Dolla’ is gangsta for dollar. Yes, that’s right everyone, I am gangsta. Who am I kidding? The whole two people out there reading this blog knows that it couldn’t be further from the truth.
Today started out like any other Thursday, except I was lucky enough to be afforded the privilege of not attending loan committee. Those privileges come few and far between, so I was ecstatic at the notion of 30 extra minutes of sleep. (Of course 30 turned to 50 when I decided to wear my hair curly, but mentioning that isn’t really all that important)
So 50 extra minutes of sleep, lunch plans with the one and only Kayla McMillan, and the aspirations of what I would do with a three day weekend should have made for a delightful work day, right? This is where the interactive audience yells, “wrong!”
For whatever reason, let’s blame it on this past week’s lunar eclipse, someone totally peed in my cheerios first thing this morning. I was not a happy camper. I came to work and seemed to become aggravated with anyone who crossed my path. Even the sweet looking older lady who works in the vault seemed to burrow right under my skin. My irritability culminated on my lunch date, when I told Kayla to prepare herself – I was about to stab someone with my steak knife. I’m not generally a violent person, but sometimes there’s no better way to release a little bit of tension as just letting your frustrations be known by medium of steak knife.
That being said, everyone (again, all 2 of you) will be happy to know that I am in a much better mood. It’s 3:27 and in an hour and a half I will be well on my way to enjoying my Thursday evening. Cheers to all of you1
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Why I Love Apartment Life
There is really nothing, and I mean nothing, like having your eyes peak open at 7a.m. on a Saturday morning to find that is it cloudy outside and the absolute perfect weather to sleep in. You snuggle back deep under your covers, roll over, and prepare for a couple of more hours of glorious, hard to come by sleep. And then it happens. At promptly 8a.m. the insane, orchestrated sound of every lawn care machinery known to man strike up their irritating chords. Why, oh why, is it absolutely necessary to weed eat, mow, leaf blow, whatever at 8a.m. on a Saturday morning? It's cruel. Just cruel.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
And All Other Things of Nuisance to Women
Yes, I stole this blog and its entirety from Kayla, but once you read it I'm sure you'll see why. Enjoy a little peak into how we spend our work days...
The following dialogue took place between Jessica and I via email earlier this week:(*disclaimer… this is not G-rated, and possibly contains false information as well as sexist notions, please read (or don’t) accordingly)
Jessica: Hello Darling! I’m wearing my new scent of choice, but I can’t tell if it smells good or if it wears well throughout the day. Care to take a whiff?
Kayla: Well, I would love to help but my *sniffer is completely blocked. Perhaps if it is in better condition tomorrow?*This is in reference to me having a stuffy nose…
Jessica: Haha. I’m an idiot. =) Yes, perhaps another day that your little guy isn’t under the weather. Did I just say your nose was of the opposite sex?
Kayla: You did just refer to my nose as a boy. I will have to agree with that seeing as only something with a penis would cause a girl as much trouble as this sniffer of mine has.
Jessica: I would try and comment back to that, but what you just said was brilliant – pure genius!
Kayla: Don’t you know that this is why I call our *monthly visitor* George, rather than Aunt Flo like so many others do? It is because I feel that periods must have a penis. Nothing of female origin would dare cause another female that sort of agony. I mean, it was men who invented the bra, and pantyhose (I’m sure) and all other things of nuisance to women.
Jessica: High hells – oops, I mean high heels…Hmm. What else? There are tons of things I feel. And you are oh so right about calling *him* George. In fact, I think from now on I will do the same.
Kayla: I am SURE that a human with a penis was behind the concept of women shaving legs/underarms and the like. I mean, I do not like to have hair in those places, no doubt. However, I’m sure it didn’t bother women of generations past until some a-hole man decided we looked better without it. And now here we are, spending countless hours ridding ourselves of it. Never you mind that men don’t worry about it. They just go through life – day in and day out – letting leg and underarm hair grow and grow; and they sure as hell don’t ever have to worry about a bikini line. I mean, even the metrosexuals who trim *down there* don’t have to be concerned about going to the beach if they’ve gone a few days without grooming. Those huge, oversized board shorts cover it all up. Which leads me to another man-invented thing. Bikini’s – but that’s for another day.
Jessica: You are on a roll darling! And don’t even get me started pm everything else. Why is it that women must be obsessed with our hair? Products! Coloring! Cuts! New style after new style! All the while, guys were intended to look absolutely heavenly with nothing more than bed head? Why? It takes me hours to look the way I do, but I’m supposed to swoon over something that put no more thought into what he looked like than “which ball cap am I wearing today?” I could look hot with bed head too, but like you said, some a-hole man decided that it would be unacceptable to run around in this fashion.
Kayla: and make up, REALLY? Why must I paint on a face every day (well.. who am I kidding; I only wear makeup on the weekends) to impress a man who probably never even washes his? I must go through layers upon layers of foundation, powder, shadows and blushes, lipsticks and lipglosses, eyeliner, mascara; on and on and on and on – plus spend insane amounts of money on the crap. Meanwhile boys simply run a razor over the 4square inches of their beardline and call it done. I quit. I will become a man. It is as simple as that.
Jessica: Not to mention jewelry and nails?! Colored toenails, really? Yes, because that’s going to get me farther in life. Me man too!
Kayla: My only concern with being a man is the fascination that all males seem to have with their genitalia; and it’s from birth. Smallish men things play with their “junk” even before they know what it’s used for. All of this leads me to believe that because this equipment would be new to me, I would do absolutely nothing but play with myself for months on end, and I refuse to have that much contact with a penis. Refuse.
Jessica: Speaking of males, one just burped disturbingly loud in my office. Why is this acceptable? Why must we be prim, proper and polished when men remain to be piggish, pouty and pungent?
Kayla: Precisely. If I were to just belch right out loud here in the office I would be looked upon as trashy, low-class, rude, etc, while I’m sure whichever of the boy species burped in your office is being congratulated by the other boys for such a wonderful display of gas-release.
The following dialogue took place between Jessica and I via email earlier this week:(*disclaimer… this is not G-rated, and possibly contains false information as well as sexist notions, please read (or don’t) accordingly)
Jessica: Hello Darling! I’m wearing my new scent of choice, but I can’t tell if it smells good or if it wears well throughout the day. Care to take a whiff?
Kayla: Well, I would love to help but my *sniffer is completely blocked. Perhaps if it is in better condition tomorrow?*This is in reference to me having a stuffy nose…
Jessica: Haha. I’m an idiot. =) Yes, perhaps another day that your little guy isn’t under the weather. Did I just say your nose was of the opposite sex?
Kayla: You did just refer to my nose as a boy. I will have to agree with that seeing as only something with a penis would cause a girl as much trouble as this sniffer of mine has.
Jessica: I would try and comment back to that, but what you just said was brilliant – pure genius!
Kayla: Don’t you know that this is why I call our *monthly visitor* George, rather than Aunt Flo like so many others do? It is because I feel that periods must have a penis. Nothing of female origin would dare cause another female that sort of agony. I mean, it was men who invented the bra, and pantyhose (I’m sure) and all other things of nuisance to women.
Jessica: High hells – oops, I mean high heels…Hmm. What else? There are tons of things I feel. And you are oh so right about calling *him* George. In fact, I think from now on I will do the same.
Kayla: I am SURE that a human with a penis was behind the concept of women shaving legs/underarms and the like. I mean, I do not like to have hair in those places, no doubt. However, I’m sure it didn’t bother women of generations past until some a-hole man decided we looked better without it. And now here we are, spending countless hours ridding ourselves of it. Never you mind that men don’t worry about it. They just go through life – day in and day out – letting leg and underarm hair grow and grow; and they sure as hell don’t ever have to worry about a bikini line. I mean, even the metrosexuals who trim *down there* don’t have to be concerned about going to the beach if they’ve gone a few days without grooming. Those huge, oversized board shorts cover it all up. Which leads me to another man-invented thing. Bikini’s – but that’s for another day.
Jessica: You are on a roll darling! And don’t even get me started pm everything else. Why is it that women must be obsessed with our hair? Products! Coloring! Cuts! New style after new style! All the while, guys were intended to look absolutely heavenly with nothing more than bed head? Why? It takes me hours to look the way I do, but I’m supposed to swoon over something that put no more thought into what he looked like than “which ball cap am I wearing today?” I could look hot with bed head too, but like you said, some a-hole man decided that it would be unacceptable to run around in this fashion.
Kayla: and make up, REALLY? Why must I paint on a face every day (well.. who am I kidding; I only wear makeup on the weekends) to impress a man who probably never even washes his? I must go through layers upon layers of foundation, powder, shadows and blushes, lipsticks and lipglosses, eyeliner, mascara; on and on and on and on – plus spend insane amounts of money on the crap. Meanwhile boys simply run a razor over the 4square inches of their beardline and call it done. I quit. I will become a man. It is as simple as that.
Jessica: Not to mention jewelry and nails?! Colored toenails, really? Yes, because that’s going to get me farther in life. Me man too!
Kayla: My only concern with being a man is the fascination that all males seem to have with their genitalia; and it’s from birth. Smallish men things play with their “junk” even before they know what it’s used for. All of this leads me to believe that because this equipment would be new to me, I would do absolutely nothing but play with myself for months on end, and I refuse to have that much contact with a penis. Refuse.
Jessica: Speaking of males, one just burped disturbingly loud in my office. Why is this acceptable? Why must we be prim, proper and polished when men remain to be piggish, pouty and pungent?
Kayla: Precisely. If I were to just belch right out loud here in the office I would be looked upon as trashy, low-class, rude, etc, while I’m sure whichever of the boy species burped in your office is being congratulated by the other boys for such a wonderful display of gas-release.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Like They have it Hard
Let me start by saying, I'm grateful that my coworkers thus far are in the dark as to the fact that this blog exists. Why? Not because I'm terrified of the pointing and laughter (Ok, that too), but because I fear that the title of this blog could spark some very inappropriate comments. That being said, I trust that everyone reading this is mature enough to stifle their laughter.
So I’m standing at the register of my friendly neighborhood EZ Mart purchasing some very unneeded delights, when a police officer walks in and heads straight to the men’s room. The cashier, complete with mullet, looks/glares at him and asks, “How’s it going?” The officer, unfriendly as he may have seemed, let out a partial sigh and said, “Oh, another 12 hour day.” After the cop was out of sight, the cashier looked back in his direction and then at me and scoffed, “Yeah, like he has it hard, riding around in an air-conditioned car all day.” Let me get this straight. He doesn’t have it hard, but you do? Last time I checked the EZ Mart was air-conditioned, semi-clean, and comes complete with gadgets of all sorts to pass the time. It’s not quite the dire conditions of a rice field that some people are grateful enough to work in. Or what about the guy who has to stand out on the road with a sign that says “Construction Next 10 Miles.” Have you ever thought about that guy? I know you’ve seen them before. I usually see them when I’m on the tail end of a road trip and seem to be in the middle of nowhere. Man, think about that. Having nothing to do for 8 hours, but making sure that you’re holding up a sign? Geez, talk about having it rough.
But back to the point of this blog. Yes, I know that there are “bad” cops. We’ve all seen the cinematic brilliancy of Training Day (and for those of you who think that I’m being serious with the term brilliancy will eventually get to know me better). But to make a comment like, “Yeah, like he has it hard” just seems so completely unfair to me. These men work crazy shifts, deal with crazy people, and are expected to come save your behind at the drop of a dime, yet, you’re going to throw attitude because he’s not thrilled about the thought of another 12 hour work day?
I don’t work 12 hours a day. The bank couldn’t afford me for that long. Ok, yes they could, but neither I, nor them would want me there for that long. Why? Because it makes for an insanely long work day and few people on God’s green Earth would want to do it. All I’m saying is that yes, working at a the EZ Mart may not be the most glamorous job, but it doesn’t necessarily give you a free pass to harass the local law enforcement – only a night of heavy drinking or an undeserved speeding tickets gives you that right.
So I’m standing at the register of my friendly neighborhood EZ Mart purchasing some very unneeded delights, when a police officer walks in and heads straight to the men’s room. The cashier, complete with mullet, looks/glares at him and asks, “How’s it going?” The officer, unfriendly as he may have seemed, let out a partial sigh and said, “Oh, another 12 hour day.” After the cop was out of sight, the cashier looked back in his direction and then at me and scoffed, “Yeah, like he has it hard, riding around in an air-conditioned car all day.” Let me get this straight. He doesn’t have it hard, but you do? Last time I checked the EZ Mart was air-conditioned, semi-clean, and comes complete with gadgets of all sorts to pass the time. It’s not quite the dire conditions of a rice field that some people are grateful enough to work in. Or what about the guy who has to stand out on the road with a sign that says “Construction Next 10 Miles.” Have you ever thought about that guy? I know you’ve seen them before. I usually see them when I’m on the tail end of a road trip and seem to be in the middle of nowhere. Man, think about that. Having nothing to do for 8 hours, but making sure that you’re holding up a sign? Geez, talk about having it rough.
But back to the point of this blog. Yes, I know that there are “bad” cops. We’ve all seen the cinematic brilliancy of Training Day (and for those of you who think that I’m being serious with the term brilliancy will eventually get to know me better). But to make a comment like, “Yeah, like he has it hard” just seems so completely unfair to me. These men work crazy shifts, deal with crazy people, and are expected to come save your behind at the drop of a dime, yet, you’re going to throw attitude because he’s not thrilled about the thought of another 12 hour work day?
I don’t work 12 hours a day. The bank couldn’t afford me for that long. Ok, yes they could, but neither I, nor them would want me there for that long. Why? Because it makes for an insanely long work day and few people on God’s green Earth would want to do it. All I’m saying is that yes, working at a the EZ Mart may not be the most glamorous job, but it doesn’t necessarily give you a free pass to harass the local law enforcement – only a night of heavy drinking or an undeserved speeding tickets gives you that right.
There is no Rhyme or Reason
Let’s get down to the nitty gritty of my blog’s title. Yes, I am at this very moment sitting in a cubicle. However, said cubicle is much appreciated seeing as how it allows me to look at the blue sky and the home depot parking lot, in which I saw someone rolling a “j” (it was my first time – it’s imperative to share things like this) during my work day. I used to work in a basement, but that story will be told when I have another work day I need to kill. Conundrums? Not so much at this point in time, but when naming my blog it seemed to fit. Mainly because between the hours of 8-5 is when I spend obsessing about things that are going on in my life. Kayla, who convinced me to come to the “dark side” and start a blog, can attest to my obsessing, seeing as how 6 hours out of my 8 hours at work are spent emailing her about said conundrums. Wow. My first blog and I have managed to make myself seem obsessive and lazy? That takes talent, folks. For those of you reading this and who are possibly affiliated with a certain buffalo-oriented bank, rest assured that I do actually work (not that you should monitor my Internet usage to prove it); I just can’t help the fact that life behind a cubicle causes your mind to wander from time to time. So there you have it. Cubicle conundrums and beyond. God be with all of you who will now be subject to my random thoughts. Starting with: Conundrum is defined as a riddle in which a fanciful question is answered by a pun. Cheese and Rice – what have I gotten myself into?
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