The Bovine Across the Hall

Let me begin by stating a simple fact- I am not mean. I appreciate everyone for their differences and their similarities. Whatever floats your boat is what I say. But I also say that we left cave dwelling and killing with spears behind for a reason and adopted indoor plumbing and personal hygiene as a better way of life.

You know that picture of the indian on the cave wall riding his painted pony and chasing mammoths with wooden spears? Well that was all great and groovy back in the day before indoor plumbing and universal languages. But now we have indoor plumbing. It is readily available to most creatures- there are even cats that use toilets: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zQbHS4YJOMc

So WHY is it that the herd of cattle working across the hall struggles with this simple concept?! Why are our toilets constantly decimated and owned, left broken and smelly by those that regard indoor plumbing as a hole in the ground to simply squat over and leave behind in unimaginable states of disrepair. I am constantly terrified and bombarded by the things I find in the toilets/stalls that we frequent. I daresay, they have even BROKEN A TOILET SEAT. What comes out of you that causes you to break a toilet seat?! But I digress.

I pray for Maria every day that Jesus clogs her nostrils and leads her in and out of the warzones that those creatures leave behind. Where is the decency??

I would also suggest basic personal hygienic care as an addition to their everyday routine. Have you ever met the person who believes deoderant is for the smelly people? They just haven’t realized that they’re the smelly person! The cattle that thrive across the hall should remain across the hall until they decide to trade in their spears for deoderant and their lack of manners for a new outlook on life that involves flushing.

Fairy Pants Dance

I could do this all day…strut around the Dizzle like a proud chicken.

The cupcake and cheese dip came through…not to mention my pure bowling skills. WE WON! We are the Grand Bowling Champions! If you knew me, you would be shocked and maybe humiliated by my actual bowling skills and the fact that me and Theophilus attacked and dominated 15 other teams in our league. Granted I did go from a 65 to an average score of 100, but still. Thank God for handicaps. And you’re welcome Theo for my Fairy Pants dance. It’s what put us over the top in awesomeness.

Wednesdays are not usually this cool because generally after a victory we return to the cube farm to stomp around and munch for the rest of the day. However, due to the fortunate events of figuratively raping our opponents, we went to Sno Biz: the greatest invention, well, maybe ever.

Crush up some ice and throw in some flavored sugar and you got yourself a real treat. Something to go bananas over. I wish I just had some Vodka to toss in it…

On a related note- we have several psychos that work with us. Not to name any names, and certainly not to make them feel any kookier than they already are, but they are more strange than the average sheep. I use sheep because sheep are cute, but not known for their intelligence or knack for knowledge.

Me: “Hey feller. Are you bowling in our fall league?”

Feller swivels and then stares at me.

Me: “Why don’t you bowl? Are you anti-bowl or anti-office?”

Feller: “Anti-office” as he swivels back into his domain and sticks his head back into the mud.

Hmmmm. If I come up missing, you know where to look first.

Barnyard Munchies

It is one of those mornings where I just realized that I have to be in a bathing suit in front of hundreds of my closest friends this weekend and most of them are skinny minnies. And by hundreds I mean a good several to few-like 20ish. And I just ate an Edgar’s cupcake. Actually, to be fair, I inhaled it. I couldn’t help it. I saw it, I wanted it, I ate it. And then I remembered that I have to look presentable tomorrow and it all came crashing down.

That was the moment I decided to eat my feelings and get mexican for FFL. That would be Fun Friday Lunch to any outsiders who will most likely never read this. I can imagine the shame I’ll be feeling after lunch when I come rolling back into the office, but until then, I am really excited about all the cheese that’s about to enter my body.

Maybe this blatant disregard for eating healthily will increase my bowling skills for next week’s playoffs. This is the excuse I am already formulating for Theophilus (my partner) when he shoots me one of his death ray looks as my ball misses all the pins.

If I bowl poorly: “It was the burrito and cupcake last Friday! I can’t shake them off. They’re slowing me down! Why didn’t you tell me not to eat them? IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT.”

but if I bowl well: “YES!!! It must have been the cheese dip from Friday propelling the ball as my arm weighs a good lb more. Team-mate high five! You’re so lucky I bowl with you.”

Now in all fairness, I’m not a chunky monkey. I’m not even chunky, really. Well I only jiggle more than I used to and that is annoying enough to warrant me being upset. Not to take into account that I used to be extremely active and now all I do is sit in my stall with my barnyard critter friends and munch all day. Damn the free cupcakes…and the donut I ate yesterday.

Do I look focused?

I am constantly looking for ways to avoid my time spent staring at an Excel spreadsheet. Bowling Wednesdays are really helpful because they occupy about an hour and a 1/2 of my day and fill it with yells and random dances of victory- but most importantly ranchy chicken fingers. All of these things make me really happy in the small scheme that is my life. And while an hour and a 1/2 is a delightful time span spent away from the cube farm, the rest of my day is spent in it. Trapped. And yes, I referenced a cube farm. It’s a real ‘adult’ term that people that live in cubes like me use to describe the lives they spend being able to see there neighbors but still be separated by sheets of glass- like animals. In stalls…at a farm…see where I’m going with this?

So I must root around in the cyber world for things that I consider “worth my time” and can apply to my daily life, such as: pictures of cute animals, pictures of people attacked by animals, videos of animals dancing, videos of people dancing with animals, videos of animals dancing with animals, pictures of people with animals….well, you get the gist.

And then I am sent things like a picture of a meatloaf cake shaped like a baby on my work email from a farm animal down the stalls. Don’t believe that these things exist? Please visit http://www.facebook.com/pages/Meatloaf-Baby/145444178832856 and have all your nightmares come true. I cannot imagine a workplace environment in my future where I am ever sent a meatloaf baby cake…and for this, my heart weighs heavily. Or maybe I should be concerned. Hmmm.

As for focusing on my excel sheets? Maybe I would like them more if they had something half interesting on them. I don’t even get to do calculations and pretend like my job involves strategy or statistics or Cost Analysis Projections. Until then, I will work on memorizing www.cuteoverload.com and www.zooborns.com and www.teacuppiggies.com. Maybe after all of that  I will look focused.

Timewarp Tuesdays

People always complain about Mondays. There are songs about Mondays sucking and being ‘manic.’ What people forget to mention are the Tuesdays. I’m not sure how these Tuesdays are constantly overlooked, but I am painfully aware of them. I know when Monday ends, it means Tuesday is coming for me. You cannot outrun a Tuesday. It’s not like the bar creepers or bad mexican food you can avoid. You wake up and SMACK. It’s there and you’re there- for a whopping 24 hours.  I not-so-fondly refer to these demons as Timewarp Tuesdays because it feels as if I’ve been sucked inside a vacuum and I have all day to ponder my life and soul’s purpose. This does not always end so well since I currently am on the fence about having a life or a purpose to my day other than to make it to 5pm.

I have however formed many diversions and life goals to help me deal with the pain of TT, specifically the creation of Docupig. Docupig is our office’s future teeny tiny pig mascot that would run around and squeal and deliver faxes. He would look something like this, http://cuteoverload.com/2011/07/07/teeny-peeglette/, but cuter if possible. Compliments to Blondie for providing me with the pig pic of our dreams.

Not everyone in the office is convinced that Docupig is a necessary asset, or really even sanitary, but I am positive they will come around. For the time being though, we have created a Docupig out of a pinata that we strut around the office via mardi Gras beads (His chain of choice).

I am sure that this will convince everyone that a real snorter is needed. ASAP.