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Protected: Today’s Lunch Special: Bitter Sandwich

17 Oct

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Protected: Evidence that I’m a Bitch: Exhibit B

4 Oct

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Evidence that I’m a Bitch: Exhibit A

2 Oct

There’s a young man that works in my company that is fine.  He dresses well, is hot, and has the personality of a mound of dirt.  For someone as attractive as this J. Crewish young lad, you’d think he’d have some social skills.  Not Wet Noodle.  Talking to him is physically painful.  While at first I was delighted to be in meetings with him-just because he was so pretty-I learned to dread the meetings like one does going to the DMV.  It’s painful and a waste of time.

Several years ago, Wet Noodle married a woman who was 9 years his senior and not that much of a looker.  When my friend, KK, first saw his wife, she just about fell over and died.  I use one word to describe Mrs. Wet Noodle: Cankles.  Seriously, she is not an attractive woman, and has ballooned in size since they first got together.

This afternoon, Disney called me over to his desk to show me something.  He had found a very old picture of Cankles.  I looked at it, then at him, and the following escaped my lips, “Jesus Christ.  I think she ate herself.”

Ms. Snobberton

3 Jul

I work with this uber snob who we shall call Ms. Snobberton. She’s one of those women that doesn’t need to work-she just does it for kicks. Her husband makes plenty of money, she’s always wearing flashy new jewelry or caring a brand new Louis Vuitton bag. She also sneaks out of work for 2 or 3 hours at a time (on just about a daily basis). Oh, and did I mention that she only works part time so she’s only here for 4 hours a day?

Anyway, Ms. Snobberton enjoys making flip comments. She’s pretty insulting, though she tries to mask it from time to time. I’ll give you an example: several weeks ago, I purchased some super cute wedges. She saw me in them and mentioned how cute they were, then asked me if I could wear the shoes with skirts. I told her I loved the way they looked with a skirt. She said, “That’s so great that you can do that. My legs are way too skinny for that. It takes a thicker leg than the one I have.” Umm, excuse me?

Sadly, we have recently been assigned to the same project. This means I’ll have the extreme joy and pleasure of working with her (ie. pulling all the weight and forcing her to do stuff when she decides to make it in to work), and enjoying all her wonderful compliments (ie. veiled insults). Oh joy!

Protected: Happy Day!

14 Jun

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My Meeting with Destiny

27 Mar

The meeting was bliss, sheer and utter bliss!! People, it moved me to my core. Here’s what happened. . .

Promptly at 11:00, Lit’l Smokey rolled his chair right into my cubicle. I have a guest chair in my cubicle-you know, for all the guests that come and visit me. It’s main purpose is actually to hold my gym bag, lunch bag, purse, and/or coat-but it can also be used as an actual chair. For whatever reason, Lit’l Smokey decided he would bring his own chair. My guess is that it was his way of making my cubicle even more crowded than it already is.

After some small talk about how cute my shoes were, we got down to business. Yes, my friends, he did notice my shoes-and it wasn’t because I said, “Look at my shoes!” or because he’s gay. Earlier in the day, there were several people that pointed out how darling they were (I didn’t even have to pay them to do it), and I’m guessing he just overheard something the 100th time that someone stopped by. Anyway, the meeting was about an incredibly important project that I’m working on and how he was going to be assisting me. Basically, he’s going to be my bitch, and I’m sure he’ll enjoy every second of it. Of course, I put a very wonderful spin on it about how it was a good opportunity for him to practice his new skills (hitting on the more tenured associates, mainly me), and how he’d get good exposure to a variety of tasks (and by “a variety of tasks” I mean “CS’s smokin’ rack”) that we do on the job, and blah, blah, blah.

Throughout the meeting, I noticed how he struggled to not reach out and plant his hand firmly on my thigh or to grab me and kiss me passionately. It was a real struggle for me-I mean for him. Somehow, he was able to maintain his composure and keep his ass firmly planted in his seat.

Sadly, the meeting ended early because I ran out of details about the project. Not two minutes after he rolled on back to his cube, he needed my help finding manila folders. A ploy!! This was his way of spending more time with me, I just know it was. Of course, the typical place where the folders are kept were devoid of any traces of manila folders. This required a special trip to one of our 3 closets, or “booty call stations” as I like to call them. I grabbed my keys, and escorted him to this romantic little getaway.

After an unsuccessful trip to booty call station number 1, we found the folders in closet number 2. When I stood up from grabbing the folders (I had of course bent at the waist so he could get a nice peek at my caboose), I noticed the most delicious scent coming from him. The man wears cologne. He’s cute AND he wears cologne (and he’s not gay). It’s clear to me that he wore the cologne because he thought I’d like it. On our way out of the closet I asked, “What cologne are you wearing?” He was all coy when he responded with, “Oh, you can still smell it? It’s Ferragamo.” Then he started smelling his wrists. I’m pretty sure that he wanted me to stop and smell his neck, but that would have been unprofessional because we were in the hallway and HR is just right down the hall.

His desire for me is becoming pretty obvious! I can’t wait to see what he does during our meeting tomorrow or during one of the two that we have on Friday. The best part is that I can just keep setting up meetings with him because he’s new AND he’s helping me on a couple of different projects. Hmm. . .what to wear tomorrow and Friday. I’m thinking cleavage, he should have to stare at cleavage. . .

Somebody Please Kill Me

23 Mar

Guess who got all boozy suzy last night and has a touch of the cocktail flu today?? It’s me! It’s me!

Ugh, I hate hangovers.

Protected: Another Nail in the Coffin

20 Mar

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