Arugula is no longer stalking Puppy; she's stalking me. I'm beginning to think she and I might possibly be joined by some cosmic umbilical cord.
Two nights ago, Boyfriend was lounging on my couch while I was off with The Core mocking the final episode of this season's The Bachelor. Jenni was just about to cry her bobble-head off when I got a text message: "Arugula is still here. And she's brought a friend." Yes, the other pizza place cat Olive had come along to visit Puppy through the window. Turns out they're not as good of friends as we previously thought - or maybe Arugula is the jealous type - because Olive was quickly run off. Arugula then spent the night on my porch and was "MAW"ing us in the morning.
Last night, things escalated.
I came home to mash some potatoes for The Core's First and Possibly Last Annual Thanksgiving Potluck Dinner. Arugula was on the porch, as usual. I made my mashed potatoes and drank half of the bottle of wine I bought for dinner (it was a long, long pre-holiday day). I gathered up everything - including the half-bottle of wine because I am classy - and got ready to head out. I checked one more time to see if Arugula was outside and this time, to my surprise, she wasn't. "Hmm..." I thought, "maybe she's finally given up on our little one-bedroom family and has gone back to the pizza place for more anchovies." Well done, Arugula. Well played.
I walked out to the parking garage to pack everything into my car. I walked up to my silver non-descript car and who should be laying on the hood? Arugula. Somehow, she managed to pick my car out of the massive parking garage housing about 100 other vehicles. That darn cat.
I shoo Arugula, pack up my car, start it up and immediately call Boyfriend. He answers.
"What's up, sweetness?"
"Have you ever seen Catwoman? Not the old one but the new one with Halle Berrry? The one that's so terrible it makes your brain bleed a little but you just have to keep watching it?"
"I watched the beginning but, unlike you, I have self-control. And self-respect. What the hell are you talking about?"
"I think I'm a Catwoman."
"You're pretty."
"No, seriously. I just walked outside and found that Arugula had moved from my porch to the hood of my car. She picked my car out of the 100 other cars and decided to take a little nap. It seems as though I have died an ugly death and then was rescued by a cat. Now that cat keeps following me because it wants me to know the truth about who I am. Oh god, I think I'm craving sushi."
"You're pretty. Go to dinner."
Just to further my Catwoman case, I met Boyfriend and Boyfriend's Mom after dinner for drinks at a place right by my apartment. We were walking back to their car and Boyfriend exclaims "Holy crap, that's Arugula! Running across the street!"
Luckily, it's not bad luck if a calico cat crosses your path. It's actually good luck if you're a Catwoman.
I went home and decided to have one last cigarette before getting ready for bed. I walked out on the back porch and found no Arugula. I didn't think this was strange at all, as she had just run across my path on the street a block away. I sit down, light my cigarette and exhale into the lonely air of my porch. I strangely missed her. I felt like I was visiting the house of a friend but the friend was off having fun with someone else. No less than 30 seconds passed before I heard the familiar and inquisitive "meow?"
Now I'm off to lunch to have a sandwich. Probably tuna fish.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
i am in a disney movie.
My dog wants a cat. Really badly, more than anything, "I-swear-I'll-take-care-of-it-and-feed-it-and-bathe-it-everyday, just-please-mama, can-I-have-a-kitty?" wants a cat.
It all started a few months ago when a stray cat started coming around my back porch every so often, just often enough to leave her smell so my dog's nose would go crazy when she was outside with Boyfriend and I. Then, every so often the cat would make an appearance at the window and my dog would go nuts. It was strange, though - she wouldn't bark protectively at the window in accordance with typical dog cat-sighting protocol. She would sit three feet away from the window and whine. She would whine for hours after the cat left the premises, crying for her potential playmate.
This happens once or twice a month and the Boyfriend and I are always entertained. "Puppy," Boyfriend would say, "if you promise Mom and I that you can go for six whole months without pooping on the floor, we'll talk about getting you a kitty." Puppy would always look at me, rolling her eyes, thinking "if I can't get him to give me one, surely I can play her." Unfortunately for Puppy, I like cats only a little more than I like babies... which means, no cats (or babies, for that matter).
A month or two ago, Boyfriend and I were eating dinner on the patio of the pizza place that backs up to my apartment. We noticed that Puppy's kitty was lounging in the corner of the patio, curled up in a warm spot by the fireplace. We asked our waitress about her and she explained that it was just a neighborhood cat and that the staff had named her Arugula. She came around pretty often because they fed her anchovies, even though they weren't allowed to encourage her presence in a restaurant. We were glad to know that someone was feeding her and that she had a cozy spot by a fireplace and went home to assure the puppy that her cat was living the good life at a pizza place and would never want to trade that life of luxury for a one-bedroom apartment. I also let puppy know that kitties like milk and that, although I currently had five cartons of milk in my refrigerator, none of my milk was fresh enough to still be in liquid form. Kitties like their milk pretty runny, I hear.
Yesterday, Arugula showed up again and puppy was thrilled. We heard her outside meowing around 2 p.m. and puppy immediately ran to the window and parted the vertical blinds with her nose. I told Boyfriend "well, this is new. She's never meowed before and Puppy has never gotten that close to the window. Do you think they do this when we're not home? Does Arugula just not realize that it's Sunday and the humans are a-foot?"
Arugula didn't leave. She actually meowed louder and, despite our calling and kissy-noises and scolding, Puppy continued to whine at the window for the next three hours. We finally just admitted defeat and turned up the volume on the TV. However, Puppy and Arugula were relentless. Boyfriend wanted a cigarette and we reasoned that if we were out on the back porch, Arugula would surely be spooked and would run off. Such a good plan, right?
So we opened the sliding door, holding Puppy in our arms, and Arugula scampered into the bushes. Puppy's cries got louder and more frantic, all the while wiggling to get out of my grip. I took her over to the bushes to show her that her kitty was gone and she seemed to be satisfied. Until she heard the very loud and plaintive "MEOW" from the bushes beneath us. I didn't want Puppy to catch ringworm or any other kitty diseases so I put her back in the apartment and shut the door. Puppy. Was. PISSED. She pitched a fit, she barked, then resorted to laying down and pouting until we came back in the house. During this episode, Arugula kept peeking around the corner and sticking her head through the gate asking "Meow?"
We meowed back that she was not allowed on the porch while we were out there. We don't want ringworm, either.
For the rest of the night, Arugula meowed at the window while Puppy whined on the other side. When we finally went to bed around 1 a.m. we had to convince Puppy to come to bed and leave her kitty alone. As soon as we left the living room, Arugula could no longer see movement from behind the vertical blinds and quit meowing. Until...
This morning we woke up and began to move about. Puppy lazed about in the bed until it was time to go outside, which is after I've showered and am presentable for public. She jumped out of bed and ran to the window to check for her kitty. We laughed because we thought there was no way that cat spent the night waiting for Puppy to return. We laughed until we heard a very excited "MEOW!"
Arugula was still there, waiting on Puppy. I took Puppy out to pee in the front and I've never seen a dog so fastidious in doing her business. She ran back to the front door and waited for me to let her back inside. Once the door opened, she ran back over to the sliding glass door and parted the blinds with her nose. "MEOW!"
I looked at Boyfriend and he simply said "Wow."
"I know! She couldn't wait to come back in and see her kitty."
"This is just getting ridiculous. I know how to KEEP a cat - you feed it. How do you get rid of a cat?"
"Who knows. My mom always used BB guns but I can't bring myself to shoot Puppy's kitty."
"Do you think they're planning something?"
I thought about this for a minute. "I do. OR, we're in a Disney animated movie and we don't know it. They should be together to serve some greater purpose and we're the stupid humans that just don't get it. The audience is so pissed at us right now."
"Good point. On some night, we're going to see Puppy and Arugula in the back alley under a full moon, sharing a meatball and eating the same strand of spaghetti."
The most embarrassing part of the story is that I double-checked the lock on the sliding glass door before I left for work this morning. I didn't want Puppy and Arugula going all Pinky and the Brain on our asses and me just handing them an unlocked door.
It all started a few months ago when a stray cat started coming around my back porch every so often, just often enough to leave her smell so my dog's nose would go crazy when she was outside with Boyfriend and I. Then, every so often the cat would make an appearance at the window and my dog would go nuts. It was strange, though - she wouldn't bark protectively at the window in accordance with typical dog cat-sighting protocol. She would sit three feet away from the window and whine. She would whine for hours after the cat left the premises, crying for her potential playmate.
This happens once or twice a month and the Boyfriend and I are always entertained. "Puppy," Boyfriend would say, "if you promise Mom and I that you can go for six whole months without pooping on the floor, we'll talk about getting you a kitty." Puppy would always look at me, rolling her eyes, thinking "if I can't get him to give me one, surely I can play her." Unfortunately for Puppy, I like cats only a little more than I like babies... which means, no cats (or babies, for that matter).
A month or two ago, Boyfriend and I were eating dinner on the patio of the pizza place that backs up to my apartment. We noticed that Puppy's kitty was lounging in the corner of the patio, curled up in a warm spot by the fireplace. We asked our waitress about her and she explained that it was just a neighborhood cat and that the staff had named her Arugula. She came around pretty often because they fed her anchovies, even though they weren't allowed to encourage her presence in a restaurant. We were glad to know that someone was feeding her and that she had a cozy spot by a fireplace and went home to assure the puppy that her cat was living the good life at a pizza place and would never want to trade that life of luxury for a one-bedroom apartment. I also let puppy know that kitties like milk and that, although I currently had five cartons of milk in my refrigerator, none of my milk was fresh enough to still be in liquid form. Kitties like their milk pretty runny, I hear.
Yesterday, Arugula showed up again and puppy was thrilled. We heard her outside meowing around 2 p.m. and puppy immediately ran to the window and parted the vertical blinds with her nose. I told Boyfriend "well, this is new. She's never meowed before and Puppy has never gotten that close to the window. Do you think they do this when we're not home? Does Arugula just not realize that it's Sunday and the humans are a-foot?"
Arugula didn't leave. She actually meowed louder and, despite our calling and kissy-noises and scolding, Puppy continued to whine at the window for the next three hours. We finally just admitted defeat and turned up the volume on the TV. However, Puppy and Arugula were relentless. Boyfriend wanted a cigarette and we reasoned that if we were out on the back porch, Arugula would surely be spooked and would run off. Such a good plan, right?
So we opened the sliding door, holding Puppy in our arms, and Arugula scampered into the bushes. Puppy's cries got louder and more frantic, all the while wiggling to get out of my grip. I took her over to the bushes to show her that her kitty was gone and she seemed to be satisfied. Until she heard the very loud and plaintive "MEOW" from the bushes beneath us. I didn't want Puppy to catch ringworm or any other kitty diseases so I put her back in the apartment and shut the door. Puppy. Was. PISSED. She pitched a fit, she barked, then resorted to laying down and pouting until we came back in the house. During this episode, Arugula kept peeking around the corner and sticking her head through the gate asking "Meow?"
We meowed back that she was not allowed on the porch while we were out there. We don't want ringworm, either.
For the rest of the night, Arugula meowed at the window while Puppy whined on the other side. When we finally went to bed around 1 a.m. we had to convince Puppy to come to bed and leave her kitty alone. As soon as we left the living room, Arugula could no longer see movement from behind the vertical blinds and quit meowing. Until...
This morning we woke up and began to move about. Puppy lazed about in the bed until it was time to go outside, which is after I've showered and am presentable for public. She jumped out of bed and ran to the window to check for her kitty. We laughed because we thought there was no way that cat spent the night waiting for Puppy to return. We laughed until we heard a very excited "MEOW!"
Arugula was still there, waiting on Puppy. I took Puppy out to pee in the front and I've never seen a dog so fastidious in doing her business. She ran back to the front door and waited for me to let her back inside. Once the door opened, she ran back over to the sliding glass door and parted the blinds with her nose. "MEOW!"
I looked at Boyfriend and he simply said "Wow."
"I know! She couldn't wait to come back in and see her kitty."
"This is just getting ridiculous. I know how to KEEP a cat - you feed it. How do you get rid of a cat?"
"Who knows. My mom always used BB guns but I can't bring myself to shoot Puppy's kitty."
"Do you think they're planning something?"
I thought about this for a minute. "I do. OR, we're in a Disney animated movie and we don't know it. They should be together to serve some greater purpose and we're the stupid humans that just don't get it. The audience is so pissed at us right now."
"Good point. On some night, we're going to see Puppy and Arugula in the back alley under a full moon, sharing a meatball and eating the same strand of spaghetti."
The most embarrassing part of the story is that I double-checked the lock on the sliding glass door before I left for work this morning. I didn't want Puppy and Arugula going all Pinky and the Brain on our asses and me just handing them an unlocked door.
a modern-day scylla and charybdis... kind of
Saturday I found myself at the Boyfriend's friend's house watching a college football game. It should be noted that I use the term "watching" very loosely as I was really just drinking beer among people who were actually watching the game. Either way, I got credit just for attendance.
I was seated on the couch next to the friend's little sister, who happened to be a junior at the very same college that I attended. We instantly bonded, playing the "do you know...?" game (we mostly only had the MUCH younger siblings of my classmates in common) and laughing over the idiosyncrasies that are as true today as they were six years ago. She was so young, so excited about drinking beer (she doesn't turn 21 until March, y'all!), so eager to hang out with the older folks while trying to be subtle about her college student status. She fooled no one, but there was really no reason for her to pull wool over anyone's eyes. She was cute, fun and fit in immediately. Shows how mature this group of friends is, right?
And speaking of mature... across the room sat Boyfriend's Most Responsible Friends, the ones with the baby. P is 10 months old and is absolutely adorable, if you like babies. I don't, particularly, but didn't really have much to complain about with this one. He was fairly quiet, not terribly fussy, and the worst thing that he did was stick his hand in the bowl of queso. Despite the unusual harmless nature of Baby P, though - I couldn't help but notice how exhausted his parents were. They wanted to stand for 30 minutes when they arrived because they had just driven the 45-minute commute from the suburbs. They were constantly searching for Cheerios, heating up formula, or chasing after Baby P to make sure that he didn't push any buttons on the TV or put his hand in any more queso. He would seem as though he was getting worked up to cry and they would immediately throw him up on their shoulders to cheer him up. All the while I was seated on the big over-sized couch, happily sitting still and sipping my beer.
Out of nowhere it occurred to me... I was smack in the middle of my past and my inevitable future. I know that this is no big revelation because we are constantly in the middle of our own present, but it has never been so well illustrated. Seated to my immediate left was my past self: a size 0 20-year-old who was excited about homecoming floats and sorority competitions, thrilled with the rebellious under-age drinking and whose only worry was how to get a summer internship with no work experience ("Isn't that why you have internships? To get experience??"). Across from me and to my right were two stressed parents, happy to have a family but constantly pushing and working to keep the baby from crying in public, worried about their relationship and how the stress of the baby has affected it, then digging for more Cheerios.
On the left, college life sounded like so much fun and I was a little jealous of her jean size. However, the more thought I put into it made me think about all the late-nights I spent studying only to pull a 60 on an accounting test. I thought about never having enough money and having to work a job at the library to pay for any extras at the end of the month, then skipping Spring Break trips with friends to wait tables for extra cash. I remembered living with roommates and the constant struggle to make 5 very different girls agree on one lifestyle and one apartment decor. I couldn't help but wince at the memory of wondering constantly if I was meeting the standards of my oh-so-conservative college friends and having the painful knowledge that I was living in the skin of someone else. The confines of someone else's rules of behavior. Under the heavy thumb of my parents' approval.
Once I thought about this, my jealousy waned.
Then I glanced across the room and saw the way Baby P's parents were working together for the overall good of their son. I was impressed with their efforts but also exhausted by them. "I know I'm not ready for that," I thought. "And I don't know that I ever will be." And I was comforted by my present, even though the past continues to haunt me and my future continues to frighten me.
Pretty deep for a college football game...
I was seated on the couch next to the friend's little sister, who happened to be a junior at the very same college that I attended. We instantly bonded, playing the "do you know...?" game (we mostly only had the MUCH younger siblings of my classmates in common) and laughing over the idiosyncrasies that are as true today as they were six years ago. She was so young, so excited about drinking beer (she doesn't turn 21 until March, y'all!), so eager to hang out with the older folks while trying to be subtle about her college student status. She fooled no one, but there was really no reason for her to pull wool over anyone's eyes. She was cute, fun and fit in immediately. Shows how mature this group of friends is, right?
And speaking of mature... across the room sat Boyfriend's Most Responsible Friends, the ones with the baby. P is 10 months old and is absolutely adorable, if you like babies. I don't, particularly, but didn't really have much to complain about with this one. He was fairly quiet, not terribly fussy, and the worst thing that he did was stick his hand in the bowl of queso. Despite the unusual harmless nature of Baby P, though - I couldn't help but notice how exhausted his parents were. They wanted to stand for 30 minutes when they arrived because they had just driven the 45-minute commute from the suburbs. They were constantly searching for Cheerios, heating up formula, or chasing after Baby P to make sure that he didn't push any buttons on the TV or put his hand in any more queso. He would seem as though he was getting worked up to cry and they would immediately throw him up on their shoulders to cheer him up. All the while I was seated on the big over-sized couch, happily sitting still and sipping my beer.
Out of nowhere it occurred to me... I was smack in the middle of my past and my inevitable future. I know that this is no big revelation because we are constantly in the middle of our own present, but it has never been so well illustrated. Seated to my immediate left was my past self: a size 0 20-year-old who was excited about homecoming floats and sorority competitions, thrilled with the rebellious under-age drinking and whose only worry was how to get a summer internship with no work experience ("Isn't that why you have internships? To get experience??"). Across from me and to my right were two stressed parents, happy to have a family but constantly pushing and working to keep the baby from crying in public, worried about their relationship and how the stress of the baby has affected it, then digging for more Cheerios.
On the left, college life sounded like so much fun and I was a little jealous of her jean size. However, the more thought I put into it made me think about all the late-nights I spent studying only to pull a 60 on an accounting test. I thought about never having enough money and having to work a job at the library to pay for any extras at the end of the month, then skipping Spring Break trips with friends to wait tables for extra cash. I remembered living with roommates and the constant struggle to make 5 very different girls agree on one lifestyle and one apartment decor. I couldn't help but wince at the memory of wondering constantly if I was meeting the standards of my oh-so-conservative college friends and having the painful knowledge that I was living in the skin of someone else. The confines of someone else's rules of behavior. Under the heavy thumb of my parents' approval.
Once I thought about this, my jealousy waned.
Then I glanced across the room and saw the way Baby P's parents were working together for the overall good of their son. I was impressed with their efforts but also exhausted by them. "I know I'm not ready for that," I thought. "And I don't know that I ever will be." And I was comforted by my present, even though the past continues to haunt me and my future continues to frighten me.
Pretty deep for a college football game...
Thursday, October 25, 2007
inappropriate.
I recently found myself in a marketing brainstorm with about 69 (hee) other people. I have no idea whose great idea it was to invite 70 people to brainstorm together on new marketing techniques but, never-you-mind, we were all in attendance and ready to come up with groundbreaking and innovative ideas despite the inevitable groupthink mentality.
I was sitting toward the back, enjoying my catered breakfast of bacon and coffee while listening to the mediator set up the problem we were about to solve (or, attempt to solve). It was then that I heard the most inappropriate phrase I've ever heard articulated. Well, at least in the company of such a large group of professionals.
"We've been targeting 22-year-olds and getting the 18-year-olds. We've been targeting the 18-year-olds and getting the 15-year-olds. When we try and bullseye target the 15-year-olds we end up getting the tweens. What we really need to do is get out there in the marketplace and target the people we want as buyers. We need to GET OUT THERE and NAIL 15-YEAR-OLDS!!!"
I immediately clapped my hand over my mouth to catch the coffee that was about to spew forth. Who would say such a thing?! I looked around the crowd gathered and no one cracked a smile or said a word. I'm assuming these people were:
a) still asleep
b) not paying attention because they were too busy trying to figure out why Kim Kardashian and Tila Tequila have their own shows or
c) not as pervy as I am.
Or maybe I just haven't been in the business as long as these other people and "nail 15-year-olds" is a common battle cry. That's something they just didn't teach me in business school... but maybe it's just because I went to a conservative Southern Baptist college.
I was sitting toward the back, enjoying my catered breakfast of bacon and coffee while listening to the mediator set up the problem we were about to solve (or, attempt to solve). It was then that I heard the most inappropriate phrase I've ever heard articulated. Well, at least in the company of such a large group of professionals.
"We've been targeting 22-year-olds and getting the 18-year-olds. We've been targeting the 18-year-olds and getting the 15-year-olds. When we try and bullseye target the 15-year-olds we end up getting the tweens. What we really need to do is get out there in the marketplace and target the people we want as buyers. We need to GET OUT THERE and NAIL 15-YEAR-OLDS!!!"
I immediately clapped my hand over my mouth to catch the coffee that was about to spew forth. Who would say such a thing?! I looked around the crowd gathered and no one cracked a smile or said a word. I'm assuming these people were:
a) still asleep
b) not paying attention because they were too busy trying to figure out why Kim Kardashian and Tila Tequila have their own shows or
c) not as pervy as I am.
Or maybe I just haven't been in the business as long as these other people and "nail 15-year-olds" is a common battle cry. That's something they just didn't teach me in business school... but maybe it's just because I went to a conservative Southern Baptist college.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
we are family
My parents made the hour-and-a-half trek from deep East Texas to Dallas last night just to take me out to dinner. This was a very sweet gesture, though they both had ulterior motives that went beyond "well, we just miss you!"
My mom really wanted to shop at Z Gallerie and Crate & Barrel. What better places to visit in "the big city" than massive retail chains?!
My dad was visiting under the guise of "research for the restaurant" (he owns a restaurant in East Texas) but, truth be told, the man just likes to eat. Thus, the restaurant-owning.
So they shopped while I was at work and then met me at one of my favorite restaurants, which happens to be in one of the trendier areas of the city (see: bars, great shopping and gays - three of my favorite things). The food was excellent, as always, and the service was great. However, these were the true highlights of the evening:
- Troy Aikman showed up with his wife and two kids, causing my father to rubberneck for the next five minutes. "Does he actually have to wait for a table? I wonder if he valeted!"
- A very attractive gay couple walked through the door and my East Texas mother immediately got squirmy. After me asking if she was okay or if there was something wrong, she replied with "Oh, no. NOTHING is wrong. NOTHING AT ALL is wrong. I just... I just... I just really liked his purse."
- Upon ordering seeing the bill for two cocktails, an appetizer, three full entrees, a shared side item (mmm... mac & cheese) and a dessert my father exclaimed "$100 for three people!! I sure wish we could get away with these prices!!!"
I swear - we're not country, y'all.
My mom really wanted to shop at Z Gallerie and Crate & Barrel. What better places to visit in "the big city" than massive retail chains?!
My dad was visiting under the guise of "research for the restaurant" (he owns a restaurant in East Texas) but, truth be told, the man just likes to eat. Thus, the restaurant-owning.
So they shopped while I was at work and then met me at one of my favorite restaurants, which happens to be in one of the trendier areas of the city (see: bars, great shopping and gays - three of my favorite things). The food was excellent, as always, and the service was great. However, these were the true highlights of the evening:
- Troy Aikman showed up with his wife and two kids, causing my father to rubberneck for the next five minutes. "Does he actually have to wait for a table? I wonder if he valeted!"
- A very attractive gay couple walked through the door and my East Texas mother immediately got squirmy. After me asking if she was okay or if there was something wrong, she replied with "Oh, no. NOTHING is wrong. NOTHING AT ALL is wrong. I just... I just... I just really liked his purse."
- Upon ordering seeing the bill for two cocktails, an appetizer, three full entrees, a shared side item (mmm... mac & cheese) and a dessert my father exclaimed "$100 for three people!! I sure wish we could get away with these prices!!!"
I swear - we're not country, y'all.
lucy in the sky with... potato chips?
Yesterday I almost hit my limit with this industry. My creative director put it perfectly, as he so often does: "If this were a sitcom, this is the moment when I would stand up, take the phone off mute, say 'That's it. I'm done.' and then walk out the door. Then the voice-over would say, 'And that was the exact moment I knew that advertising was no longer for me.' Too bad I actually have a wife and kids to support."
We were on a conference call with our client and another agency. The other agency began to compare our product (potato chips) with the Beatles. "They're so similar that they're almost the same," they began. This statement was followed up with a list of said similarities, one being that both are "brands that have their fingers on the pulse of America, therefore gaining widespread popularity by giving the people what they want."
Not okay.
We were on a conference call with our client and another agency. The other agency began to compare our product (potato chips) with the Beatles. "They're so similar that they're almost the same," they began. This statement was followed up with a list of said similarities, one being that both are "brands that have their fingers on the pulse of America, therefore gaining widespread popularity by giving the people what they want."
Not okay.
the shoe game
When it comes to Number Twos at Work, I am a huge hypocrite. I find myself feeling the urge - the down-town-push-down, if you will - and every time I find myself going through the motions of a pooping pep talk. "Everyone does it! It's a natural thing and it's no big deal! No one even notices. You don't have a one-person handicapped bathroom for personal retreat anymore, so you're going to have to suck it up like everyone else and pick a stall! Really, it's UNnatural for you to hold it. Now get in there and drop some business! People could care less!!"
And so I go, relishing in the fact that it's natural. Everyone does it. No need to feel embarrassed that a co-worker walks in mid-push. She poops, too!
Fast-forward three hours...
My relentless green tea addiction prompts me, once again, to visit the Ladies. I have a different agenda this time, though. No longer do I need the pep talk to push me over the hump of the pooping stigma. I have to pee! There's no shame in that! I can do that with the door open if I want, while two lesbians make out in the corner*!
So in I go, with all the confidence of... well... someone who has a lot of confidence. I pick the third stall (it's my favorite, as it's a taller toilet and I'm a bit of a leggy bitch) and take my time. Then I remember that the stall door next to me was closed and its occupant has been extremely quiet the whole time. There's the awkward silence that occurs when no toilet paper is being shuffled, no fluids are being released, no pants are being zipped. She's waiting it out; holding out for me to leave so she can finish up undetected. I know her game. She's lying in wait, knowing that if she were to be identified she wouldn't be able to look me in the eyes later as she passes me in the hall.
My hypocrite soul will not stand for this. She must be outed! Cue The Shoe Game.
I quietly finish my business and sneak a quick peek at her shoes from under the stall door. She's been ID'd! The rest of my day is chock full of hide-and-seek fun, looking at every woman's shoes as I pass them in the hallways. No chance that I'll be caught sitting at my desk reading blogs today. No way. I'm a woman on a mission.
Once I find those shoes, it's all I can do to restrain myself from pointing, giggling and saying "You dirty work pooper! I know it was you!! You dropped bombs like Hiroshima!"
Bless my heart.
*story for another time, my friend. Story for another time.
And so I go, relishing in the fact that it's natural. Everyone does it. No need to feel embarrassed that a co-worker walks in mid-push. She poops, too!
Fast-forward three hours...
My relentless green tea addiction prompts me, once again, to visit the Ladies. I have a different agenda this time, though. No longer do I need the pep talk to push me over the hump of the pooping stigma. I have to pee! There's no shame in that! I can do that with the door open if I want, while two lesbians make out in the corner*!
So in I go, with all the confidence of... well... someone who has a lot of confidence. I pick the third stall (it's my favorite, as it's a taller toilet and I'm a bit of a leggy bitch) and take my time. Then I remember that the stall door next to me was closed and its occupant has been extremely quiet the whole time. There's the awkward silence that occurs when no toilet paper is being shuffled, no fluids are being released, no pants are being zipped. She's waiting it out; holding out for me to leave so she can finish up undetected. I know her game. She's lying in wait, knowing that if she were to be identified she wouldn't be able to look me in the eyes later as she passes me in the hall.
My hypocrite soul will not stand for this. She must be outed! Cue The Shoe Game.
I quietly finish my business and sneak a quick peek at her shoes from under the stall door. She's been ID'd! The rest of my day is chock full of hide-and-seek fun, looking at every woman's shoes as I pass them in the hallways. No chance that I'll be caught sitting at my desk reading blogs today. No way. I'm a woman on a mission.
Once I find those shoes, it's all I can do to restrain myself from pointing, giggling and saying "You dirty work pooper! I know it was you!! You dropped bombs like Hiroshima!"
Bless my heart.
*story for another time, my friend. Story for another time.
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