TMI Sunday (a Mad Spaghetti Goes Corporate Story)

In two years at my new job there is one thing in particular that has remained constant. That is, my boss and I don't do personal conversation, or more accurately my boss does not do personal conversation. We all know I do. Strangely, here lately he has begun to ask me personal questions.

It frightens me.

It is outside of the natural order of things.

Not that I mind. Not really. It just creeps me out a bit that he suddenly wants to have some sort of relationship. That being said, I'm proud of him for trying.

But on to my point. This past week I had an unfortunate go-round with some sort of intestinal bug. I emailed him that morning to say my tums was upset and that I'd be working from home when I could. My desk (which sits outside of his office door) is on the opposite back corner from the bathroom and no way was I going in to the office with the screamers.

At any rate, that next day he looks at me and says, "So what happened to you yesterday?"

Needless to say I was not only frustrated that my "I've got an upset stomach" explanation wasn't enough, but I also was shocked that he was making personal conversation. I've been known to talk rather freely anyway (broken filter anyone?) and... well... he asked. He doesn't know me well enough to know that if he doesn't want to know he ought not ask.

So I got to rolling. I was in rare form anyway, and once I got going there was no stopping. Next thing I knew I was telling him about how when I disappeared the other day it was because I had a case of the raging... er... Well, you know. Not in those exact words, of course. I went on about some of the various and sundry details of my gastronomical distress. Then (remember, faulty filter) I found myself telling him about how I'd told the two people who sit nearest to me that if they saw me running to just get out of the way.

"It was a real situation", I said.

At that point I realized that the little boy inside of him was cowering in the corners of his mind with his little hands over his ears. He was at that moment rocking himself and crying, "Mommy, please make her stop!"

I could actually FEEL him begging me, for the love of God woman, to stop. His eyes were as big as saucers and he was desperately looking around to see if there was somewhere he could go to get away from me. I think if he could have run he would have, but I stood between him and the door. I could smell the panic on him.

I couldn't help it. He had that skeptical look on his face. You know the one, right? The one they give when they think maybe you're not sick and are just playing hooky? That one. As a result I turned into "The Overexplainer".

Well, I don't ever call in sick if I'm not sick. It's this rule I have.

I'm reasonably sure that he believes me now. I am also equally certain that he won't be making any personal conversation with me any time soon. At least not until his little inner child has recovered from our last exchange, if he ever does.

Pet Peeve of the Day

Pet Peeve of the day:

Women who pee on the toilet seat and leave it there.

That is all.

Actually, that's not all. If you're of gentle disposition you may want to just stop reading now. Don't want to offend sensibilities.

At any rate, I'm not sure if it jeebes me out more when they leave it or when they've peed on it and wiped it away and then I don't know it. Either way I'm way too old and uncoordinated to hover at work a million times a day. Understand that hovering in public places is still mandatory, but I justify that if we all work together every day we're sharing enough anyway to make us almost family. Now granted I could go the triple-thick-ass-gasket route, but I don't always have that much time when I'm scrambling with all of the stoopid buttons on my britches.

There's not that many women here at my office, and I'm sorry but when you drink a bazillion bottles of water a day you have to go pee. A lot. So sorry, but I gotta sit. I think with the vertigo thing these days popping up on occasion hovering is a bad idea. The only idea that appeals less than sitting in pee is falling over with my knickers around my ankles. Bad. Very bad.

Of course most of the time I just wipe the seat before sitting for good measure. However, sometimes the matter is more urgent. Sometimes I miss a spot. Either way... you hussies are peeving me. Cut it out.

These days I'm not nearly as concerned about the cootie factor. I just don't want to have to wipe pee off of my behind. So please. Wipe it up. kthnx.

PS - I've narrowed it down and I think I know who you are.

The Casual Eavesdropper? I think NOT.

I'm standing in the kitchen at work, and I hear, "Blah blah blah I live in Level Cross blah blah blah FARM SITTER blah blah blah CHICKENS blah blah blah".

Farm Sitter? Level Cross? I pipe up, "So I have a friend near you guys that I used to farm sit for - how long does it take you to get to work? Come to think of it, my friend might could use a new farm-sitter since it's too far for me now."

He replied, "Oh, about 30 minutes, but you should tack on another 20 from your friend's place. What does she have?" I replied, "Sheep and Border Collies."

So I tune back out of the conversation, and go on about the business of washing the tea cup (the one that belongs to my boss). Did I ever mention that when I walk through the halls carrying his teacup that I hear the "Imperial Death March" in my head? I do. I even breathe a little bit like Darth Vader. Or a sleestak. Or Darth Vader eating a sleestak. Or maybe a sleestak eating Darth Vader. Whatever, but I hear the song.

I digress.

I'm tuned out again, until I hear, "Oh, but really, horses, cows and sheep are really just all the same".

Errr?

Here's where I begin to run amok. Afoul of the culture. In it with both feet. I pipe in (remember, I'm not really part of this conversation) "Oh but really sheep, cows and horses are not the same at ALL!"

I then proceeded to run my yak about how sheep can be a bit more inclined to fall over dead on you, and farm sitting border collies can take a special touch and so on. Oh yeah, I really know how to make friends around here. I'm not sure if the looks on their faces were looks of horror or glazed over boredom, but I sure did manage to clear out the break room in record speed. Hey, they should be grateful I didn't move on to butchering and having sheep in one's freezer. They're lucky I didn't get into a long diatribe about horses not being able to throw up, and colic, and all sorts of things. That would have taught them to think twice about allowing me to actively eavesdrop on them! So there.

Mad Spaghetti Strikes Back

Earlier today I was on a mission. I was going to rid the CrazyMobile of the dog smell. Don't laugh... it was a noble cause indeedy. I thought to myself, "If I have to drive the boss around THIS week he's in for a huge surprise!" and boy is he ever.

I drug the crate pads out of the crates, put the extra crates back in the house (I'd had two extra in the back of the bus since I had Ghilly and Mac last week). Oh, and did I mention I have a new member of the Crazy Pack? Moon is now a permanent Crazy. She apparently decided that for herself, so now she's with me permanently. It's good though - she fits in well, and is appropriately submissive to Ginger.

Anyway, as I was saying I pulled out crate pads, tossed out any trash, and then drug the vacuum cleaner outside. I vacuumed the floors, and vacuumed out all of the crates. I usually do this on a reasonably regular basis (if you call 3x a year regular) and hadn't done it lately. I then sprayed all six crates out with apple cider vinegar. The vinegar acts as a cleaner, and also neutralizes odors. Oh yeah, I was armed and packin'! I was gonna wash that dog right out of my van (sung off key, of course).

What I didn't count on is the staggering vinegar smell every time I open the van door. I tried in vain to leave the van open to air out, but even with that when I get in there now the vinegar smell literally gags me. I'm not sure if the van still smells like dogs (I don't notice a dog smell) but it sure as heck smells like ACV. My guess? My guess would be that it smells like vinegar... and dogs.

I think I'm definitely losing here.

Mad Spaghetti Goes Corporate

My new job is very much a big corporate sort of place, with a tiny hint of small corporate thrown in for good measure.  My new boss is a very nice person - with a very nice car.  This week he called me after I'd already gotten to work, and he wanted me to come pick him up.  He'd dropped off his very nice car for maintenance, and wanted me to come get him... in the dog car.  In case you missed it, let me say it again:  My boss had dropped off his very nice car and wanted me to come pick him up.  In the dog car.  Please bear in mind that at this particular junction he didn't necessarily understand the ramifications of a ride in the dog car, and to my knowledge was unaware that I drove the dog car.

 

So there I was at 9:30 in the morning fresh off of a weekend of dog working and dog walking, and the dogs had taken quite a few swims in the creeks, and I've not washed dog bedding or vacuumed out crates recently.  I just started my third week of work here, and up to this point I've parked the dog car in the veeeeeerrrrrry back of the parking lot, thinking maybe nobody would notice me rambling up to work in a minivan full of dog crates every morning, where I get out and put on my suit coat to take the walk of shame into the building.

 

I digress.  I ran out to the van where I vigorously tried to de-doghair the passenger seat with a lint roller.  I then rolled the windows all the way down, and proceeded to drive all the way to the car place with the wind beating me to death.  This, I suspect, was a vain attempt at airing out the CrazyMobile.  I also placed the bounce sheet infused lint roller next to the passenger seat thinking to maybe perfume the air of eau de bounce as opposed to eau de dog.  Ok, so it was a good thought.

 

I somehow managed to get lost on the way to pick him up, so had to call him for help.  When I rambled up he was standing on the side of the road... waiting in his suit and tie.  I proceeded to apologize for the dog car, and he did try desperately to save me by saying, "I have a dog!".  Unfortunately he made the grave mistake of asking how many dogs I had.  This started a ramble-fest about how many dogs, what do we do, which segued into a ramble about sheep, factory farming, and butchers.  Yes, I talked about butchering sheep to my new boss.  All of this took place over the span of two blocks where I also managed to try to turn the wrong way down a one way street and cut across three lanes of traffic trying to recover.

 

I babbled incessantly (and yes, I could hear myself but seemed to be powerless to put a cork in it) and risked our lives all the way back to the office.  I dropped him off at the door and then parked the van back in it's unobtrusive spot.  I'm not sure why I bothered as obviously the gig is now up.  Oh, and it gets worse.  At one point, during the babble-fest and life and limb escapade, I blurted out, "I used to have a nice SUV but I gave it to my ex-husband so I could buy THIS!".  Oh yeah baby, I'm just that good under pressure.

 

It took me seven hours to stop sweating.  To make matters worse two days later he asked me to take him back to pick up his car.  I guess maybe he wasn't as freaked out as I would have expected.  Or more likely I was just the last person on earth available.