Tip Toe

I know my lack of blogging prowess is a common theme here. I am just really terrible at it and feel embarrassed when I read old entries. Yet oddly enough, I've received requests to delve deeper into the world of my cubicle. (What is wrong with you people?)

A clever skill has developed while my muscles atrophy: I've become deft at recognizing coworkers' footsteps. Yes! Yes! This sounds a bit creepy, but surely you recognize how useful this can be.

My boss does not drag his feet; his steps are rooted in purpose.

Guy-who-chats-too-much has a slow, measured approach, much like a chatty tiger, preparing to chew the fat with/of his prey.

Crazy-man-whom-I-love-because-he's-crazy saunters by serenely. I don't really spend much time on his steps because he's always yelling. It's great.

Woman-who-dislikes-me-because-I-can-do-her-job ambles by quickly, taking anxious breaths that suggest her job is extraordinarily taxing. (Why doesn't she see that I'm charming?)

I could continue, of course, but I really don't want to reveal the secrets of this skill quite yet. I like to think I can still approach a cubicle undetected.

Today, my desk has tulips on it.

Making Friends

I recently attended a colleague's party at a swank art gallery. With Michael in tow, I knew exactly two people at a party where we were required to dress according to a fake theme. The theme was "20's-30's-40's-trendy-cotton-club-era." As you can imagine, this was a difficult theme to adhere to because it was a "let's pick three different eras and call it one theme" theme. Whatever. Luckily, Michael and I are very trendy and know just how to dress for such a theme: a top hat, a string of pearls and lipstick. It was passable.


At the party I met another coworker (John The IT Guy), who I bonded with over an open bar and Googling "candy corn cob" images on his iPhone (another reason I need an iPhone). I found this image particularly enjoyable and hilarious:

Oh man. That picture is good.

This morning I turned on my computer, and it appears that John The IT Guy made a cybervisit to my desktop because I was greeted with this image:

It looks like I've made a friend!

Blowing Kisses

Growing up, my dad spent many weekends at the canoe livery while we were still in school. One night, Casey and I were sitting in our parents' room, telling mom that we missed dad. She walked us to the window and told us to blow kisses out the window. The kisses would surely find their way to him.

Dad returned several days later and said "The strangest thing happened the other night. I was looking out the window, and suddenly a kiss hit me right in the face!"

Casey and I jumped up and down and argued over who could claim the kiss.

"I think that one was mine!"

"No way! Mine definitely made it farther!"

Boxed In

Despite efforts, my cubicle is really a terrible place. Not surprisingly; it's a cubicle. The walls are made of carpet and tacks. I have no foot rest.

Cubicle items that should make me laugh:

Calendar filled w/ pictures of my high school friends
This seems jolly enough. But, I have to cover most of the pictures with sticky notes. I couldn't even use the entire month of July (true to life, July is a particularly garish month). My cubicle censors me.

Plastic glow-in-the-dark fairies
These are quite lovely, but I never see them glow because I live in fluorescent lighting. My cubicle blinds me.

A tiny rubber chicken
No complaints. This is pretty awesome.

Vintage-esque coaster
I can't put beer on it. My cubicle sobers me.

Pictures of friends and family
...whom I never see. My cubicle alienates me.

Sticky notes decorated with hula girls
I would enjoy using these to write passive aggressive notes or wearing them as nipple pasties, but they are instead covered with (mostly) work-related scrawls that need deciphering. The note in front of me says Feltes, 8/5-8/6, Gov, Xerox, Ags and a picture of a flower. My cubicle is in code. And prudish.

Dream Dad

Casey and Connor were climbing a giant totem pole that came crashing down on top of Casey. He broke his back and was hobbling around (Dream Interpretation: Casey smashed his foot and is hobbling around).

Dad showed up wearing a tropical shirt after being in Florida for a hella long time (Dream Interpretation: He's dead and has been for awhile). He brought us chocolate covered pretzels as a souvenir (Dream Interpretation: I love chocolate covered pretzels).

I hugged him for the rest of the dream while Casey hobbled around in the background (Dream Interpretation: I want to hug my dad and Casey is still hobbling around).

It was actually a great dream because I could feel the hug. I feel a little bad for Dream Casey, but he refused treatment.

Lessons from Kurt

I've been trying to take a little advice from Kurt Vonnegut. He suggests when we feel happy, we should exclaim, murmur or think, "If this isn't nice, I don't know what is."

Dead Parent Society meetings, Cub's games and an almost biweekly kiss from my boyfriend. Things could always be much better. Still, things are quite nice.

Ting-a-ling, you son of a bitch!

Initiation

Last weekend we initiated three new members into the Dead Parent Club. This club sucks. I can't put it on my resume, and we don't have a clubhouse. At least the meetings usually consist of beer, laughter, family and tears - crucial components of healing. Unfortunately, members never heal completely; they just learn to live with the wounds.