realizing that I work in a loony bin and also that I fit right in

My work mom left yesterday. Probably not forever, but for the foreseeable future, since she has to fly overseas to manage a long-term project . I sent this email to a buddy (I would call him my work husband, but he is just not work husband material), which I realize sounds somewhat strange in the context of office email:

Mom’s gone. Now I’m depressed : (

On the bright side, I’m slightly bolstered by the escalation of a war that I am waging with the coworker who is saved in my phone as JohnnyG, an eccentric British guy about the same age as my dad. Being the uber professional that I am, I like to pick things up off his desk and thrown them casually onto the floor as I walk by. Or rifle through the pages in books of code he has lying open. One time, I ripped the head partially off of a strange looking little foam soldier he has sitting on his desk. That was an accident though, and I just put it back in a hurry and pretended I hadn’t done anything. JohnnyG didn’t notice the damage until a week later, at which point he blamed it on Josh.

The man totally deserves harassment though, since he called me a dickweed one time. And, since I told him that it was not acceptable to say such things to ladies (we are applying the term lady very loosely here), he now informs me at least twice a week that I am a ‘toad’ and a ‘pest.’ And he called work Mom ‘dip shit’ yesterday! Unacceptable. JohnnyG is the definition of NO-FILTER. Strangely, he and I are actually pretty good friends. I think.

At any rate, he used to sort of take the abuse of me throwing his things with little-to-no resistance (I may have gotten a few pen stab marks on my forearms, but it was a small sacrifice to make for some excellent entertainment), but yesterday, I got a tissue box chucked in the direction of my head.

War is on.

The second or third time I watched the tissue box sail past my nose and skitter across my keyboard, I had to hide it in a secure location because it was in real danger of spilling my mug of tea. But I have kindly left out a number of objects that seem like they would be slightly less alarming when hurled in my general direction.

I need to think of a way to escalate the confrontation now. Throwing his things on the floor will no longer suffice. Hiding stuff perhaps? Or maybe the opposite? Putting all of his drawer things on the desk when he’s not looking? Rearranging the letters on his keyboard? I’m not naturally devious enough to be good at this. But I am apparently a great Pest and a Toad, so I should be able to come up with something.


sometimes you just need a theme song or nothing will make sense

There is a half-finished blog post on my laptop that I started writing almost TWO weeks ago and never finished. I can’t get motivated to wrap it up now, because it’s just so last month. But the fact that I feel like I should finish that one has prevented me from writing about anything else. In order to overcome this ridiculous paralysis of blog posting, I have to just dump my brain out and start over.

Brain dumping. Isn’t that an actual technique that my creative writing teacher had us practice in high school? Or something.

In the past couple of weeks, Roomie and Kate have both turned twenty-four. My goodness, we are so old. Not really, of course, but for the first time in my life I had a moment where I actually thought I was old, for like, a second. Back to normal now. Besides, I am NOT twenty-four yet, so I should be feeling extra young and spry compared to those old ladies. Also, I love hotdogs. (I am dumping my brain out, remember? It doesn’t have to make sense.) There is a connection between birthdays and hotdogs, but I don’t remember what it is. I have had several chances to reaffirm my love of hotdogs during the past two weeks, and I can verify for you that they are just as magically delicious as ever. Although I MUST try a hotdog with crabby mac on top of it, because I missed my opportunity to try one the other day; I was too full from eating nachos.

In other news I have purchased a singlet to wear in my oly lifting competition this weekend, but I think I will be too distracted by how bizarre and silly I look in it to actually lift any real weight. Perhaps it’s for the best. I couldn’t snatch what used to be an easy weight for me in my lifting lesson the other morning, and I was wearing sweatpants and a tank top. When I still can’t lift that weight at the meet, I will blame it on my ugly costume. I am full of excuses. It is a talent of mine. I don’t entirely hate the outfit though; there was a great moment the first time I tried it on when Lizzy yelled “show us your snatch!” in front of several non crossfitters. Their reactions were lovely.

Speaking of food (hotdogs, remember), I have confirmed that I am 100% addicted to caffeine, specifically, Starbucks’ chai tea latte. There was a story to follow that statement, but after starting to type it out, I have realized that it wasn’t actually funny. Not that I really expect anyone to still be reading the post at this point. Sorry to dump my brain all over you all. I think I can be done now.

I like turtles.