Love My Gagh Or Go DIAF

The reason I created a blog was because twitter didn’t offer enough characters to properly vent. Normally the two don’t crossover. This update is an exception.

I mentioned earlier that my coworker confused my breakfast with a bowl of mealworms. When I told him he was crazy, he countered that people around here eat strange things or maybe I was going fishing later. As ridiculous as his assumptions were, it got me thinking: Why do people feel the need to comment on other people’s food? Even if I were eating mealworms (and not delicious pear cobbler oatmeal), what would it matter? Obviously it’s something I want to be eating. No feedback needed.

Many of my coworkers like to comment. My favourites are the ones who tell me that my food disgusts them. I never know if I should apologise when they make those comments. If you go to someone’s house for dinner, you don’t tell say you hate the food. You’re polite. You deal. I expect the same courtesy when they’re not expected to eat my food.

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I Judge Book Covers Too

I often wonder how much people pay attention to me. My office area is directly across from the conference room. Whenever they have large meetings people sit near the door, giving them a clear shot into my office. Do they see me fix my hair? Adjust my shirt? Overhear me talking to visitors? It stresses me. Or, on days when I’m falling asleep at my desk, makes me paranoid.

Regardless, 15 of our company’s best and brightest are listening to a software presentation today. It may sound dull, but I’m enjoying it. Not because the information is useful, but because the visitors giving the presentation are fascinating. From their clothing to their mannerisms, they're straight out of a mafia movie. In a crazy-Ally-McBeal-like imagination scene, I envision them breaking out machine guns if we turn them down, or maybe thugs will come in to twist our arm.

It’s terrible to judge someone without knowing them, but that’s what first impressions are about. I wonder if they realise how they appear?

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This One's For You Mike Or A Man, A Plan

This week marked the anniversary of a friend’s death. His story was a sad one and sufficient to say it's still weighs heavily. The SO and I celebrated his life the best way we knew how: By mocking him. Cleverly. Respectfully. It was genius (despite the fact it came out of a night of drinking).

Mike was a strange, cranky, and stubborn guy. He worked hard and would call your bullshit out with colourful language. He was funny and fiercely loyal. He died three years ago from complications of untreated diabetes. It was a senseless, slow, and painful death. He slipped into a coma a day before his 50th birthday and never woke up.

For reasons unknown, he wore the same thing everyday; long sleeve white shirt and navy Dockers. He literally owned 50 of each. It was quirky. We decided to emulate him to remember him. Dressed in Mike’s finest, we came to work. Since he worked at our company for 25 years, many people got it. A few are thinking of doing the same thing next year. This pleases me.

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PSA: Get diagnosed. Learn more about the disease. Support the cause. At: http://www.diabetes.org

Vacationing At My Desk

A few years ago I was offered a promotion at work. Well, that’s how they phrased it. I would have been moved off reception and into a cubicle to do various and sundry clerical tasks. What they failed to realise is I love being a receptionist and to move me would have been a punishment. It’s a sweet gig; I have the largest desk in the office, it’s next to the president's, and everyone knows my name. I like to tell people I get paid to talk.

Except for this week. Saturday I went to a friend’s birthday party at a bar. The combination of a sore throat, bar talk, and smoky air, caused me to lose my voice. Completely. You don’t realise how dependent you are on it. I feel like Ariel without the sexy flipper.

Since I’m not on my deathbed, I refuse to take unpaid leave. So I sit here, helplessly watching the phone ring. As much as I miss my callers, this has been relaxing. The office has been fantastic at picking up the slack, but they’re frustrated (I may or may not feel bad about that).

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Common Sense Is So Passé

People never cease to amaze me. I know this is an on-going theme. I should expect people to be crazy and stupid but I don’t. I live in a bubble and people shock me.

With it being the season of resolutions, a common one is to lose weight. It’s a constant topic at my office. Recently, Sparkpeople released a book, outlining their diet plan. My friend went to skim the book at B&N. She seemed angry that there were no gimmicks attached to their (quote, unquote) weight loss secrets. “They want me to eat healthy and set personal goals. That’s not original. I'm disappointed. Have you seen it?” Feeling the need to placate her I apologized and told her I hadn't. I didn’t have the heart to tell her what I was thinking ("well, duh"). Even if there were a gimmick that, say, cured male pattern balding, it wouldn’t work for everyone. Everyone is different.

The reason people make self-help books? It’s to make money. The reason people buy them? It’s to have something to blame when they don’t work.

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Movie Violence... In Real Life?

A coworker missed work today. She sits in the back office so we didn’t think much of it. As it turns out, her entire house was ransacked and vandalized. It happened yesterday while she was working. Not only is this upsetting, but it blows my mind. We don’t have a lot of detail, but it sounds like a plot from a movie. I imagine this large, organized gang of thugs ripping through her house. Unless this is more commonplace then I realise. Sure, your car stereo gets swiped or a window gets broken, but for everything in your house to be stolen?

To make the story sadder, she bought the house less than six months ago and spent hours putting in new flooring, windows, etc. I’m hoping the chatter I’ve heard is worse than what actually happened, but the best-case scenario is still a home burglary.

I’m not sure how I would react. A lot of things don’t bother me, but I love my stuff. I’m not ashamed to admit I’m materialistic. Plus I sleep in my house. People can mess with me when I’m asleep.

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