Last night I had a dream I was eating lunch with three 20-something cabbies (one woman, two dudes) who later offered me a ride in their taxi. But then they locked the doors and started attacking me. I was pretty sure the next step was to make me their sex slave, because obviously attractive 20-somethings would adore the shit out of me. I punched them each in the face and jumped out of the moving car, yelling after them, “we ate lunch together!” as though attacking someone you’ve shared a meal with is the coldest thing you could ever do. I stand by that feeling.
1. I couldn’t figure out how to get through the locked doors on my way to the washroom, so I just waited until someone else went through and ran through behind them. In retrospect, a simple “hey, how does this door open?” would have been more effective.
2. I accepted a lunch invitation, but didn’t have my wallet with me. Luckily I was being treated, so I didn’t need my wallet and, therefore, didn’t need to pretend like I’m an organized person who doesn’t forget her wallet every other damn day.
3. Both of those things pale in comparison to when I clicked on a link that appeared completely innocent and a giant vagina popped up on my screen. I (inadvertently) looked at porn at work — on my first day. Normally I would reserve that for the 87th day.
Hopefully I can manage to get through tomorrow without accidentally downloading information on the effects of chloroform.
In order from “I could probably do that” to “I’ve totally done that and why didn’t you call me?”:
10. Management theorist (I have so, so many theories on management)
9. Mouth musician (You should hear the F sharp that comes out of this mouth)
8. Yo-yo champion (Probably, if my 7th grade teacher hadn’t confiscated my yo-yo)
7. Sanitation champion (I’m wiping down toilet seats every damn day)
6. Shepherd of electrons (I have the perfect boots for it)
5. Personal fab pioneer (I am almost definitely all of those things)
4. Charity defender (Whenever anyone says “I hate charity,” I’m all like “Fuck you.”)
3. Kindness catalyst (Whenever anyone says “I hate charity, I say “Try being nicer, asshole” and I think it’s working.)
2. Wishmaker (I’ve left about $1 million in pennies in mall wishing ponds all over this country)
1. Passionate reader (Seriously, why didn’t you call me, TED? I read books so good)
There is never a need for a pair of pants to have both a button and clasp closure. It seems the clasp’s only purpose is to keep the button discreetly hidden, as if a button is some kind of fetish-laden clothing porn we should be ashamed of. I have never seen a button on someone’s pants and thought, “oh my God, put that thing away, you dirty, dirty person.” In fact, if I noticed pants without a button, I might say “hey, dude, you lost a button” or just stand there staring and marvelling at how well the pants were operating under such stressful, lost-button conditions. My point is this: I almost peed my pants because I forgot I had two closures to open. Take note, pantelones makers.
I applied for this writing job, but I’m not entirely sure I have all the (awesome) physical skills required.
Physical demands: Frequent repetitive arm, hand and finger movement. Bending, reaching and daily stair climbing required. Exposure to dust / fumes / gases / odours / animal dander and change in temperature. Accurate visual acuity, colour vision and conversational auditory skills required.
I’m legitimately afraid to go to the doctor, despite having debilitating stomach pains for two weeks now, in case she tells me I have to become one of those assholes who doesn’t eat bread. No offense to the assholes who don’t eat bread. It’s just that I don’t understand you and I fear what I don’t understand, so you scare the shit out of me. Also, stuffing for the win!
I learned something about myself tonight as I re-covered my kitchen chairs. I’m far too lazy to walk across the alley to get a staple remover from the dollar store, but I am not too lazy to remove 700 staples using a pair of nail clippers. It probably doubled the time, but it saved me at least 200 steps in the cold. I’m not sure what this says about me, but I’m also not sure it’s bad.
We’re doing an office clean-up today and I couldn’t bear to throw out the post-it note collection of things our former co-worker and friend, Melina, said. So for the sake of posterity (and, yes, the opportunity to embarrass a friend…once again, her name is Melina. Last name: Morales), here they are:
1. “Is that a baby? Oh, it’s Sarah’s chair.”
2. “Ew. I don’t like my meatballs.”
3. “We used to throw poop at each other.”
4. “I can’t wait to stuff my turkey.”
5. “I want a sea otter. I want to squeeze one to death.”
6. “Remember when I bit into an apple and my tooth fell out?”
7. “My mint tastes minty!”
8. “I smell like beans.”
9. “OMG. It smells like gerbils in here.”
10. “Ew, I hate baths! I don’t like floating in my own filth.”
11. “My ovary feels funny.”
12. “She has the best life!!!” (Referring to Kim Kardashian.)
13. My body is like a pomegranate: nice and smooth on the outside, all bumpy and seedy on the inside.
14. “My fingers are turning gold. I am becoming gold. I look good as gold.”
And my personal favorite:
15. “oh shit, did my eyebrow come off?!?”