February 15, 2012
I swear – I work with the craziest people. Today, the topic has shifted from Love to Death. Seriously, death, funerals, and life insurance. Why are you telling about what you want after you die?
First of All, when you die, you are dead. You truly have no influence on what your family does to you. Just because you say, “do this!” — doesn’t mean they are going to do it. Second of all, I don’t need life insurance right now. Quit telling me to get it. I need to do things like pay rent – you know, something that helps me out when I am ALIVE. Third, if you want to be cremated, why would you tell your family to rent a coffin for your viewing? What kind of sense does that make?
Why? Why? WHY are you telling me about your death?! I don’t even like you… I probably won’t go to your funeral. I don’t want to know the particulars of your will. I am probably already dead, anyway, because this is hell.
February 14, 2012
I spent the day listening to other people (aka, only women) bitch about they don’t have a date/boyfriend/valentine. Not my problem, people.
Valentines Day is the same as any Disney Movie, completely made up just to inspire a fake notation of romance. You want a dude to sweep you off your feet? You should just be content if he actually sweeps. (Cough:: Or takes that giant pile of recycling out:: Cough) True Romance is not one day of flowers and a fancy dinner. True Romance is being able to call up your person and say, “There is a piece of glass in my foot, can you come help me get it out?” And having them drop everything, rush home, and take out the speck of glass that you claimed was a giant shard, and they STILL feel bad that the peroxide, that they are about pour over your nasty foot that has walked thirty blocks in sweaty shoes, may sting.
So why are you telling me what my dude should be doing for me? What we do for Valentines Day is our business… and please keep what you are doing your business, too. Going to a singles mixer? Going to cry your eyes out to The Notebook? Gonna go out on the prowl? Keep it to yourself… I will not be attending your pity party.
February 2, 2012
People have a habit of over-sharing with me. I never ever EVER thought I was a “TMI” kind of person – I thought I would never care what details people decided to tell me. For the most part, I still don’t. But, there is always that one person that decides they are going to push the boundaries; they are going to test my gag reflex. They are just going to go for it.
Everyday, I come into work, mind my own business, and try my best not to talk to ANYONE. This is on purpose. It is not because I am antisocial or shy. It is because the people here are certifiable. I just try to take Rusty’s advice – “be specific but not memorable, be funny but don’t make him laugh. He’s got to like you then forget you the moment you’ve left his side.” This is how I try to get through the work day.
With that in mind, why would you tell ME about your stretch marks from pregnancy? I don’t care what yours look like in comparison to your friend’s. IN FACT, I don’t want to hear about what it was like to be pregnant or give birth. I don’t want to know about anything regarding your reproductive organs. WHY DO YOU THINK I CARE?