I’m attempting to write a press announcement today (literally – it’s an announcement about a press), when one of the Tuberculosis Twins™ receives yet another phone call from her husband. He calls approximately 32 times a day, which is just like the woman in my Glamour magazine who wrote in to say that because her husband “checks in with her” at work 7-8 times a day, they are so totally IN LOVE. Actually, I think it means he is a controlling STALKER, but whatever, Glamour lady. So, Tuberculosis Twin (“Form of a Germ Molecule!”) ends her conversations with her hubby the same way every time:

“Shut up! NO, you shut up! Shut up! OK. Bye.”

(Note: Due to graphic pretend violence, viewer discretion is advised.)

Apparently, she is 13. And annoying. Even my boyfriend Batista is annoyed.

In addition to Tuberculosis Twin, there is a woman here who sneezes violently every day. About 8 or 9 sneezes each time. After the first sneeze, I always automatically think, “Bless you.” (I’d say it out loud, but she sits too far away. But not too far away that I can’t hear her explosive sneezing. Because to NOT hear that would require me to live in, say, Iowa.) After the 2nd and 3rd sneeze, I think, “OK. Let’s wrap it up here.” After Sneeze 6 or 7, I think, “Oh come on. Stop milking this already.” And after Sneeze 9, I’m ready to go over there and throttle her myself. I mean, seriously – every day?

And then, and THEN, there is this woman who makes the weirdest noise ever. And every time, I say to myself, “What the hell IS that?” Because it sounds something like this:


I literally cannot decide if she’s choking, puking, coughing, barking, or all four. I can’t concentrate on writing dynamic copy about our company’s capabilities when I hear the equivalent of a sea lion gargling with a dying hyena, man.

Batista needs to take action.


Reasons #322 and #323 why I should be allowed to work from home

The receptionist called me today with an “emergency.” (Note: previous emergencies have included cutting and pasting, finding a font, and how to open an e-mail attachment.)

But this time, it must have been an actual emergency, because she was whispering. She only does this in emergencies, or whenever she doesn’t want the president to know she’s asking for help.

Her: “I have an emergency.”

Me: “What is it?”

Her: “[The president] gave me some Very Large Paper and wants me to make copies of them.”

Me: “What do you mean, large pieces of paper?” (I have no idea what I’m working with here. Is she talking about sandwich board-large? Will two people be necessary to wrestle this paper onto the copy machine??)

Her: “I don’t know. They’re LARGE. They’ll need to be shrank down.”

Me: “Are they 11 x 17’s?”

Her, now whispering very loudly, because obviously I. Am. NOT. Getting. It: “No, they’re LARGE!”

Me: (Now thinking that the president has somehow acquired a giant billboard that he wants photocopied onto a business card-sized piece of paper) “OK. I’ll come check it out.”

When I get up to her desk, she hurriedly shoves two LARGE pieces of paper into my hands. They’re 11 x 17’s. Normal sized pieces of paper, used hundreds of times daily in any office setting.

Me: “Um…these are 11 x 17’s. Why does he want them shrank down?”

Her: ”What? Oh, I said they should be shrank down…you know…because they’re so LARGE.”

So anyway, I went and made copies…for our receptionist. I swear I have a bachelor’s degree and that my business cards read Marketing. Not that I’m above making copies for anyone, but I only make LARGE copies, dammit.


At our department meeting today, a coworker and I, with the help of our supervisor, were trying to determine the owners of the various creepy noises in our office.

Me: “So who’s the one that makes that ungodly noise? You know, the cough-barker?”

Supervisor: “You mean the Horker? Oh, that’s so-and-so.”

Coworker: “No, no that’s a guy. This is a woman who makes the noise.”

Supervisor: “Are you talking about the Bathroom Hocker?”

Me and Coworker:: “WHAT?! There’s a BATHROOM Hocker? Eew.”

Supervisor: “Oh yeah. Every time he goes in there. Hey, I think I know who the Serial Sneezer is.”

Me: “Yeah. Us too.”

Coworker: “So who’s the other Tuberculosis Twin?”

And so on. So in addition to the Serial Sneezer and the Tuberculosis Twins, I now have to be concerned about The Horker and The Bathroom Hocker. It’s like some freaky comic book filled with germ-riddled villains here, folks.

Spring’s break

I was going to be a good little bee and work during my lunch break. Then I decided that every minute I stay here steals a year from my life, so I headed over to Wendy’s for some chili.

As I was about to pull into the parking lot, I saw a throng of teenagers walking across the street. They were departing from a large orange vehicle.

Brain: Hmmm…that’s a lot of kids. Wonder where they’re going? La dee doo…

{10 seconds pass}

Brain: Oh no! It’s a BUSLOAD of teenagers!!! And they’re going to Wendy’s!!! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!!!

So, I got to knit in the drive-thru line for 10 minutes.


It’s cold and wet and dreary today, to the point that I could see my breath. And it wasn’t raining as much as it was dispelling icy pellets of HATE.

Life expectancy= +/- 5 hours

I just got out of a 5-hour meeting.

A meeting I didn’t expect to have to attend.

A meeting I assumed would last an hour.

A meeting that took away 5 working hours I could’ve spent on the RFP that is due Friday.

An RFP that still has 70 questions left to complete.

Seventy questions that have 5 sub-questions.

Sub-questions that demand samples.

Samples that require me to get cooperation from co-workers.

Co-workers who are in meetings.

Fantasy vs. Reality

Fantasy: Soaking in a nice hot bubble bath
Reality: Inhaling the stench of perfume my co-worker apparently bathed in

Fantasy: Sitting on the couch snuggling with the cats
Reality: Listening to catty co-workers complain

Fantasy: Wasting the day away watching soap operas
Reality: Listening to far-fetched gossip about my boss

Fantasy: Spending the day writing and reading
Reality: Spending the day writing endless proposals and reading grammar-deficient letters from the sales staff

Fantasy: Living in a world where time does not matter
Reality: Having to do the work of 3 people in 1/3 the time necessary

Fantasy: Getting an unexpected present from Super Bitchy Sales Rep
Reality: Having SBSR tell me she’s going to give me a present, preparing myself to stab her if said present is actually “work,” and having her give me a nice gift from a vendor

Adventures in Seminar-Land

I had a 2-day seminar in Minneapolis this week. It was so bad it actually made me want to go back to work.

I got in at 8:30 when registration started. The room was already packed, so I sat in the front row. Two seconds later, a disheveled guy sat next to me and in a full-out Australian accent asked me, “Guess where I’m from?” After I replied, “Australia,” he looked disappointed, like I never would’ve guessed. I wanted to tell him the only way it would have been more obvious was if he would’ve been wearing an alligator vest while riding a crocodile beside Nicole Kidman and shouting “Crikey!” at the top of his lungs.

The seminar went well, despite Cactus Jack taking to heart the question, “Does anyone need more clarification on what we just talked about?” every single time, and another lady trying to be the teacher’s pet by sharing every single example of how her company did this thing and how she thought the rest of the class could benefit from it. If she’s such an expert, I wonder what she was doing in a seminar called The Basics of Direct Marketing.

Right before lunch, Cactus Jack invaded my personal space to ask me where I was going to eat. Before I responded with, “Wherever you’re not,” my Be Polite to People Guide kicked in and I said ‘I’m not sure,’ before sprinting out of the hotel before he and his Crocodile Dundee boots followed me.

Day Two:
Any attempt to avoid sitting next to Cactus Jack was thwarted upon my arrival when I noticed him already seated. Would’ve been rude to sit elsewhere at that point. Instead, I endured a painful conversation regarding the questions he was looking forward to asking the speaker.

After lunch, he informed me that he had the pepperjack burger for lunch, which I had already deduced from his breath. Ten minutes later, I realized that he had been farting in my general direction while simultaneously trying to suppress belches. I said trying.

I don’t get paid enough for this.

Letters – Vol. 2

Dear People I Work With:

When I go to the trouble of creating PowerPoint templates that require you to only do the minimal amount of work; namely, entering in the client name and date and resaving the file under a new name, do not ask me to change two words and print out your document for you. It’s a simple task you should be able to manage. But I guess this is better than trusting you to do it yourselves and finding out you used 32 different fonts for a 17-slide presentation. Also, a little hint: when you use the phrase from a 20-year-old movie that has a giant walking marshmallow in it as your tagline on presentations, I am legally entitled to smite you.


Swing(line) your partner

Don’t come to me at work when I have a 60-page RFP to complete in 2 days with minimal assistance, 3 worthless meetings on the horizon, a marketing campaign I’m really excited to work on but can’t get the time, and ask me to do a special marketing piece to target ONE petty customer with the only instructions being: “Oh, I don’t know. Make it pretty. Use your imagination.”

I’m using it right now to bludgeon your skull with my stapler.