Overheard

My coworker down the hall has a daily trivia question. Today's question is: What's the only state with a one-syllable name*?

I shit you not, I just heard a coworker guess (wrongly) and say "Oh well, there are 52 states, so I'll just guess 51 more times."

Sigh.


*It's Maine.

Worst team name in history

Has to be the Crimson Tide.

Why not the Crimson Horde? Mob? Anything but TIDE!

Ah, the appreciation this job affords

I just plopped a large, copy-heavy, fully edited document on the desk of a coworker (writer of said large, copy-heavy document).

He looked down at it, said nothing, and went back to his computer as though nothing had happened.

Sigh.

Who doesn't know this?

Who doesn't know about the Courtesy Stall?

Apparently, a lot of you ladyfolk out there don't. So, for your edification, here goes. 

In the ladies' room, if there's someone already in a stall and you can put an empty stall between you, you do it. You give them the Courtesy Stall.

Women are so hyperaware of their bodily functions that, in the ladies' room, we're like men are at the movies (where they tend to put the we're not on a date seat between them). Only we're not worried that anybody will think we're on dates (we travel to the ladies' room in packs anyway). We just need our space. Why cozy up in that moment when you don't have to?

So next time you wander in, remember the Courtesy Stall, and act accordingly if you can.

And for those of you who answer the phone while you're on the pot, I just don't get you at all.

Riiiiiiiiing...


Hello? Oh hi!...[Flush]... Nothing, what are you doing? [Flush]

Yuckers.

Haiku of the Day

Angry Ted's waitress
Wearing last night's eye makeup
Glaring raccoon eyes

The perfectly right thing at the perfectly right time

Beau and I were chatting over a glass of wine last night about some friends of his who are coming to visit in July.

He's a nice guy, but he's bringing his new girlfriend with him, so it'll be kind of iffy.  I'm hoping you can come and be a buffer for part of the time they're here.

What does she do? 

I don't know. I think she hangs out in bars a lot.

*Sigh*

This has been the situation with many of Beau's pals over the years. They're all perfectly nice fellas, but their choices of women... suck. They date women who go batshit on them and end up in jail. Women who need (and get) allowances. Strippers (in all fairness, the stripper is a lovely woman, but after we've exchanged our Hello! What a cute dress! pleasantries, we've pretty much exhausted everything we have in common).

So I asked Beau, Why can't your buddies date women who are more like me so I'd have someone to play with when we hang out in groups?

Beau thought about it for a second and gave me a perfect response:

Because there are no other women like you out there.

That's it. I'm keepin' him.

Bitchflagged

I've detailed my annoyance with my bank's over-the-line sales tactics before. Especially when they tried to get me to put Beau on my account (after rudely inquiring about our relationship status at the counter). Who puts their boyfriend/girlfriend on their bank account??? (Two words: we don't.)

I sent a stern e-mail to the bank (I won't name the bank, but it sounds a lot like Smells Plargo), telling them that I don't appreciate the pressure tactics and that if it continued, (here's where I got really threatening) I'd take my $7.82 out of their bank and I'd take it to one of their competitors.

I got an immediate reply, apologizing for the tactics and promising that they'd never try to sell me anything again (online or in person).

I went to the bank to deposit a check yesterday. They chatted me up while they pulled up my account number. Then there was a bit of silence, an uncomfortable smile, and my check was deposited quickly.  I left with neither sales pitch nor incident.

Ladies and gentlemen, my account has been bitchflagged.

And it's soooooo freeing! I don't have to politely sit through high-pressure sales tactics! No more pretending!

Folks, good things come when you let your bitch flag fly!

My new swimsuit

Just in case you were thinking of buying the same one and showing up at the same beach party (how embarrassing would that be??).

It's the Victoria's Secret Topless Bikini (which seems to be a contradiction in terms; if anything, this is a one piece). Little did you know that you had the makings of a hot little swimsuit around the house. One pair of stretchy underpants, a shoestring, and you're done!

Gentlemen, start your engines

It's Intern Season here at the office.

Every summer, there's one magical day that my male coworkers look forward to. Intern Day (ooooooh! aaaaaaah!) is the modern office monkey's new Christmas.

The new crop arrived this morning; early-20-something coeds. Long, lean, nubile, and bedecked in  skin-tight finery.

I thought it was just another ordinary Monday until I heard a bunch of male whispers in the kitchen; I could only make out one word: intern!

Today is the day that they take the hatchlings on a tour through our buildings. The interns get their bearings; the rest of us get a show. There's the one guy who wore a tie (he won't live that down for the rest of the summer) and a gaggle of coiffed young ladies in tight skirts, tighter sweaters, and sky-high stilettos.

I've been in this office so long that Intern Day makes me chuckle. In a nutshell, a bunch of 40- and 50-somethings surround these girls for a couple of weeks (or until that new-intern smell wears off) and make utter fools of themselves. They get giggly and animated. And the girls are oblivious. It's really kind of cute. A harmless way to relive one's youth.  

Last year, we watched the sharks circle and pondered possible pickup lines that were being thrown out.

The winner by a mile was:

"Hey, Little Lady! Ever see a beer belly up close?"

:)

Dear black-patent peep-toe wedges*...

Why must our relationship be so one-sided?

I do nothing but love you, and in return, you do nothing but cause me pain.

I've given you a good home and lots of friends to play with.

I take you to nice places and show you off to my friends, and yet you continue to cut me like you don't even care.

And now you've done it. The band-aids are starting to come between us. The pain is getting to be too much.

I'm putting you in the corner; you can sit there while I take out all of your friends, and you can think about what you've done. 


*Peeps shown in picture are not the offending peeps.