Finally!

At long last, one of you has asked "What the shit is going on with the blog entry titles?"

(You all can thank good ol' Armsweat for showing your lazy asses up. And they even called her "Doofus Baby," for Christ's sake. "Doofus Baby" drinkin' a Bud, no less! You should all be ashamed!)

Well, here's the answer: Each of the last seven entry titles has been a song lyric, in the order they are in the song (even I am surprised that I had enough presence of mind to enter the titles in reverse order so that they would show up correctly. Color me stunned). Now, if you can figure out the song title and who sung it, that'll be cool. But if you can go for the bonus and tell me what the title of the song means, well, then, you're just as lame as I am!

Seriously, I don't know why that song has been in my head for the past couple of weeks, but it has been.

Oh, and speaking of "has beens..." Oh, no, I just can't. I don't have the heart to insert a pop-culture-icon-on-the-decline joke here. Grow yer own!

The holiday weekend was fun, but woefully short. I was running around crazy all of Saturday and Sunday, but stayed in most of yesterday. Riley even got a bath, and was not a snot about it, surprisingly; she actually did not try to escape the tub this time.

After the hosedown, I ventured out to see my little nephew and nieces (not technically my nephew and nieces, but you try to correct those cute little buggers when they call you "Auntie!" as excitedly as possible!). Then I hung out with Riles and the Old Man for a bit, and let my brain melt from crappy tele playing in the background whilst I tooled around the house, trying to think of an effective way to avoid going to work today.

As you can tell, I couldn't come up with a single viable excuse that I could execute, as I ended up in my cubicle this morning, looking to gather all semi-sharp objects (so as to not look so "obvious" when I keep running into the letter opener mounted oddly on my file drawer).

And now, I'm here. And I'm seriously thinking of taking Friday off by telling my manager that "I've got the Black Lung."

Whoops, Riley looks like she wants to go water the plants. Apparently, Tucker Carlson does that to her. Catch you guys later.

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"It's been a long time since the party, and the room is in a mess."

I'm going to have a little caption party before going to sleep. Who's with me?


"Hey, remember we used to date, and then we broke up, then you started dating Ben Affleck, then you got pregnant, then married, then they worked your pregnancy into the story line, so you were carrying my character's baby, but then I got killed off the show, then brought back because so many people missed my Frenchie hotness, but it was awkward because in real life you had some other guy's kid and because of that, I had to pretend that you and I had a baby when we had scenes together and sometimes I wonder what might have happened between us?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah. Uh, that was really awkward, huh? "
"Yeah."
"Oh, well. I guess it worked out for the best, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess it did."
"So, what do you think of the name Smackadocious Vartan?"


"Bitch, I said I wanted the dressing on the side!"


"OMG, Snakes on a Fred!" (Sorry, I couldn't help myself. My apologies to Ms. Acker.)



Sometimes, the actor-folk speak in different languages, and there are subtitles. Thankfully, those images don't need my lame attempts at funny.


"That's right, bitches... My parents are f-in' hawt!"

And finally, perhaps the funniest image from Alias, ever:

Oh, my kingdom for the accompanying sound byte!

Okay, tired now.

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"The four kings of E.M.I. are sitting stately, on the floor."

I'm waiting, just waiting, for one of you jackballs to ask me what the hell is up with the entry titles lately.

(...Still waiting...)

Eh, fuck it. If you ask, you ask. On with the show!

So, this feels like the longest month in the history of months. I think it could have to do with job disenchantment. It could have to do with being broke all the time. All I know is that this weekend coming up is the first three day weekend I've had in months, and damned if it isn't taking forever to get here. I almost feel as though I might be sick come Tuesday. Hmm, yes... Perhaps.

Anyway, I didn't get angry with stupid co-worker Le Douchebag this morning. Oh, no; it was somebody else's day to become enraged at her antics. I'm not sure what happened, but she made one of my cooler co-workers (in fact, the one that I trust the most there because she 1) has been there forever and doesn't take any crap, 2) when my bro worked in that department, he said, and still says that she is the only one you can trust, and 3) she is always looking out for me) just about go off (which is rare, because cool co-worker tends to look at things more rationally and not give a shit about other people's stupidity, which is something I should probably work on a lot more).

Yes, I am going parentheses-crazy. It must be the heat. Onward.

So, Douche has got my friend all hot under the collar. My best guess is that Douche is up to her usual antics of trying to use condescension to mask her own massive feelings of inadequacy, and she's just taking it a bit too far. This has got my friend so agitated that she tells me about her agitation, another rarity.

I try to assuage her feelings of pissiness by relating Douche's antics with me last week, and how I got over the whole ordeal after blogging and coming to the realization that pissiness, on my part, is temporary, but Doucheness? My friends, that's forever! It works a little bit, I think, and we go on to attend our weekly bullshit staff meeting.

The day goes on, slowly, but surely. Douche sits in the cube right in front of my friend, so I am hoping a busy day on the phones keeps them away from each other. That works up until right before my lunch, when I am radio silent, and can hear both of them on their respective phone calls. My friend is instructing a caller how to send in a cost report; Douche is happily nattering away, lecturing a poor provider in her usual condescending manner. I am about to gather my things to head out for lunch when I hear Douche explain how she does something, concluding thusly:

"Well, ninety-nine times out of ten, this really works."

Oh, yes. Not nearly as funny as "Sixty percent of the time, it works every time," but the way she said it with such seriousness and importance, was fucking classic.

I scribble it on a Post-It and handed it to my friend on the way out the door. She looks at it very quickly, looks at me, then points at Douche's cubicle. I nod. She almost forgets to hit the mute button, else she would've busted out laughing right into her caller's ear. Which, I think, would have been bonus points.

That Post-It is now tacked to my friend's monitor, as a gentle reminder.

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"There are birds out on the sidewalk, and a valet at the door."

I don't know why this took so long to get up on here, since I recorded this last night. Oh, well. I guess this is what happens when you try to audio blog using Skype.

Anyway, the poor-sounding audio clip below is actually from Tuesday night, mourning Alias in my inimitable quasi-Faulknerian babble. Nothing near as hallucinogenic as Lisa's Adventures with Ambien, but what are you going to do?



And Danhole actually posted a comment! Holy snit.

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"He reminds me of a penguin, with few and plastered hair."

Just so you know, what follows below is all Danhole's fault.

Which Action Hero Would You Be? v. 2.0
created with QuizFarm.com
You scored as Maximus. After his family was murdered by the evil emperor Commodus, the great Roman general Maximus went into hiding to avoid Commodus's assassins. He became a gladiator, hoping to dominate the colosseum in order to one day get the chance of killing Commodus. Maximus is valiant, courageous, and dedicated. He wants nothing more than the chance to avenge his family, but his temper often gets the better of him.

Your Harry Potter Alter Ego Is...?
created with QuizFarm.com
You scored as Albus Dumbledore. Strong and powerful you admirably defend your world and your charges against those who would seek to harm them. However sometimes you can fail to do what you must because you care too much to cause suffering.

Which Buffy The Vampire Slayer Character Are You Most Like!?
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You scored as Xander Harris. You're quite the character. Though you tend to over react you're never one to back down when something needs to be done. You are however quite the slacker, but you're loving, caring heart more than makes up for it.

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"There's talcum powder on the letter, and the birthday boy is there."

Ah, must get over this negative cloud hovering today... As you may have seen from my previous post (now below this one), I have been in a foul mood today. To remedy this, I shall present myself (and a good percentage of my viewing public) some much-needed Eye Candy:


Because concentration is... hot.



Because "the cut" is... hot.



Because Grammaton Clerics are... hot.



Because a Limey footballer who is secure enough in his manhood to attempt to rock a lavender turtleneck is... hot? Well, maybe not, but Mr. Owen always is!

A bit much? Perhaps. Self-serving? Most definitely. But damn if I don't feel better!

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"Now they've darkened all the windows and the seats are naugahyde."

I hate getting volunteered for crap.

I was sitting in the Cube O' Doom, happily typing away, when Cap'n Asshat (hopefully, I devote no more energy to explaining his shenanigans in the future) walked through the door. He asked my co-worker if she was planning on attending some bullshit committee meeting already in progress.

This co-worker replied that she was no longer a part of that committee, and she would no longer be attending those bullshit meetings, as she no longer did the bi-monthly newsletter articles for our department.

So far, everything was fine.

Then, THEN, she pointed at me, said that I am the one who writes the department's articles now, and I'm the one that needed to attend those meetings.

What? Excuse me, what?

I explained to her that yes, I was volunteered by our manager to do these articles, but at no point in time was I told I needed to attend these bullshit meetings. Writing articles and attending meetings for a committee whose sole purpose was to think of ways to decorate the office's bulletin boards seemed mutually exclusive to me.

This co-worker then went on to say that my attendance was implied because I was writing the articles. Also, she had been forwarding me all the e-mails she received notifying her of meeting dates and times, in a sort of nonchalant manner (I, having no idea why she was sending them to me, as I had no thoughts of even attending the meetings, never bothered to ask her about them, and simply deleted them on sight).

I told her that what she said didn't make sense, and writing articles for the newsletter implies nothing, and if my manager didn't tell me I had to go, I didn't have to go. She then looked at her watch (we have our own staff meeting in half an hour), and she said, "Oh, you can go ahead and go."

Translation: "I don't care if I don't make any sense, I'm pawning off these bullshit meetings on you with a bullshit excuse, and our manager won't be back until next week, so I, le douchebag, who has only slightly more say than you do because of seniority, am going to pretend you just didn't make the most logical argument whatsoever and say that you should go to this meeting."

Bitch, please!

As Cap'n Asshat stood there, I got up to go to this meeting. Why I did this and didn't just tell her to fuck off and sit back in my chair in protest, I'll never know. But I went to this damned meeting. And it was a complete waste of my time.

When I walked back into my office thirty minutes later, I had to gather my stuff up for our departmental meeting. And this co-worker has the nerve to say as she's gathering up her stuff, "I bet that was fun, wasn't it?"

I wasn't even looking in her direction, so I pretended I didn't hear her as I collected my materials. The need to choke the shit out of her was strong, so I did my best to not engage.

Then she came up to me as we were walking out the door and said, "Oh, cheer up."

I suddenly wanted something very bad to happen to her.

For the rest of the day, shit has been hectic. Phones ringing off the hook, stupid things happening. I am only posting this now, via phone, on my lunch break (yeah, did I mention that my lunch starts at 1:45, and because of this same stupid asshole, I had to start lunch fifteen minutes late"?) and I am too busy to even think about saying anything to this person, who is not a friend anyway, so saying something to her would be yet another waste of my time, and would probably make me more agitated.

But that doesn't mean that 1) I didn't rattle off a short missive to my manager, stating that we would talk about it when she got back in town, and 2) that I won't enjoy it if this co-worker receives a bouquet of balloons filled with gas from my Dad after he's had a lot of chili and Diet Coke (which is what I like to call the flatulence from his "Toots McGee" Collection).

Wow, I feel much better now. Let's end this rant and get on with it, shall we?

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"I've been waiting for an hour; I can't find a place to hide."

So tired. So bloated. So ready to have a job a lot like my old one (minus the bullshit, so, good luck with that one, right?).

Today is actually going... okay. Other than the occasional idiot (both on the phone and in-house), it's been bearable.

I'm still recovering from spending most of the weekend in the car due to the trip to Stumpy's South Carolina Nuptial Extravaganza on Saturday.

It was totally worth it, though. Met a lot of fun people, and hung out with some fellow Gator-Chompin' bitches!

God love Stump, she sure throws a fancy hoedown, emphasis on the "ho"... hee hee!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to try to find some toothpicks to keep my eyelids propped open.

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"Character" reference, indeed!

So, on my machine the other day is a message from a lady who works for a company in a city far, far away (well, far for in-state, so deal with it). She identified herself, stated that a friend of mine had given her my name as a reference for a job, and politely requested a call back. Delighted as I always am to help this particular friend out, I eagerly returned this woman's call the next day during my break.

Cathy (at least that's how I think she would spell her name: with a "C," not a "K") stated that my dear friend was applying for a job with her company, and she was delighted that I could get back to her so quickly. Would I consider myself a work reference, or a character reference?

I quickly decided that any opportunity to bullshit and pretend that I was my friend's superior at some time in our lives in an effort to bulk up his/her status and increase her/his chances of employment may go horribly awry, so I told her I would be more of a character reference. This is a transcript of the conversation:

Cathy: So, how long have you known Pedro*?

Me: Ah, shit, you're going to make me remember that far back? Ah. Shit. Uh, I suppose we met in college, so... (stopping to count on my fingers in a whisper while on the phone) Um, almost ten years?

Cathy: Great. What can you tell me about Daphne?

Me: Yeah. Cleophilus is great. I mean, a wonderful friend, and a great person. Dependable.

Cathy: Good, good. What would you say are Jojo's strengths?

Me: Well, ah, Cathy, ah, Mitch is super. I mean, punctual as shit, hard working, focused. And so fucking talented! Swear to God, the other day, we were hanging out, and that bitch let one rip, and... Christ, it sounded like fucking trombone, like that note they play at the circus or on vaudeville, to end on a silly note, or something. Yeah, make that vaudeville. I can't stand the fucking circus.

Cathy: Okay...

Me: I mean, that asshole can make farts sound magical.

Cathy: Right.

Me: You know what I'm saying? And they don't, like, smell, I mean, like, fucking ever.

Cathy: I see.

Me: And fuck clowns!

Cathy: Okay, moving along. Next question: Would you say that Nina is particularly organized?

Me: Oh, shit yeah. You know, in college, money's real tight. You're always broke, right?

Cathy: (chuckling lightly) Oh, yes. I remember.

Me: For some of us, that's still the case, right?

Cathy: Absolutely!

Me: Well, Captain Jerkoff here, so damned organized. And entrepreneurial. Bastard figured out that the usual ways to make money, like getting your parents to pay for a meal plan, or donating plasma, or selling back your books, wasn't going to cut it for a desirable lifestyle.

Cathy: Really?

Me: So, genius figures out that not only selling crank, but making it yourself in the convenience of your own dorm room not only made you tons of cash, but saved you the risk of traveling around campus to peddle your wares! Too many stupid-ass bike cops.

Cathy: Ah...

Me: Everyone in your hall was buying, and eventually, those fuckers were so strung out, they didn't notice if you came in, ate their food, borrowed shit. It was awesome. I got this sweet-ass football jersey once. 'Course, there was that one time that our friend No-Neck accidentally singed off his pubes while one particular batch went south, but, ah, he got over it. Especially since that bitch had enough money from the "operations" that he could buy himself a merkin. Did you know that they actually sell those?

Cathy: What?

Me: Merkins.

Cathy: What?

Me: You know, pubic wigs.

Cathy: What?!

Me: Well, yeah. And we were calling that whole deal the "operations" all the time. We were so gay.

Cathy: Well, I think I've heard all I need to hear about your friend today.

Me: Are you sure? 'Cause I've got, like, ten more minutes on my break, and I can definitely tell you some more shit if you want.

Cathy: No, that's okay. I think we can figure out the rest from here.

Me: Well, can I just say one more thing about Ol' Poodle Ball?

Cathy: (pauses for a few moments) Yes, (relenting) I guess you can...

Me: Great! I was just going to tell you another way Bitchcakes is talented.

Cathy: Oh?

Me: Sure. I've already mentioned that Bridget is focused, hard-working, entrepreneurial, musical... but there's another talent I'd like to share with you. I think it speaks volumes for the kind of person Felix is.

Cathy: (warily) Yes?

Me: Well, the thing is, this asshammer has screwed every size, shape, shade, and species up and down the coast, like a sailor on the last shore leave of his natural life. And, I'm telling you, and you're not going to believe this, but it is fucking impossible for this kid to contract any STDs!

Cathy: Excuse me?

Me: Seriously. I mean, Lucas here has had a fair share of questionable ass... and they've definitely all had some sort of rash or parasite, or something... Well, maybe except for that professor's kid. That kid looked pretty scrubbed up. But you will seriously find no flies on this idiot! Protected or no, fucker's always enjoyed a clean escape, and consequence-free partners. Wish I could say the same for the rest of us!

Cathy: Right. Well, I think I should let you go now...

Me: I'm not joking. It's like Shithead has "Jesus Clearance," or something.

Cathy: (speaking rapidly) Okay, well, I thank you for your time.

Me: Oh, it's no problem. I hope Boo-Boo Kitty Fuck gets the job! A total asset to any company!

Cathy: (phone clicks)

(*said friend's name changed multiple times to protect his/her own ever-crumbling dignity)

I can't wait to find out if Oscar gets hired!

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Blather.

I'm so glad that this week is almost half over. I feel generally yucky this morning, and may be inclined to take a power nap (a la college) during my break.

However, I have to admit that there is a tiny bit of good to be had this morning: every day, I am finding new reasons to love this phone.

Yes, it sounds ridiculous. But I can check my e-mail, blog, and play movies on the mofo. And today, I was treated to a viewing of this blog, where the very first thing I saw was the picture of Michael that I posted last night "in a fit of joy," as Mr. Cook would say.

Yes, that's right: my phone gave me a little photo to sustain me through this day; a "Pocket Vaughn," if you will!

I realize that "Pocket Vaughn" sounds a little naughty, but I don't care. Viva Pocket Vaughn!

(Sadly, the blog does not recognize the upside down exclamation, though the phone offers it as an option.)

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For the love of Vartan!

Because Lengli was so kind as to deliver this message to me personally, I offer the following bit of good cheer:

Oh, but ours is a forbidden love...

Bring tomorrow's episode on! I will be here, bonobos humping or not!

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Something missing.

Some of you may have noticed that there was an entry that was glaringly missing on April 28th.

I usually post on people's birthdays so that the entire B-Whirled community can share in the magic that is getting old. Er. There was a slew of birthdays in that January through March range, which merely reinforces the fact that during the Spring months, people get, well, sprung, I suppose. This trend trails off a bit come April (at least amongst my cohorts).

Late April, of course, not only brings us a fresh wedding season, but the annual celebration of my little sister Erin's birthday. Normally, I would have made quite a big fuss about this. Hell, I even made sure that on her birthday, I called her at an appropriate time (3 hour time zone difference) to wish her well. What with a wedding to go to that weekend, and other stuff going on, I didn't have the chance to post about it. In fact, I was planning to do a post in the car whilst Sideshow drove home, until I got this text:

"Thank you for the birthday wishes! I am actually in Copenhagen..."

So yeah, f that beeyotch. She's in f'in Copenhagen. She's so not getting a post dedicated to her!

Oh, wait. Dammit!

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Music trivia whore.

I came to a startling realization late yesterday morning whilst at Breakfast with the Gays(TM). As I sat there, happily munching on my breakfast club (which, I am sad to report, did not contain Emilio, Anthony Michael, or Judd, but may have had bits of the janitor who was also Oily Bohunk Rudy Rizchek, who was, well, eww, but I digress,) I told them how I was awakened by my phone beeping.

Upon inspection, I noticed that someone, who shall remain anonymous at this point to save me the grievous whining, sent me a text message that simply stated, "Who sings Brand New Lover?"

(The answer, of course, is Dead or Alive. If you're curious, that is.)

I've had this sort of musical drive-by happen to me by this person before, often at the most awkward moments. And said assailant doesn't always offer me many good leads, either. I often get incorrect song titles or artists, lyric fragments, descriptions of times we were hanging out when a certain song was playing.

I'm just surprised as shit that this person hasn't tried texting me with hums. Crikes.

I've also noticed that although I do not claim to know everything about all music, and I often look at these texts with my "WTF?" face, since I have no idea what song is being represented on my screen, this person still sends me any and all music queries, simply because I got a few right a long time ago. And I never get an explanation as to why they're asking about the song; just a quick "thanks!" then I don't hear from them for another month until I get this grammar-free nugget:

"hey! question, who sings i haven't been to heaven, but i've been to oklahoma?"

Or something of that ilk. Never mind their head almost exploded when I texted back "Which version?" I wish I could have seen it.

Anyway, my realization over the turkey breakfast club, sans Emilio: This person has effectively made me their music trivia whore.

Shudder!

And I've let it happen!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go hide in the corner until someone realizes I'm not working.

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"If I wanted to look at Matthew McConaughey with his shirt on, I'd look at Josh Lucas."

The funny thing is, after work yesterday, I was talking to the Q about this very episode, and BOOM, they're replaying it.

It was definitely an entertaining, if brief, performance by Britney. I'll have to post her fabulous quote on "poodle-balling" later.

However, the line I will likely use as my e-mail signature in the near future comes courtesy of Karen: "I love Filipinos... They're Asian, but not cocky about it."

Add that to the list of things that need to go on t-shirts.

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Heh heh.

Right now, on the Encore/MoviePlex channel, there's a movie with John Wayne called "Chisum." For some reason, that just makes me laugh.

Today was not as bad as yesterday was at work. I took 109 calls yesterday. I barely stopped to eat lunch and go to the bathroom a couple of times. It was maddening. I didn't have time to blog, and I didn't have time to find my list of "Injuries That Will Insure I Get Sent Home."

Note to self: Make that list more easily accessible. Perhaps tape it to the underside of my desk, or simply slide it under the desk blotter, like I've got a centuries-old Rambaldi artifact. Fucking Sloane. I swear.

Anyway, this evening, I was having a farewell dinner with Janice (she and the D, also known in select circles as "The Guapo," are moving on up to Philadelphia), and we descended upon the CF at International Mall (yeah, Danhole knows what I'm talking about) like we just came off a month-long hunger strike. Ooh, what a good idea. I thought that I could combine the well-wishes I was extending to Janice and reward myself slightly for busting ass at work and not killing anyone. And it almost completely worked.

The bad idea came when we ate so much, we'd reached critical mass.

A worse idea came when I decided to get a slice of dulce de leche cheesecake to go.

And the worst idea showed up about five minutes ago, when I decided that enough time had passed and I was hungry enough to eat said slice of cheesecake.

I am so stupid sometimes.

If you need me, I'll be curled up in a little ball, trying to stop from turning into Violet Beauregarde (minus the pigment).

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A case of the "Tuesdays."

Dear me, today sucks so far. Each day that passes has me this much closer to seeking new employment.

They've put me back in the queue that has all the stupid people calling. No, scratch that: it's not necessarily that they're stupid, but because they're assholes that just happen to be stupid. Somehow, I find myself more empathetic (Empathetic? Empathic? Ah, I don't give a shit anymore) to stupid people than to assholes. Go figure.

I've already answered eight calls, and I've only been here for half an hour. Something tells me this isn't going to be a "blog from the phone" day. Crap.

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