It’s My Party… (aka: The one where I get slightly bummed about something totally frivalous and stupid)

Our Regional Managing Partner sent out an email this morning announcing that, because of the current economic situation, all of our holiday parties were being canceled this year. Yes, I agree that this is a good decision and a prudent business practice. And yes, I’m on board with the idea that in the wake of recent layoffs, spending $500,000 as a region on holiday parties is more than a little frivolous and, quite frankly, a slap in the face to those that have lost their jobs.

But dammit if I’m not a little bummed out! This has always been a HUGE event for our office, and I was looking forward to seeing my colleagues get hammered and make fools of themselves on the dance floor. There’s really only one time a year when a girl can get all gussied up in her prettiest party dress, grab a date, and party hard on the company’s dime (read: OPEN BAR). I was well prepared to do my part in the “eat, drink, and be merry” category; and as for the dress? Well, the dress was going to be SMOKIN’.

Ah well–my 30th birthday is coming up. Maybe I’ll save the dress (and my liver) for THAT party…

“What’s In a Name?”

“That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
-Juliet
Romeo & Juliet

While attending a recent happy hour function for work, I was asked by a group of friends if I had any “office crushes”.

“You mean, people at work that I’m interested in?” I replied, a little surprised by the question. “Uh, no.”

Don’t get me wrong: I’ve met a TON of people at the office, and I’ve made several new friends in the year since I was hired. But I go to work to–wait for it–WORK. This isn’t a social club, and the 35^th floor isn’t a bar. Besides: I don’t date people I work with. That’s just a recipe for disaster.

“You mean, there’s no one?! No one you even think is cute?” one of them pressed.

“Well, I’m not DEAD,” I said, a quick glance around the room to see who might be listening.

“So there IS someone! Who?”

“Well, he only walks past my desk a zillion times a day,” I explained. “It’s hard not to notice.”

I paused. Oh what the hell.

“John Johnson,” I confessed, then quickly added: “But it’s not like THAT! I mean, yeah he’s hot. But I’m not interested. I just…notice.”

Blank stares. Confused stares. Concerned stares. My mind races into overdrive. “What did I say?”  I wonder. And then it hits me. My eyes go wide and I clamp my hand over my mouth.

“Oh my god! No, no that’s not who I meant!” I cry out, laughing in embarrassment. “Not John Johnson! Oh my god…I meant Mathew Mathews!”

My friends all breathed a sigh of relief, letting out their own nervous laughter.

“I mean, yes–John Johnson also walks by my desk a million times a day. But that’s totally not who I meant,” I quickly fumble, trying to recover. “I don’t know why his name came out!”

“You totally had me going there for a second,” Sally said with a big laugh. “I was sitting here wondering how to tactfully express my complete disagreement with you on that one!”

See, you have to understand:

John Johnson:

Mathew Mathews:

John Johnson:

Mathew Mathews:

Talk about a Freudian Slip!! Now, Sally calls me Essaytch Johnson (deservedly so–it was hilarious). And every time John Johnson walks by my desk, I turn a million shades of pink, recalling my blunder. At this point, he probably thinks I do have a crush on him. Crap. Oh well–whatever I can do to boost a Klingon’s ego.

He Naps

Apparently, laundry takes a lot out of a boy…

The Very UP Side…

Yesterday, they “let go” an admin in my department, only days after her 6 year anniversary w/ the company. Although I didn’t know her well, and despite the fact that she had an idea it was coming for her, it was still a shock to say goodbye and to see the fear in her eyes as she packed up her desk.

After bidding her farewell, I headed back to my own sad section of cubicle row…and almost had a heart attack and died right at my desk. My phone was ringing–and it was my boss. *fuck* Asking me to come down to her office. *double fuck* “But it’s a good thing, I swear!” she said, a smile in her voice. “Is it really a good thing?”, my reply dripping with sarcasm.

Turns out it really WAS a good thing! She put my mind at ease, letting me know my job wasn’t in jeopardy, that I wasn’t going anywhere–literally. I no longer have to float from department to department, filling in as the need arises: they’ve offered to hire me on permanently w/ the function I’m currently supporting! Needless to say, my team is ecstatic…and so am I.

So while I know it sounds trite, there’s an even bigger upside to my new job security: I finally get to put down roots. After almost a year of being shuffled around from function to function, city to city, client site to client site, The Powers That Be have finally given me a permanent place to call my own. Sure, I’ve been stuck here on the 35^th floor for quite some time now–but because the placement was never really a permanent one, I hesitated to let myself get settled. So now that it’s official, I did what anyone would do: I decorated my cubicle.

Hey–it’s a start!

A humorous start to an otherwise dreary day…

The mood around the office has been abysmal of late. With “Headcount Realignment” in full swing–yes you heard me: that’s the Big 3 way of saying “layoffs”–a number of client service professionals on my floor have been jumping ship. And the axe has started to fall in my department as well. Who knows: by the end of the week, I may be looking for a new job. Between that and the stuff going on w/ my family and friends, it’s been a stressful time and I’ve been feeling more than a little low. So the timing of what happened in the office this morning couldn’t have been more perfect…

It’s 9 AM and I’m sitting at my desk faithfully doing my administrative duty (read: trying not to get fired), when out of the corner of my eye, I see one of the Partner’s I support–we’ll call him Pete–staring intently at me through his office window. He’s red in the face, looking more than a little panicked, desperate. His door is closed because he’s on a conference call, but I hear him say into the speakerphone “Hang on a second; I’ve got a problem here.”

My interest peaked, I shoot him a slight smile and a look: “What happened?”, I mouth silently. He frantically gestures to the floor behind him, telling the speakerphone “Ha- hang on a second, guys. I’ve got a bit of a problem.” He continues to wildly gesture behind him, so I stand to get a better look, thinking perhaps there’s something on the floor, or that he’s broken his chair and can’t sit down. The sheepish grin spreading across his face makes me laugh a little as I slowly come around the corner of my desk to approach his office door.

As I get closer, I catch sight of his chair, still intact, begging to be sat in. And there doesn’t appear to be anything on the floor. So why is he rooted to the spot, I wonder? And why does he keep gesturing towards his…butt? In a nano-second, my brain goes into overdrive:

ME: Oh my god, he’s crapped his pants. He has literally shit in his pants, and now he can’t sit down. What on earth was he doing that made him poop in his pants? Was he trying to squeak one out, and lost control?

As I approach the office, he finally uproots his feet and comes to open the door.

“What is going on?” I ask, holding my breath to avoid the poo-stench I’m sure will be waiting to greet me.

“I just split open the back of my pants!” Pete replies with a panicked laugh. “What do I DO?!”

Through my nearly-hysterical laughter, I manage to reply: “Do you want me to call Patty? Have her bring you another pair of pants?”

“Yeah, that would be great.”

Through my tears, I manage to dial the phone to get Pete’s wife, Patty, on the line. Soon she is hysterical too as I explain the situation, and relay his request for her to bring him another pair of pants. But because she hasn’t showered yet, it will take her at least an hour to get downtown, so I offer to meet her on the street below, where she can circle the block and throw the replacement pants out the window to me and avoid having to be seen by anyone. We laugh harder, picturing the pants hand-off like some kind of strange drug deal in disguise.

The office door opens again, and it’s Pete. “You know, I’ve just got a string of conference calls today. I think I’ll work from home.”

I watch as he puts on his coat and packs his computer bag, slinging it over his shoulder and pulling it around to cover his backside.

“You like my bag?” He says as he emerges from the office again and begins to waddle down the hall towards the elevator.

“Have a better day!” I call after him, shaking my head and wiping the tears from my eyes.

Nothing will ever erase the brief mental picture I had of Mr. Big Wig with his potentially poopy drawers. So in the days ahead, when the stress kicks in and I need a little giggle, I’ll simply close my eyes and hear Pete saying “I’ve got a problem here!” as he makes a made dash for the elevator.

And that’s why they DON’T pay me the big bucks…hey, waaaaait a minute!

At my Fabulous Job, I work for Fabulous Company…which happens to be fabulously BIG and GLOBAL and, well, you get it. (Hell…how else could they afford to put me up at The Westin Chicago for a month?) We have a number of high-profile clients that pay through the nose for our services–and for good reason: we’re the best in the biz, in my opinion.

Now, as an admin at Fabulous Job, I am a crucial cog in the wheel that makes the engine of our day-to-day business run smoothly. I am the ultimate in calendar management, reservation-making, filing, and all manners of general office humor. I’m an Excel Goddess, proof-reader extraordinaire, and I can stuff a mean envelope. And photocopying? Hell, I can even clear a jam and change the toner in those beasts!

That being said, my question today is this: When did I become responsible for analyzing reports and putting together the bill for one of our biggest clients? See, call me crazy, but I thought that’s what we had BILLING MANGERS for. You know–billing managers, the ones that charge $750 an hour for their time and subsequently make six figures? Yeah, those guys! Sure, I’m flattered that they consider me “responsible” enough to “handle” such an “important” task. But still. *sigh*

If I’m going to do the work–and by “do the work”, of course I mean DAZZLE them with my brilliant analysis of our charge-hour report and put together the most killer billing spreadsheet EVER–don’t you think they should put “Billing Manager” on my business cards and change my pay scale too? Hey, I’m just sayin’…

Take me out to the ball game…but leave the So. Co. at home!

The summer after I turned 18, my parents went temporarily crazy. I was a recent High School graduate, a blonde bombshell with a job and a car, getting ready to embark on the great adventure of college–in another city, no less! And while the parents of most of my friends were busy holding on tight to their little chicks before they flew the coop, my parents let me go…just opened all the doors and windows and let their youngest girl fly free. Not only did they let me fly, first they invited the foxes into the hen-house…literally!

My dad was a pretty athletic guy growing up-he played 3 sports in high school, and was on the UW Baseball team in college. It’s no surprise that he’s a big sports nut to this day, even though he can no longer play, and why he has a soft spot in his heart for young athletes. So when the son of a former colleague of his decided to come to Portland for the summer to play baseball and needed a place to stay, my parents offered up our spare room. And when that son brought his two best friends with him to play ball as well, we converted the den into a dorm room.

I was in heaven that summer, sharing a house (and a bathroom) with not one, not two, but three college baseball players. And they were GORGEOUS. I was instantly popular, not only because I brought the cute boys with me to every party that summer, but because they could legally buy beer. In fact, the last time that I remember being drunk on beer specifically was with those three…

They had graciously offered to accompany me to a keg party being thrown by a former classmate of mine, and as soon as we arrived, the beer started flowing. Before I knew it, I was being challenged to keep up with the boys–for every beer they drank, I had to drink one too, and they couldn’t get a refill until I had finished my last. Even when my cup was filled mostly with foam after tapping the third keg, I still had to chug it down so they could go get their refill. It was at that party that I learned that sometimes, emptying the entire contents of your stomach into the bushes is a great way to sober up…and makes room for more beer!

Sometime in July, my parents (remember, they’re temporarily crazy) decided to go to Vegas for vacation, and they left me and the boys to watch over the house. We were more than happy to oblige, and immediately invited friends over for a little BBQ. I don’t remember much about that night, but at some point we were feeding beer to the dog, and I found myself playing a pretty dirty version of “Truth or Dare”, made all the dirtier by the fact that we were pretty drunk on Southern Comfort and Caffeine-Free Diet Pepsi.

Lest you think that I was a dirty whore that summer, or that the guys were less than gentlemen during their time living with us, let me put your mind at ease. Sure, we had our moments of drunken debauchery. But most of my time was spent at the ball park with my parents, cheering on the boys from the stands while eating hot-dogs and Cracker Jacks. It was an all-American summer, filled with our country’s greatest past-time, national anthems, fireworks and–yes–beer.

I’ve tried many times since that summer to become a beer drinker. Despite all my efforts, the tang of hops and the yeasty taste of even the lightest brew only conjures up memories of puking up foam in the bushes at that keg party whilst Baseball Babe #1 held back my hair. And please, for the love of God, keep Southern Comfort (or any other liquor one might mix w/ Coke) far FAR away from me! But if you’re looking to show me a good time, take me to the ballpark and buy me a hot dog. Even if our team is having the worst season on record (hello, Mariners? 100 losses, REALLY?!), I’m a sucker for a good game of ball.

My Biological Clock…has STOPPED

Nothing cures a ticking biological clock like dog-sitting. For the past 5 days, I’ve been playing “Auntie” for one beautiful Golden Retriever and two loveable (but skittish) cats, and I truly HAVE enjoyed my time with them. But I must say, any previous desire within me to own a dog any time soon has faded completely.

Meet Oscar:
 

Sure he’s loveable, majestic, regal…everything that a good family dog should be. And when he looks at me with those eyes, sitting calmly on the couch watching TV with me, I could almost swear I was in love. But all of that ended the moment he turned his rear towards me and let out the most horrific stench possible, a smell so bad that you would swear no animal on earth could have produced it—worse than what your creepy uncle squeaks out after you ‘pull his finger’.  This was a nightly occurrence that left me wondering two things: 1) What on earth is in that dog food?! and 2) Why does the smell only bother me? Because Oscar seems quite proud of himself after his little toot-fest…

One of the many great things about Oscar, however, was his ability to entertain himself. Sure, he liked to steal the decorative pillows off the guest bed, or slobber on my shoes—he even ate one the last morning I was there (which forced me to wear my bright pink Crocs to work…picture that sexyness!). Oscar’s favorite real toy was a purple stretchy monkey that squeaked…I say “was” because on the fourth night, the purple stretchy monkey died a cruel death.

Which of course meant that I got to clean up all the monkey innards stuffing.
 

Add to that mess an entire TREE BRANCH of wood splintered all over the house on the first night, the photo-album he shredded not only in the house but in the yard too, plus the shoe that he ate, and I think you’ll understand why I was more than happy to surrender the leash back to his owners on Wednesday night. Oscar, I love you…but I’m glad I’m not your real mommy.

Because apparently, petty theft is NOT beneath me…

I’m not going to lie….readership is dwindling. It’s because, as of late, my life has been seriously lacking in content. At least, the kind of content that I could post here. So, because I’m SHAMELESS, I’ve resorted to stealing things from other people’s blogs. This one, I stole from the increasingly popular Dead Charming. Go visit his blog, he’s FABULOUS. In the meantime…cuff me:

1. If your lover betrayed you, what will your reaction be?

Well, I’d be betrayed! Knowing me, I’d wallow a bit, going over every possible explanation for why I was betrayed. Because it can’t just be that he’s an asshole…given my history, I’d have to deserve it somehow. Then I’d eventually realize that it really IS just because he’s an asshole, at which point I’d be really PISSED. Then, I would exact my revenge…which would involve finding another lover that is bigger and better than the last one. If you know what I mean.

2. If you have a dream you’d like to come true, what is it?

Similarly to Dead Charming, from whom I stole this little quiz/meme, my biggest dream is to be a published author. Whether that comes in the form of fiction, non-fiction, or a newspaper/magazine article, as long as my name is on the “By” line, consider my dream fulfilled. Of course, if I were being picky, I would qualify this further to say that I dream of being a SUCCESSFUL published author, writing critically acclaimed works of fiction that are read and adored by millions…but what are the odds of that, really?

3. Whose butt would you like to kick?

Hell, I don’t know. I generally take the high-road. Besides, I’m not sure I could “physically” kick anyone’s butt, but if tongue lashings are included, I have a couple people in mind.

4. What would you do with a billion dollars?

To be honest, I’d give a lot of it away. If I had that much money, there’s no way I could even begin to spend it all, and frankly, I wouldn’t need it. There are far too many people in this world that would be better off with just a small portion of that kind of cash…so why not give it to them? And because I don’t presume to know how best to distribute those funds, I would entrust that to the following organizations (in no particular order): The Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, World Vision, Lifelong Aids Alliance, The Red Cross, Planned Parenthood, and The Paul Allen Family Foundation. I would also give a significant chunk of cash to the SETI project, as well as Seattle’s Science Fiction Museum, and the Seattle International Film Festival. Because aliens and independent film makers deserve a little extra cash too.

5. Will your best friend always be your best friend?

Best friends stand the test of time-that’s what makes them “best”. So yeah, I’d say they will be.

6. Have you ever been in love with two people at once?

No. But I wouldn’t put it past me.

7. How long would you wait for someone you really loved?

Depends on why I’m waiting. If they are “taken”, then I’m not sticking around for very long. And if the feeling was mutual, then I wouldn’t have to. If they just lived far away, I’d wait…but eventually someone’s got to move. And I’d be willing.

8. If you won the lottery, would you quit your job?

No. I might take an extended leave of absence, but eventually I’d get bored. I might find another job, or I might use my winnings to open a book store that specializes in Science Fiction literature…and then that would be my job.

9. Who is on your celebrity top 5…you know, the ones…that if you ever had an opportunity…

1) Gerard Butler…god, what a body.
2) Wentworth Miller…he appeals to my intellectual side. And who cares if he might be gay. As long as everything functions properly, that’s all that matters.
3) Chris Evans…because every girl deserves one all-American piece of hot a**
4) Michael Shanks (for the Sci-Fi geeky side of me)
5) Robert Pattinson (for the slightly immature side of me that is obsessed w/ Twilight)

10. What sucks the life out of you?

Dishonesty. It takes more work to lie anyway. And a lie hurts more than the truth in the long run.

11. How would you see yourself in ten years time?

This is a poorly phrased question. Physically, I hope to still be able to see w/ my EYES. But if you’re referring to what I see myself DOING in 10 years-as in, what does my life look like-well, in 10 years I’ll be swiftly approaching 40. I would hope to be married to a wonderful man w/ at least one kid running around by that time. But who knows.

12. What’s your greatest fear/phobia?

Dying in a fiery crash.

13. What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?

Well, technically I wasn’t tagged-I stole this from Prince Charming. But I would say that PC is the cream of the crop. If I knew him in real life (which I still don’t understand why I don’t-he only lives 3 hours away, for crying out loud!), I would say he’s a super catch. Ladies, get in line! This one is funny, intelligent, witty, and uber talented. A 10!

14. Would you rather be single and rich or married but poor?

Depends. In which scenario am I blissfully happy? I’m not convinced that money buys happiness, but I could definitely see how the LACK of money could destroy it. So if I’m happy being single-and I also happen to be rich-then I’ll take that. If I’m married and poor, but still happy, then that works for me too.

15. What’s the first thing you do when you wake up?

Hit snooze 5 times. Then, when I can’t hold it anymore, I go pee.

16. Would you give all in a relationship?

Is the guy on the receiving end worth it? Who am I kidding…I always give my all. That’s why I usually end up hurt in the end. And why I inevitably screw up the next one, too.

17. Is your career vitally important to you?

Absolutely. It’s not my EVERYTHING, but it is important for sure. My career is how I am able to afford to do the things I’m truly passionate about. I’d be stupid not to take it seriously and give it everything I’ve got!

18. Would you forgive and forget no matter how horrible a thing the someone has done?.

I can always forgive…it’s the forgetting part that I get hung up on.

19. Do you prefer being single or having a relationship?

If the relationship is a good one, of course I’d prefer to share my life and fun times w/ someone. But I’d rather be alone than with a dud of a dude.

20. List 6 people to tag

No, that’s lame.

This means more candy for me then, right?!