Manic Monday #24

Okay people, I am still alive.  You can stop walking through the cornfields with bloodhounds looking for me.  You can stop scouring the sky with the aid of a zeppelin looking for me.  You can stop having divers check that retention pond behind the housing development where that weird kid leaves.

As it turns out, the only downfall about writing a blog about work is that, sometimes, work has you so busy and stressed out that the last thing you want to do when you get home from work is write about work.

But fret not - I am back this week.  Work be damned!  I am a blogger and so I shall blog!

Now back to your show, already in progress... Manic Monday #24

You know how you know it's officially spring?  When you wander out to your living room in pants and a bra, completely forgetting that you left one section of your blinds open, only to find one of the grounds guys out on your patio with a leaf blower.  Nothing like starting your week off with a peep show for the landscapers!

Similar to a lightbulb question: How many office employees does it take to correct an auto text?  Answer:  Waaayyyy too many.  This is why we should never upgrade anything in the office.  I'm starting a movement to bring back typewriters and those photocopier things like they used in the movie Animal House.

I took 8 years of Spanish because my dad promised me a trip to any Spanish speaking country I wanted to go to.  I did not actually expect to be using it in the workplace....

The key to making the day go faster is to head off campus for lunch.  Seriously, you leave at 2:00 PM to get a salad and half a Sierra Turkey from Panera and the day just FLIES by.

It freaks me out when someone calls me on the phone and because they sit so close to me, I can hear them on the phone and from where they are in their cubicle.  It's like I am listening to 2 separate conversations and I always end up being confused.  Which them makes me sounds like a 'tard on the phone which leads to my coworkers thinking less of me.  And that's just not cool.

~ The Office Scribe

Manic Monday #23

I have decided I want to trade in my cubicle for and glassed in office with mini blinds that I can close and make people think I am up to no good.  Which, of course, I wouldn't be.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I may have to officially give up regular lattes and start drinking soy.  Why?  Because my stomach felt like I was kicked by a donkey all day.  And nothing makes a really long Monday feel even longer than the horrible feeling of being kicked by a donkey.  But before anyone can make a snarky comment, yes, being kicked by a donkey is better than being punched by one.

Some companies have shirts with their logos printed on them.  Mine doesn't.  But I would totally wear a fleece with a logo on it because my office was about 40 degrees today while it was probably 45 degrees outside.

My mom packed my lunch today and put a pudding cup in the bag.  And for that she totally deserves Mom of the Year.

I spent a good portion of Saturday afternoon on a pub crawl (which is awesome when you aren't drinking BTW) but since it has been winter and I haven't been out walking munch, I feel like I did 1,000 squats.  And nothing eases your muscles like sitting in a desk chair.  I got up at one point to go to the printer and almost fell over.

On my long commute in today it was really foggy, like the moors of England foggy.  I was afraid I was going to be late because I might hit the Hound of the Baskervilles and Sherlock Holmes would tear me a new one.  Unless it was the RDJ Sherlock Holmes, then I guess that would be allright.

~ The Office Scribe

Well Stick Me In A Bowl And Call Me Flounder

For many years it has been said that a goldfish has a memory of about 3 seconds. I guess that means I am a descendant of Atlantis because I have the world's worst short term memory.  My mother used to commonly ask me to do something and before she even left the room I had forgotten what she had asked me to do.  Well, as you can imagine, this didn't make my mom too happy.  So, in order to avoid the unnecessary fights with my mom, I took took to writing stuff down.

I write everything down.  
* Grocery lists.
* What to bring to a friends house.
* Possible band names (Note: I don't play an instrument).
* Ideas for blog posts.
* Yo Mama jokes
* When to pay my bills
* People who make me mad

And so the lists go on and on.

Since I am such a fun loving list lady, I always have paper, notebooks, Post-Its, etc around on which to jot my thoughts.

Except for Tuesday.  A co-worker asked if I was going to run an Oscar pool again this year.  Oh yeah, I said, I just forgot to send the e-mail out.  Since we were in a presentation where I didn't have to take notes, I didn't have a notebook on which to write a reminder.  So I harkened back to my elementary high school college days and wrote the word OSCAR on my hand.

Like I said, that was Tuesday.  Since then I have taken 3 showers, a bath, and washed my hands more times than I can count.  And wouldn't you know it, I can still make out the word.  It's not like I used a Sharpie or anything.  It was a cheap Bic pen.  You know, the kind that can barely write on paper.

Normally I would be worried that my coworkers would be thinking I was the dirtiest employee at my company, but since (A) I have been so busy this week to even think about it and (B) I know I am not, I don't care.  I just want the word off my hand because everytime I look at it all I can think is of Oscar Bluth and his two pairs of pants.

And that just means I'm weird.

~ The Office Scribe

I Broke My Brain Today

I am not sure how one does such a thing - but I believe I broke my brain today.

If I were to have a CAT scan I am sure it would look something like this:

I was making more errors on my proposals than the outfield of the Chicago Cubs.

By the end of the day, nothing was going right.

One of my coworkers said I lost my mind.

I think I need to put that on my business card.

Thank god tomorrow is Friday because I may not know how a brain gets broken, but I know how to fix one...

Jeans.  Jeans cure broken brains.

God bless Casual Friday.

~ The Office Scribe

1995 Stopped By And Left This For You

Warning:  The following has nothing to do with work.  But sometimes, you need a 15 year old hip hop song with a cathy riff which makes you dance around you apartment to relieve the stress of work...




Happy Wednesday everyone...

~ The Office Scribe

What's That Smell?

Ladies and Gentlemen...

I today's episode of "What's That Smell?" we find ourselves in a corporate elevator.  You have one floor (because you are feeling lazy) to figure out what that lingering odor reminds you of.  Here are some clues to help...

Clue #1 

Clue #2

Clue #3

First person with a blog who gets the answer right will be my next victim in my "Under the Desk with The Office Scribe" interview segment.  (I mean, I guess I can interview you if you don't have a blog, but what would you be pimping?)

~ The Office Scribe

Memoir Monday #2 - Home Schooled Kids Are Weird

Believe it or not, I was not born in a cubicle.  There was life before the office and I am sure there will be life after the office.  Inspired by Travis over at I Like To Fish I have decided to hop on his ever expanding bandwagon and sometimes replace my usual Manic Monday post with something called a Memoir Monday.  But it will not just be any story about my past.  True to form, all of these posts will be about a job I have held in the past, be it paid or volunteer.

My parents were (and still are) pretty cool people. Which is why at the age of 10 when I said I wanted to volunteer at the historical village (think Williamsburg) a few towns over, they said "okay".  So we convinced my grandmother to make me an outfit only an Ingalls would be jealous of and I went to work.  It was pretty sweet.  I got to churn butter, stitch quilts, and become quite proficient with a hoop and stick.   I enjoyed it so much I stayed on for nearly 7 years. (Plus it looked pretty sweet on a college application.)  And during that time, aside from learning a lot about the settling of Illinois, I also learned that there are no weirder children in the world than those that are home schooled.

I would say about 40% of the kids and teens who volunteered there were home schooled.  And kudos to their parents for getting them out of the "classroom" and into a semi social environment.  But perhaps a fake village where all people do is pretend to be from another time isn't the best way to introduce them to reality....

As you may have picked up from reading this blog, I can be a little, um, sarcastic.  I can also be somewhat of a bully.  It's not like I set out to be mean, but like a shark that smells blood in the water I attack when I smell weakness in another human.

So imagine the torture I inflicted upon kids who, in the late 90's, has never heard of Nirvana, South Park, or Loveline.  Kids who talked about how much fun their parents made algebra.  Kids who spent their weekends volunteering with the elderly and their best friend was their Golden Retriever, Mollie.

Sure, the kids were nice, but they lived in a little bubble where the only people they knew were other home schooled kids.

It was during my tenure at the village that I learned what the term "socially retarded" meant.

For example:

Whenever we had visitors in the house we had to stay in character and talk about like in the 1830's (I worked in the log house).  As soon as the people would leave, us volunteers would close the door and chat like any other group of teens.  Except for the home schooled kids.  Even when there was no one else in the house, they stayed in character.  (I know, how very method of them.)

I would start talking about the movie I saw the night before or how I was at a school dance.  The home schooled kid would act astonished and ask in a British accent (because homesteaders in northern Illinois sounded like the Beatles?) what a movie was.  Or how they enjoyed a good evening around the fire, darning socks while Pa read to them from the Bible.

The best part was sometimes, we weren't sure if that's actually what the had done the night before or if they were just reciting something from "Little House in the Big Woods".

So parents, I don't care how bad you think your local schools are, send your kids.  You can help them with their school work but you are useless when it comes to helping them form social skills.  I mean, what's the point of being a genius straight A student who graduates from Harvard in 2 years if you can't use it to get laid?

~ The Office Scribe

I know this title alone is going to bring the fury should the parents who decided to home school their children ever stumble across this page.  But guess what, I don't care.  Would you preform a complicated medical procedure on child?  Chances are no, you wouldn't.  And why?  Because chances are you are not a licensed medical professional.  So I ask: Why do you think you have the skills to teach your kid anything past coloring within the lines and nap time?