Ask, and ye shall receive

So my boss sent me to a 2-day seminar to "enhance" my professional skills. It was pretty cool, for about the first 10 hours. After that, I kinda started to zone out. After all, there's only so much career enhancement one can take before it all just starts blending together into blabbidy blabbidy blah blah BLAH.

As I was busy zoning out, I started thinking about potential topics for my next blog entry. And frankly, I was coming up short on ideas---nothing was really jumping out at me.

Suddenly---wallah! Before mine very eyes, the solution presented itself:

A woman with a big fat ass was trying to squeeze past my table, and she managed to knock a hot cup of coffee ALL over the papers of the guy next to me. Haha! It was truly a sight to behold.

The best part was, he wasn't even there to start mopping it up and/or clear his belongings away. He'd excused himself only moments before. And her ass was SO big, she wasn't even AWARE she had done it. Someone exclaimed, "Oh, my God!" and ran over and started pulling all of his things out of the steaming hot puddle of coffee (which was running ALL over the white tablecloth). The fat woman swung around and looked down. "Oh no, did I do that?" she asked. (Note: Even though she was witnessing FIRST HAND what her ass had just done, she could not be bothered to get in there and help clean up.)

What made it so funny was that she had had a number of close calls with our table prior to the coffee incident. All of the tables had pitchers of water dispersed here and there for people to use ad libitum. Every time she had to squeeze past our table to get to or from her seat, one of us always had to put a protective hand over our water pitcher and/or glasses because her (enormous) ass almost knocked them over each and every time she swung by. It was usually the guy next to me who was holding onto the pitcher to make sure she didn't knock it all over the two of us.

Fate, it seems, is not without a sense of irony.

Unfortunately, I wasn't within reach of the coffee mug when it happened. And she seemed so unconcerned about it, which was what I found especially perplexing. If MY ginormous ass had knocked over somebody else's beverage, especially if it was rapidly saturating into their personal belongings, I would be sure to get in there and clean it up to avoid as much permanent damage (and further embarrassment) as possible. Which brings me to my next point: if I had been in this situation, I would have been HIGHLY embarrassed. But for some reason unbeknownst to me, she didn't seem to share that inclincation. Not only did she just stand there looking at the mess her ass had made, but she didn't even seem the least bit embarrassed by it. Unreal!

The timing was impeccable, I must admit. I thought to myself, "Cha-CHING! It's GOLD, Jerry! GOLD!"

So then the REAL highlight of the seminar came when the chick on the other side of me started piping up and contributing all sorts of helpful statistics. The speaker who was running the seminar announced her comments to the rest of the room and thanked her profusely for her contributions. Ten seconds later she slipped me a note, which said, "I TOTALLY just made that up. I had ABSOLUTELY no idea what I was talking about."

I could not BELIEVE her audacity. This seminar cost each of us $800!! And she did it in front of like, 100 people! And they were actually taking NOTES on what she had just said!!

"I DARE you to bullshit him again before he wraps it up," I wrote back.

Thirty seconds later, she raised her hand and offered up a few more tidbits of more helpful information concerning all the press releases she writes. She sounded very authoritative, and extremely convincing. I guessed I would have to wait for the bullshit comments, if she was actually going to have the huevos to do it again.

I promptly received a note back from her, which said (I swear to GOD I'm not making this up): "BOOYA. I've never written a press release in my LIFE."

The girl had SKILLS.

So it just goes to show you, career building can be fun! AND helpful. And sometimes, it provides you with a little reality check on how much ass-age you are carrying around. I consider myself warned....

Apparently I am a fat hog.

It was a bright and beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping. All was beauteous and good.

And then I allowed a member of the male sex to attempt to guess my weight. At which point, I experienced a sensation not unlike TOTAL DESPERATION AND DESPAIR. And the rest was kind of a muddy haze after that. Somehow it is 6 hours later and I find myself slumped over in front of my computer, scraping out the last remnants of a half-gallon of oreo cookie ice cream.

Apparently, I look as though I weigh a whopping ELEVEN POUNDS more than I do. Which by my estimations is AN F---ING LOT. As a matter of fact, I spend 6 days week at the F---ING gym attempting NOT to look like I weigh ELEVEN POUNDS more than my current weight. Fat lot of good THAT has been doing me (pun intended).

The upshot is that I raced home from hearing the horrible news and leaped onto my scale to discover that I actually weigh TWO POUNDS LESS than I THOUGHT I weighed. Which helps a little, I suppose. However, the BAD news is that now I have a complete complex about it. I was not aware that I was husky. Curvaceous, sure. (BTW, when I looked this word up in the dictionary to make sure I spelled it correctly, it indicated a "well-proportioned" female. Hmph. It seems I'm a little bit more than THAT.)

Good thing there is another half-gallon of ice cream awaiting me. As long as I LOOK like I weigh ELEVEN POUNDS MORE THAN I DO, I MIGHT AS WELL FILL THE BILL.

Sigh.

Later fellow taters,
Fatty McGee.

PS. STAN, I'M GOING TO SHAVE YOUR HEAD WHILE YOU SLEEP.

The Human what?

Have you ever been under so much stress, you thought you would snap in two like a dry little twig?

Allow me to introduce myself---Mrs. Twig.

I've had a REALLY tough couple of weeks at work. Probably the most stressful (and LONGEST) couple of weeks of my career yet, for myriad reasons. It's been rough. So today, any guesses what happened?

Surprise surprise, I just completely started cracking up, of my own volition. I was in my office pondering the wretched state of things, and suddenly the funniest thing just popped into my head out of nowhere, and that did it--I just started hootin' and hollerin', and 5 minutes later, as I wiped the tears from mine eyes, the stress had completely melted away.

There is somebody that I work with, who shall remain nameless, who is a GIANT brown-noser. Probably the biggest kiss-ass I've ever met in my life. And she's really been pissing me off lately, among other people.

So it occurred to me all of a sudden that she's pretty much one big greased-up suppository. The HUMAN SUPPOSITORY. And I basically pictured her flying up into the air and shooting right up somebody's ass like a rocket. That or doing a full-on swan-dive into the asshole of someone who is higher up the chain of command than she is. And for some reason, that was just what I needed. It's catchy, isn't it? The Human Suppository. And now I am happy to report that I am feeling much better!

I suppose it is a good thing that I have an office, with a door that I can close. Otherwise, this might have been a mighty embarrassing situation for myself, had I been sitting in a cubicle at the time.

However, I highly recommend this method. Just lock yourself in a room and crack yourself up into sweet sweet oblivion. Ahhh. Much better.

And, I thought I'd share because I'm certain everybody knows somebody like my colleague, who brown-noses their way onto everybody else's shit list. She's certainly crawling up mine. Kind of like the way she's been crawling up my ass lately. Or rocketing, more like....

Hee hee! Happy Friday to all! And to all a good night!

It is a sad state of affairs indeed.

So THIS was interesting. My boss approaches me yesterday and tells me about this concert at the university that is for students only. I guess my boss really wants to go. So I was asked if I still had my old university ID, so that my boss could borrow it to sneak into the concert. Unfortunately, I no longer have the ID. However, there seems to be a much larger issue at play here.


Like, MY BOSS IS A MAN! And he is a big man, at that! And he has a BIG BLACK---


Haha! What did you think I was going to say??


BEARD! He has a big bushy black beard!! And WHAT about this scenario makes him think for even half a SECOND that he would be able to pass for ME to sneak into a concert??? I am HALF his size, might I say I am FAR cuter, and I have BLONDE HAIR. Oh yes--and I am BEARDLESS. Not to mention--I AM A GIRL!! Let's not forget this most important distinction! What the crap!!!!

So when he asked me about the ID card, I simply looked at him with intrigue and stated, “John, I really don’t think you could pass for me.” He stopped to think about it. “Oh well,” he says. “I just had to ask.”

What the?????????????????????????????????????????????

You see, ladies and gentlemen, this kind of shit happens to me ALL THE TIME. I could not make this stuff up if I TRIED. Absolutely unbelievable.

I also have extremely sad news for Hildy B. My bosom buddy Chesty is abandoning me completely and moving to England. And I say “bosom buddy” because we collectively share the largest racks this side of the Mississippi. (Wait--which side of the Mississippi am I on, anyway?) The United Kingdom should be proud to be inheriting such a fine pair of breasts. Oh, and she’s a pretty cool gal, too.

Which brings me to my next complaint: Absolutely ALL of my friends that live nearby have run off and had BABIES. And with Hubby working such insane hours, I have absolutely no one to accompany me to the park on nice days to run around with my beagle. I am distraught indeed. I will not go there alone, as there is always a strange man or two sitting in a van whittling things with a large knife or lurking around all by himself back in the reeds. So if I don’t have someone to accompany me, I simply don’t risk it.

As I am determined to get to the park to enjoy the spring weather, I think I've come up with a viable solution to this problem. You know those dummy dance partners that you can strap to your waist and hook onto your shoes so that it looks (from a distance) like you’re actually dancing with a real live person?

Well I have decided to construct one of those and strap it to my waist beside me so that it looks like I have brought someone along to the park with me. I will suspend the dummy beside me and get the legs to wobble around. And I will put some bling and a hat on it to make it look like a big bouncer man. Eureka! Then I will be all set.

It is a sad state of affairs around here, people. I am in dire need of some chocolate....

Redemption!

At this time, I would like to give a shout out to STAN THE MAN, who was kind enough to reunite me with one of my favorite albums, Van Halen's OU812, which some dirty scange stole from me, along with $200 worth of my favorite CDs, from the locker room at my gym not long ago. (I hope she develops a nasty case of syphilis. Oh wait--what am I saying? She probably ALREADY HAS it.)

Anyhoo, "The Stanimal" most generously lent it me his copy so that I could load it into my ipod without having to purchase it again. He rules. And consequently, he tipped me off on how to make a fantastic pseudo-fried chicken breast (an indulgent little treat I can enjoy without walking away from the table with a big fat ass afterward). For this, he receives the prestigious honor of being my favorite person of the month thus far. Kudos to you, Mr. Stan! Lo avete reso molto felice.

My LEAST favorite person O the month would be my trusty "pain specialist," who strapped me onto a table yesterday and administered a grand total of TEN injections to my posterior, "FOR PAIN RELIEF." I felt so much better afterwards, though, it was totally worth it. NOT!!!!!!! I will not say what I hope to befall him, because it involves expletives I do not traditionally use, but let's just say I'm envisioning something to do with his bare bottom and a good old-fashioned bed 'o nails. And that's all I have to say about THAT.

In other news, my beagle has developed this slightly frightening new trick, whereby he stands up on his hind legs and walks around the room like a PERSON. It's pretty disconcerting, actually, because he acts as if it's no big deal. This skill originated from (a) the fact that he is a runty little pipsqueak and (b) the house rule that he is not allowed to stand up to stick his nose into the trash can or get up against the kitchen cabinets (in an effort to reach the countertop) while I am cooking. So he figures--if he's not actually TOUCHING anything, he won't be able to get in TROUBLE for it. Now THERE'S some beagle logic for you. So now he stands up on his back legs and strolls past the countertop with remarkable poise, just as easy as you please. Except that lately he's taken to just walking around the room that way, for no apparent reason. I'm telling you, it's SCARY.

And now I shall retreat to my room to spend some QT with my long-lost album. I love you, OU812! And to the skank who stole my copy from me: Good luck with that little STD problem of yours, biaaaaaatch!!! May itchy oozing sores be yours forevermore.

Latuh.

How To Thwart a Lunch Thief

Although it has not happened to me, a couple of my co-workers have reportedly had their lunches stolen by thieving fellow employees. We have our suspicions as to the culprit(s), but proving that a suspect committed such a clandestine and dastardly act is no small feat. Which is why, when I ripped off the page of my Worst-Case Scenario: How to Survive at Work calendar this morning, I was delighted to find the following tips on How To Thwart a Lunch Thief. Since this has no doubt happened to some of you, I thought I would share. No need to thank me--I am happy to be of service. Ahem.

HOW TO THWART A LUNCH THIEF

1. SET A TRAP.

Hide a layer of jalepeno peppers between ingredients, or sprinkle a layer of cayenne pepper on the underside of the item.

(Footnote: This could be where I went wrong when I tried to trick my beagle into eating white pepper--laced tuna fish. I put the pepper on TOP instead of on the BOTTOM. I won't make the same mistake twice!)

2. PREPARE THE BAG.

Staple your lunch bag shut. Write your name on the bag.

3. MONITOR THE REFRIGERATOR.

Find a surveillance spot with a clear view of the office kitchen or stroll past once every few minutes around lunchtime.

4. LISTEN FOR THE THIEF TO OPEN YOUR BAG AND REMOVE AN ITEM.

5. POUNCE.

Jump out from your hiding spot. Say, "I believe that's my lunch you have in your hand!" If the thief denies that the item is from your bag, tell him to prove it by taking a bite of the (doctored) item.

Well, there you go. My only question regarding this seemingly foolproof advice is what do you do if the thief doesn't take the bait? You're left with a cup of cayanne-laced pudding and a PB-and-jalepeno sandwich that you have to eat yourself. They don't account for this on the calendar. If any of you give this a try, let me know how it goes....