Vibrate is Golden

When you were away from your desk, your cell phone rang about 600 times. Someone is looking for you. URGENTLY. Or, at the very least, obsessively. Please call them back right after you turn off that God-awful ringtone. Is it actually the sound of stupidity or something eerily similar? I didn't know stupid had a ringtone but as it should be you have it as yours.

Oh, but please don't tell them the story about the doctor that you just told me. My stomach can't take a rerun of that wonderful summary. I don't want to work anywhere that includes the word "arteriosclerosis" and "canker rash" are common place. So if you don't stop saying it, I'm going to have to quit my job.

I Think I'm Hallucinating or Maybe Just Imagining It

How would I know if I was having a psychotic episode? I think I might be having one but if awareness of one means psychosis isn't present, then I might be ok.

At least twice in the last 2 days I thought I saw a bug crawling that wasn't there. Or it was there and it was super-super fast which is almost more terrifying than my mind bugs. Not almost, is. Mind bugs aren't real.

I've spent a lot more time talking to myself. I thought at first that I was just trying to sort out funny interpretations of the mundane events in my life so I could write a funny blog about it. But you can't make funny out of not funny. Just like you can't polish a turd - an expression I have no idea how to interpret. Why would anyone want a shiney turd? What a stupid undertaking that would be. I do understand the intent of the expression but its choice of words confuses me. Whatever, stop judging me.

Anyway, all this wondering about pondering means I've found myself just staring at the wall or floor. Which means I'm missing out on anything funny that may be happening around me because I'm looking at the stupid floor. So then I look like I'm not doing anything, which is basically true since I'm...not. I WAS THINKING! Only you can't see thinking. And staring isn't thinking because people in vegetable-like states ruined staring. They're not thinking. Or maybe they are thinking "HELP ME HELP ME PLEASE GOD HELP ME." Gee, that's sad. Let's not think about vegetable mind prisons anymore.

Back to the assumption that I am just staring off into space.

I can't see into space by the way. I don't know what kind of eyes you have. Thousand yard stare? Space is a wee farther than that. Not to mention that's also attributed to vegetable people. Like Attack of the Killer Tomatoes. But those are fruits. And if you're a fruit person, that's a whole different association and I'm not sure I could ever fall into that category. Try as I might. Thoguh I haven't but I imagine it would be quite an endevor.

I just did imagine right up to would I wear boxers or briefs. I can't decide.

And then an imaginary bug crawls by and jolted me back to the present.

I Am Not A Ninja

I would like to apologize to the coworker, who's name I do not know for 1.) Not knowing his name; and 2.) for trying to karate chop him in the face yesterday afternoon.

I'm sorry I do not know your name even though I think you've been employed here almost a year now. You're not very approachable and I'm obviously not very outgoing. Regardless, I still should not have tried to karate chop your face yesterday after lunch.

See, I don't know karate or any martial art so I'm not exactly sure why the face chop was my automatic defensive response. Nor can I explain why it terrified me so much when you came around the corner - given that it was a brightly lit office hallway during office hours. I'm pretty sure the only conclusion is the one you obviously came to yesterday - that I'm a complete pyschopath with ninja tendencies.

So apologies to you whatever your name is.

Listen, About Yesterday...

How dare you foil my tirade with your heartfelt apology! I've been planning this speech since I got in the shower this morning! You and your conscious are so damn insensitive!

So what...you live by The Golden Rule today? What about yesterday?! Should I now invent a time machine so I can travel back to yesterday and delivery my well-prepared monologue? I don't know crap about time machines! That'll take me FOREVER!!

Then I'll have to travel back in time to relive the life I missed out on while tinkering with the time machine. Only, I'll have to live it in the shadows of my past life self as not to upset the balance of the space time continuum. That's no way to live and then relive!

You know, if you were really sorry, you'd take back this sincere apology so I could get downright fussy with you and then apologize most sincerely again so we could move on like grown ups. But nooooooooo! Of course you won't. Nor will you probably even acknowledge my now obligation to time travel or its implications on me and the balance of the universe. You're such a jerk.

Sexist Animal Husbandry

If you must be an out-of-touch old sexist, please do so without also making insulting comparisons between myself and farm animals.

First of all Mister, I wasn't involved in the conversation you compared to clucking hens. I can't help that it occurred outside of my office. Hahaha! Funny, ain't it ladies! I'm so gosh darn old and just compared you all to yard birds! HEEHEEHEE!

Sir, if I was a chicken I'd peck what's left of your daffy old brain.

HAHA, get it? Hen house? Because chickens are prone to rampant gossip. I don't know how that poor farmer gets anything done with those feathery ninnies clucking the latest scandal. OR... chickens don't gossip because they can't talk you retarded old coot!

What animal outlives its usefulness and spends the rest of its pathetic life pestering the more productive members of the animal kingdom? OH, there is no such animal because the old and lame walked into tar pits long ago! Hint, hint.

And thanks for apologizing because you thought I was offended by the comparison because chickens aren't attractive enough. Just festoon your sexism with adorable animals and everything is just swell.

I'm the Jerk Because You're at War

My partner in the project for my International Law class is in the Army. He's stationed in Pakistan. We're on Week 4 of our 6 week project and I'm on my fourth week of looking like a jackass.

Given that he's on the other side of the planet and apparently the Army doesn't give a darn about our project deadline, we decided to split the project up - he does the research; I write the paper. We've done projects together before and determined that research would be easier on him with a sporadic schedule. Plus he's like Rain Man when it comes to modern military facts which saves me hours of Googling.

Except now, Private Factoid is M.I.A. There are the obvious reasons: Army won't let him have Internet time; he's busy doing something heroic and Armyish; the power is out in Pakistan; etc. OR HE'S BEEN MORTALLY WOUNDED!! Obviously I don't want him to be dead, maimed or even slightly booboo'd. Bring our soldiers home safe. Or at least give the kid a chance to send that Reference List to me!

I feel like a total ass everytime I can't turn in something on the progress report in class because I have to say "Didn't receive element xyz from Jason...you know...he's at war." Because Jason gets points taken off for not pulling his weight. Which is too bad because he's got that whole weight of war thing going on.

I even offered during Week 3 to just do it for him but he said he would feel bad and wouldn't let me. Which made me feel all un-American from his Honest Abe attitude. In fact, that little camo bastard then threatened to tell the professor if I didn't let him contribute equally. Screw you dude, I'm not fighting a war! We're not equal in burden already. You go! You concentrate on that! Let me handle this paper thing. But noooooo...

Because he has been so damn stubborn, I'm also going to fail this project. And now that he's missing, I can't fuss at him about it. And I can't really complain about it either because good Lord Jessica, if the kid's not answering it's obviously because he was injured in the line of duty while fighting for the noblest of causes and your security.

You know what?! Blah, blah, blah! BIG FAT DER!!! I can't win on this one.

You'll Eat Better, Or Shit Yourself As Punishment

Alli has perhaps the most motivating and effective approach to dieting. Not to mention, some crack marketing people who manage to make uncontrollable shitting sound kind of ok and not the least bit their fault.

"alli blocks 25% of the fat you eat from being absorbed, and the fat that isn't absorbed is harmlessly passed through your bowels. See, all that fat you just ate will come right out your butt and it's all good. Harmless. As a result, you may experience some bowel changes during the first few weeks of use. Bowel changes = shitting with little to no warning. These treatment effects are most likely to occur after taking an alli capsule and eating a meal containing more than 15 grams of fat. If you want that hamburger, alli is going to make you pay. Staying below your fat threshold lowers the chance of these treatment effects. If you do experience a treatment effect, it may be because you've gone beyond your target. It's helpful to think of these effects as reminders from your body that you need to stick to lower-fat foods. See! It's YOUR fault. Alli told you it would make you shit yourself near instantaneously if you ate too much, but nooooooo...you just couldn't listen. If you hadn't been such a gluttonous slob you wouldn't be pooping yourself. How are you enjoying that side of fries now as it leaks out your anus in the restaurant?! Bet you learned your lesson!"

Alli rocks. Fear, intimidation and fecal retaliation are the key principles to dieting.

Tri-Colored Rapist Van Etiquette

You don't get to pull up next to me in your tri-colored rapist van, try to talk to me and then get down right pissy when I don't want to talk back.

It's a tri-colored rapist van! I'm pretty sure that your idea of a good time includes plastic tarp and duct tape. And not in a classy American Psycho kind of way either. So no, I will not be rolling down my window as you so gestured. BTW, I wonder how much longer the gesture of rolling down a window will even exist considering everyone has power windows now. Well, not everyone...apparently tri-colored rapist vans do not.

So no...you do not get to be angry with me about not opening my window in the early morning darkness to talk to you - the maybe rapist driving the definitely rapist tri-colored van of rapeness.

Did you seriously think screaming at me would make me have a change of heart? Oh! Why silly jump to conclusions me! You were only asking directions to somewhere secluded?? My mistake! Here, how about you just follow me there. Apologies! I have the worst manners when it comes to creepy strangers trying to pick me up at a red light in the wee, dark hours of the morning.

Just go ahead and be angry. Take the whole thing out on some kittens, blow up a mailbox or blast some death metal. But rest assured about where I'm not going to die - in a van of any sorts, but certainly not in YOUR multi-fendered frankenvan.

Serious Hurts, Yet I Endure.

Serious hurts. I might work with a human services organization that exposes me to raw humanity but I am never, ever prepared for it. Death spooks me in an indescribable way; more so now as a mother than ever before. I ache for others as if it was my own self. And thus I accept I was never meant for front line, client-level work.

I hate poverty. I hate those who never learned to better themselves. I hate their ignorance, I hate their apathy, their circumstance and most of all I hate my inability to help them. A year, 365 days...or more accurately, 402 days after Hurricane Katrina , I talked to a coworker and victim about her home. She had never been back. NEVER. She had lost her mother, her aunt and uncle. She had a nephew she could not locate and a beloved pet she had abandoned. Yet, she spoke of it as if it was a movie she missed or a meeting she had been late for. It was so casual, so shut down. Her reality was my horror. Four years later her horror is now my incomparable understanding. She had moved to New Orleans from Haiti. Her family worked and saved to send her to the U.S. to go to college. They sacrificed nearly everything.

Yesterday her father, aunt, niece, nephew and childhood friend were confirmed dead. She still awaits the news of her grandparents and several cousins.

I am astounded by her loss of 10 family members in 5 years. I hurt for her; from her and with her.

I am the United States. I should not feel vulnerable to this. Protect me, help me but do not forget those lesser than me. God will not check my citizenship at Heaven's Gate. Let me be here and now, later and always a person of compassion, morality and conviction.

Wait, What? You're Last Name is Hitler??

Yes, yes it really is. And I can debate myself on the propriety of asking you about your last name but that would just be a waste of time. Because I am going to ask. I mean, it is Hitler after all. Curiosity gas chambered the cat!

Actually, whatever her response to my question cannot be nearly as funny as what I've decided her response should be.

If it were me and my last name was Hitler and someone asked me if I was somehow related to...you know...the Hitler...I would pretend I didn't know who he was. Just play totally clueless. Like not only was I cursed with the most unfortunate name but also with the ignorance of who he was.

And then I would sit and relish in my own wit and humor as the person struggled through explaining who he was and the deleterious association the last name of Hitler carries. And once it was all explained and the magnitude of his atrocities all laid out for me...I would mock exceptional offense to their obviously ridiculous association between my current day last name and this lunatic Hitler. I might even stomp around and point my finger accusingly, yet eerily similar to that Nazi salute.

At least, that's what I would do it I was this lady with the unfortunate last name of Hitler.



Let me clarify that the point of this ponder was not to mock Ms. Hitler (though I do question her decision not to change the name) or to minimize the awfulness of...the Hitler. Basically it's awful and awkward on both sides of the question and how to maximize.

Black People Walk to Work, by Lillian

Lots of black people walk to work. Black people have to walk because they're black.

They ride the bus but that lady went to jail and so they walk. But it wasn't fair for the lady. And then the doctor came and they walked together to get the lady out of jail. Then they all walked to the park for black people and everyone was sad because they wanted to play on the slides with the white people.

And the buses were sad too because they only had white people. And then the doctor told about his whole dream. Then black people and white people rode on the bus together just like the doctor man's dream.

Then everyone was so excited that they made a dream day for the Mr. Doctor King and his dream about everyone being friends.

The End

The Conversation I Just Had

Allow me to set up the scene for you...I'm a grown up, in my office, sitting at my desk and STARVING. So I take out my little package of pnb crackers and eat one. Then along comes the Ridiculous Policy Quoter. Here's the conversation I just had (my internal dialogue is in red):

"Hey, did you see that email about not eating in our offices?"

You don't have an office. "Yeah, sure did."

"Aren't those crackers?"

"Why yes they are." OBVIOUSLY! Bonafide cracker spotter aren't you! And how!!

"Crumbs attract ants you know..."

"I'm not leaving crumbs. I'm a grown up. I clean up after myself." Not to mention it's been below freezing for over a week. Ants are dead dollface.

"I wouldn't want ants in my office."

We both know you'd take an office infested with ants, prostitutes and the Plague if you could get one. "Again, grown...I can enjoy a cracker."

"I'm just saying..."

Twice you've said it. "And I'm just responding. Me. GROWN. Cracker. Eater. Crumb. Cleaner."

"It's just a shame when people leave crumbs and then ants come and get in everyones' office."

You know, it was a shame when that ONE GUY left a Subway sandwich in his desk drawer in June and brought hoards of locust and a plague upon our village. BUT, this is just me and some effn' c r a c k e r s. That guy was filthy and obviously forgetful. It's also a shame you're ruining my crackers and misused the English languages as you did just then with everyone sharing one office. I wish I could use mind control to shut my door in your face! GO MIND CONTROL GO!!!

Then she leaves and I smash the crackers all over my desk. Come and get me ants!

Fayetteville - Night 2

This place can suck it. Seriously, Fayetteville and I are breaking off our BFFship.

Thank stank deodorant leaked on my bed while I was out today so my room smells like an elderly boudoir. I looked for a store but there aren't any near my hotel and my company doesn't exactly put its offices in the nicest part of town. If I had known just how shittastic the rest of my day was going to be, I would've been grateful for the tiny deodorant problem.

A giant palmetto bug promptly crawled on me within 2 minutes of getting to the office. If you don't know what those are - look them up. GIANT ROACHES. I thought bugs died when it froze outside, but that winter-weather trooper persevered. Until I smashed him...

And nothing will throw off my presentation groove like gun shots. Thankfully, we break for lunch amid the hail of gunfire. Unthankfully, we go to a nasty Mexican place where I am first asked for a dollar and then asked for a blowjob. By the same guy. Too bad for him I didn't have either.

AND THEN, one of my trainees who ate said nasty Mexican came back to the office and laid out the most heinous poop known to man. In the bathroom mere feet from the training. Thus, we had to evacuate until the smell dissipated. Yep. Screaming and running. The only highlight from this was the woman who yelled, "I think I'm going to throw back up my Lunch Special #8!"

I'm going to wash up to my forearms and go to (you guessed it) Ruby Tuesday's for dinner. Then some Tylenol PM for dessert.

Fayetteville, NC - Night 1

Fayetteville is my new best friend. Everyone is so friendly - in that weird, where's your social filter kind of way. If Night 2 proves as eventful as Night 1, this place will make my Top 5 List of Places To Best Experience Awkward.

First, there's the guy who signed out his phone # on the highway in hopes I would call him. How he got his hugely inflated ego into his car is beyond me. But thumbs up dude. Then, I had to kick my way out of the rest stop bathroom just outside of Columbia, SC. No kidding...full on kick. I tried to push it with my whole body and when that didn't work I had to turn around and donkey kick it open. Right into the face of a giant mongoloid woman. She was nice about it, which is good considering she looked like the type who would use my bones for soup.

I'm staying at a renovated version of the Bates' Hotel. Digging it? TOTALLY! I'm sleeping with the lights on too!! While I'm checking in, the lady at the front desk tells me they have free wings and beer tonight. That's nice...at least, the Hell's Angels trio thought it was. They're staying 2 doors down from me (in case I disappear). Actually, an even creepier retired Air Force man offered to keep me out of trouble. I guess he was offering to stay away from me? Or keep me out of trouble by dumping me in the river after wrapping me up in plastic sheeting? Either way...in case I disappear - bikers or Lt. Colonel Creepers got me.

So given the vast expanse of eateries around here, I opt for Ruby Tuesdays since it's right next to my hotel. I'm cold and unimaginative. And most of the other directions include MLK. I've traveled a lot. Chris Rock is right.

Anyway, my waiter looked like a Greek god. But he smelled like crayons, which I suppose explains why he works at Ruby Tuesdays in Fayetteville, NC instead of modeling for Calvin Klein. A really nice guy held the door open for me before smashing his beer can on his forehead. Ooo, and he called me ma'am. Talk about a diamond in the rough!

Nice precursor to sitting next to the elderly couple from Boston at the bar. SERIOUSLY?! BOSTON?? Of all the darn places! They actual get into a tiff with some guys in camo over the World Poker Tour. It was like Deer Hunter meets The Departed. Only with an old woman who's mouth would shame Satan.

Night 1 = success, provided I live 'til morning.