shit,” I told PD.

He advised me it was because of the way I talked to it. I pointed out to him that I let it sit on my lap, for hours at times, and sometimes I rub it. His response? “Lucky computer, but still.”


Yesterday I was searching through my contact list for someone’s phone number. Someone whose name I could not recall.

As I slowly browsed from A-Z, I realized I have a lot of contacts in my phone – many of whom I don’t know (or recognize).

Example: “Paul,” followed by “Paul-bar.” Good thing I made that distinction.

I decided to do something similar to what Papa J and I did two summers after high school graduation. Call people. Papa J and I were reading through our yearbooks one slow summer evening and found a lot of people had offered up a “call me – let’s hang out” note; usually right after “stay cute and cool.”

We figured we had stayed cute and cool, so they probably still wanted us to call them and hang out. Papa J and I quickly learned many of the yearbook notes (with the exception of “Bob was here”) were not sincere.

Anyway, I started calling “Paul,” “Another one,” “Erdman,” “Giselle,” ALL CAPS JENNY,” and others, and came to the quick realization that I really don’t know these people. More importantly, I never did find the name of the person I had initially set out to contact. If you are that person, could you please call me?


I can tell Spring is approaching because I wake up sneezing, one allergy induced sneeze after the other. I like to call it sneezures.

I arrive at work with my allergies in full bloom and am quickly reminded my employer, in an attempt to demonstrate cost efficiencies, no longer buys tissue for employees.

As I am walking to the making room room to grab surrogate tissue, aka toilet paper, I start thinking about this “cost efficiency.”

In all of my years of employment I have never seen a coworker’s ass, ever. Yet I see my coworkers’ noses every day.

If my coworker doesn’t wipe well, or at all, I have no idea. If however, my coworker has a drifter the size of Kansas hanging out of his/her nose, and doesn’t have a tissue to take care of it, everybody knows.

I thought about bringing this to management’s attention, however I fear it will result in B.Y.O.T.P. efficiencies.

Instead, I think I’ll just send them a thank you for the toilet seat covers, “Courtesy of the management for your protection.” So thoughtful. I definitely don’t want my ass directly touching something another coworker’s ass has touched. I’ll save that special moment for couples yoga.

Feel your partner’s warmth

My office has been promoting health and wellness lately and, to make it easier for staff to be healthy and well, they offer a variety of classes throughout the day.

In an attempt to quasi-complete my Chinese New Year’s resolution, I have been talking about healthy activities with others. Last year, my coworker, ROFL, started taking some of the yoga classes offered in the building. After a few sessions, he dropped out.

I asked why and he stated, “Maybe it was the couples yoga.” I was intrigued by his response, because I, too, might be a bit turned off by couples yoga with some of my coworkers. ROFL went on to tell me he was nearing the end of the ‘single person’ yoga class when the instructor announced they should partner up for some quick couples yoga.

Apparently another coworker quickly ran up to ROFLing to partner up. It started simply, with the back-to-back breathing exercises and quickly moved on to boat pose and “in the mood” statements, “Feel your partner’s warmth,” from the instructor.

Child pose was next. ROFL began glancing around the room, watching other ‘couples’ assume the pose. His mind, body, muscles, boundaries and spirituality were stretched to the max – the boat pose, in which “our bare feet were touching” nearly did him in. His ‘partner’ looked at him and told him, “I can’t do that, my back won’t take it.” ROFL told me, “Those were saving words! My soul couldn’t take it. After that, I never went again.”

Speaking of Poles

Fru Fru Pants and I “regularly” workout (today I burned 38 calories) in the gym of a very important agency in which the staff do very important things (that was for you CounterCat:).

In this agency, the men clearly outnumber the women. So, when we (Fru Fru Pants and I) are in the dressing room we are almost always alone.

One afternoon we were changing into our workout gear when I turned around to see Fru Fru Pants’ backside. She was naked, with the exception of her frilly fullbacks and a saucy pair of heels.

At first glance, she looked like she might be in the entertainment industry. I started laughing and told her all she needed now was a pole and pasties (a must have in this town). She turned around and I was quickly reminded she already had pasties.

You see, a few weeks prior she had surgery and was still wearing bandaids (aka, surgical pasties). “I was wrong,” I told her. “Looks like you only need the pole. Now on stage: Fru Fru Pants.”

She’s fine. Carry on.

Last night was the big “Back in the U.S.A.” party in Vegas and it was crazy! We played a drinking game called “Kings” and it has been a LONG time since I’ve done that….at least 24 hours. This is a game everyone must play at least once and strive to be the “Question Master.” It really is the best card to play!

Speaking of playing, there was  a little bit of that going on at the party as well. Wouldn’t be a party if there weren’t any players. One fine chap, who we decided to call Dudley-Do-Right, could have actually been called Dudley-Do-Everyone. Not because he did, but because he could have.  The women were smitten!

As the night progressed, the music got louder, the dance moves got crazier and the inhibitions were lowered drastically! Guns N’ Roses started playing and it was on! Being that we were at the Oasis Manor, there was a pool on the premises and with a pool comes a pole. Let the pole dancing begin. Word of advice: if you’re going to attempt pole dancing, it is probably best if the pole is actually attached to something.

After blowing my knee out (which I got to view later via one of the many videos taken of the “Axel Rose Pole Action”), I went to find CounterCat (the friend formerly known as “Cher”).  She was crawled up in a ball, fetal position (maybe it was the “chapstick” that inspired this position….or the alcohol), on the bathroom counter.

I decided to track down Dudley-Do-Right, because his job is to help damsels in distress, so he could help me get CounterCat “off the tracks” and up to her bed. I found him, surrounded by his harem and said, “Yo, America, just because you served your country does not mean you need to serve all of the American women. I do,  however, need you to help me get CounterCat off the bathroom counter.” In typical Dudley-Do-Right fashion, he swiftly obliged (and, yes, he has a “twinkle” on one of his teeth when he is in rescue mode).

When we returned to retrieve CounterCat, one of the other party patrons told us, “She’s fine, carry on.” She did appear fine. In fact, since the last time I saw her (five minutes prior) someone had put a lovely ribbon in her hair.

Odds are Good but the Goods are Odd

Here I am, in Vegas, finally! I barely made it out of Beaver (a public/private partnership). 

I was immediately welcomed into the home and drinking games of Cher’s family – Cher had not yet made it….she did not pass thru Beaver, true story, took a different route.

Being that NASCAR is this weekend, Vegas is sure to be full of all kinds of possibilities. We saw some of them this morning at breakfast and I’m sure there are more to come. Bit of info: NASCAR is family owned and operated. Sometimes keeping it in the family is not good advice. Family trees are meant to have more than one branch.

That said, it is no surprise that although the dating odds are good, the goods are odd. Which is why apps are so important. Cher was telling me about her new DateEscape app – which gives you an “excuse” to escape your date.

Speaking of excuses, we started talking about new love interests and the anticipation of waiting for them to call. Cher advised me she was pretty sure her phone is broken because she hasn’t heard from her new beau. Clearly a carrier issue. Her outbound calls work. Inbound, not so much. Odd.

Straight Trippin’

Last year I set a goal to go out of town at least once a month. Luckily for me, I met that goal. I can only imagine the numerous amounts of self-help books I would have had to read had I not met this goal.

Last week, I started traveling again, with the first trip being a last-minute overnighter in Jackson Hole (the pics were all over myface). This weekend, Vegas. Can’t wait! Get to meet up with the lovely Cher! Got the privilege of hanging with her in her stomping grounds twice last year…..mmmmm, old movies, ice cream, horse races, the works!

Decided I would stop and get my car serviced, just to be safe. As luck would have it, my friend manages the dealership, so I’m hanging out in his office, which has plenty of space for activities and a pull-out couch. Does life get better than this? Oh, yes, it does. He has a private bathroom and a commercial popcorn popper as well. Somebody pinch me!

The nice part about hanging out in here is nobody knows who I am (my friend, the manager, is not here) and because I’m using the computer in the manager’s office they think I’m in charge. I think I’ve made a lot of good decisions in my short time here. I have a feeling the dealership sales are going to be off the charts today. If not, I’m outta here, I don’t need this kind of stress.

Chocolate Cake Today. Unemployment Tomorrow.

Last year I was working with That’s Not Chinese and she started to suspect she might get laid off (due to the economy).


I thought she would be fine until that horrible day when her “boss” asked to meet with her later. That’s Not Chinese asked if she was being laid off – she was given a piece of chocolate cake and told not to worry about it. She threw the cake in the bin.


Six hours later, That’s Not Chinese and I were drinking Sebastiani Cabernet Sauvignon (this is sort of a wine blog, so I have to give credit to the wines) and discussing the dangers of chocolate cake.


We decided to make lemonade out of discarded chocolate cake and had a “S.O.L.D.G.A.F.” (Shit Out of Luck and Don’t Give A Fuck) potluck. Friends were invited to bring appetizers, drinks, resumes, unemployment tips, wigs, etc.  It was swell!


Today, at work, I was offered a piece of chocolate cake. I immediately sent a text/pic to That’s Not Chinese, “Chocolate cake… I sealing my fate?” She provided swift and sound advice, “Don’t do it, don’t do it!”


I opted against parcaking. I’m not drinking the Kool-Aid either.

That’s not Chapstick

Q and her husband are expecting. As a result, they’ve had a lot of important discussions about their wee one. The most recent discussion revolved around the looks of the child. Q’s husband suggested there is a chance the child could be ugly.


Now Q and her man are attractive, so his comment might seem strange if it weren’t for the fact that a lot of really beautiful people are made by some rather unattractive donors (with sweet inner souls, I’m sure). Being Q’s friends we advised her she’ll know right away if her child is ugly just by looking at her (yes, she’s having a girl). Next sign that she’s ugly, these types of comments, “Oh, your baby is so, um, young,” or “You’re stopping at one, right?”


V told Q she thought for sure they switched babies on her in the hospital because the child she birthed looked nothing like the attractive child they returned to her room several hours later. A quick comparison of the hospital bracelets and V discovered she, a beautiful woman, can also make beautiful children. Just lucky I guess.


It was winter when I had my daughter. Living in a cold, dry and snowpacked town my lips were slightly chapped. I mentioned this to my midwife and he suggested using some of my amniotic fluid on my lips. That’s right, the “water just broke” fluid that protects the fetus. Apparently, it can double as a lip protectant. Unfortunately, it’s only available for a limited time.


Although I remembered my midwife’s advice when my water broke, I opted to deal with the chapped lips. This decision had nothing to do with any sort of amniotic fluid on my lips aversion. It’s just, once you’ve reached that point, the only thing you can think about is whether or not your baby will be attractive.