this is what work looks like

 

sometimes i'm all like "blah blah blah work is blah blah and i don't want to wake up and you can't cage this bird blah blah"

and sometimes, i get to play with all this fun stuff. and all that bird talk flies out the window.  

shady dealings

 

guys. sometimes my job requires me to be really shady. it requires me to do things like google 'gray children's wig' or 'child's foot to scale'. it requires me to go into the baby section of stores, pick up clothing and stretch it out as far as possible. recently, it required me to walk around philadelphia with a bar of scissor up my sleeve and stealthily snip off greenery from the limited city shrubs and trees. i looked like a straight up crazy person. i wish i could have worn a sign that said, "it's for work!" but that might have raised even more questions. can you guys just mail me some green things to prevent this from happening in the future?  

don't let me near an elevator

once upon a time, in a large corporate building, i was starving. like, i could feel my stomach acids eating away at the lining of my stomach kind of starving. so i went up to the cafeteria on the 43rd floor, piled my plate high at the salad bar in a way that only a person blinded by hunger can (my vision starts to blur and i think 'MUST. EAT. EVERYTHING. SURVIVAL.') and i pay and i start shoveling the food into my mouth as i get on the elevator with a bunch of women. i'm working on the problem but it's still not enough - maybe it hasn't reached my stomach yet, it's still being processed through my other tubes or whatever - i'm not a body expert. so my stomach is still pretty ornery. as we stop at the 38th floor and the doors open, my stomach emits a sound that i have never heard before. it's incredibly loud and almost metallic, like something the tin man might be capable of. the women in the elevator stop and look at one another.
"what was that?"
"maybe we should get out of this elevator.'"
"it doesn't sound safe - that sounded like something breaking."
"who has the number for maintenance?"
panic was breaking out in the elevator and the three corporate ladies were all prepared to be heroes, risking their lives to save the broken elevator shaft but i had to step forward.
"that was just my stomach."
this news was met with a small, relieved laugh, then looks of apprehension like 'who-let-this-hungry-robot-in-our-shiny-building-and-maybe-it's-not-her-stomach-but-another-robot-alien-under-her-shirt-transmitting-information-back-to-the-mothership', then slight pouting that they weren't going to be heroes. i kept quiet in my corner of the elevator and continued to shovel food into my mouth.  

22 year olds should not be allowed in the work space

 

i accidentally called 911 this week. whenever i dial out on my work phone, i have to dial '9' then '1' then the number. and this week, i forgot that the purpose of dialing that initial '1' was to start off the full phone number. so i dialed a second one, then a series of numbers and waited and waited and was annoyed that it seemed like it wasn't ringing, and then someone finally came on the other end and said 'DO YOU NEED THE POLICE?' and i didn't quite put together what was happening and thought it was strange that the person at RubberStamps.net was asking if I needed the police. Then I realized what happened and reassured the person that I absolutely did not need the police, just needed to talk to someone about custom rubber stamps. Maybe some day I will grow out of this. 

do you guys use exclamation points in your emails? i throw them around like ms. deen throws around butter. 'hey blergyblerg! i can definitely work on this! just let me know the details! thanks!' i think i come across sounding like an enthusiastic golden retriever - you can literally see my virtual tail wagging as you read the sentences - but using just periods sounds so cold and sterile. 'hey blergyblerg. i can work on that. (BUT I DON'T WANT TO BECAUSE I AM EVIL) just let me know the details. (FOR THE MURDER PLOT) thanks. (NOT REALLY THOUGH - SARCASTIC THANKS)' i feel like the periods only email makes me sound like daria with more sinister intentions. and if my options are apathetic hit man or golden retriever hopped up on mountain dew and team spirit, I think I prefer the latter. 

i get extremely overwhelmed in the elevator. mostly because there are always a lot of people in grays and blacks and suits without wrinkles and i'm always hopping in looking like rainbow brite at an outdoor music festival. (i would like to blame television for this one - they convinced me everyone would be much more adventurous in their attire. cough::lizzie mcguire::cough) i also frequently get the 'close doors' and 'open doors' buttons mixed up so as a person races towards the elevator and i attempt to be helpful, i just end up shutting it in their face. i have made a lot of elevator enemies this way.

 

there is one particular bathroom at work i always use. i do this with pretty much every space i frequent - i assign myself a bathroom. i don't know if you do this, but i'm pretty sure it's a universal thing. it's typically the second bathroom in - something i think may have to do with me being born on a tuesday (second day of the work week, first part sounds like 2) or the fact that i was born in the second month. either way, i'm always heading for that bathroom. i have other rules i make myself abide by (the every other stall rule is also notable) but this one is seriously ingrained in my mind. 

recently i walked into the bathroom at work, 100% on autopilot, pushed upon the door to my stall and started to sit down before i realized someone was in there. yeah that's right - i started to SIT DOWN. i almost sat on a woman's bare lap as she was mid-urine stream probably. i mean obviously, the main issue here is that her door wasn't locked. but another main issue is that i almost sat on her lap. but at least she wasn't someone from my department right? i don't have to interact with her on a regular basis. 

WRONG-O. i do have to interact with her on a regular basis, not because of work things, but because we have the same friggin bathroom schedule! our bodies apparently thrive on awkwardness because they insist on making us pee at the exact same time! obviously we never speak of that day and that thing that almost happened. obviously. but in between the lines of our pleasantries? there are some heavy implications. those are some heavy silences.

d for dangerous

 

i bought this mug a few weeks ago at the thrift store near my house. i have a standing order (to myself, from myself) to snatch up anything that i think may be from anthropologie. that store is so crazy bean expensive that i don't even care if i like the item at the thrift store - it's a crazy steal and i need it. just to shake my fist at the man. though, let's be real , the man probably doesn't care.

this mug, though not my initial, is from anthro.  and it is delightful and i made it my offical office mug. we got office mugs at one point but they were HUGE and i couldn't fit it under the hot beverage dispenser and it also took like three hot chocolate packets to fill up so i was drinking WAAAYYYYY to much hot chocolate.  i'm happy with it as my work mug overall. i get about three hot beverages a day, just to break things up and as an excuse to stretch my legs. (which i can do on the way to the kitchen to get the beverage and on the way to the bathroom to dispose of the beverage a few hours later.)

the only really strange thing is that, not only does my name not start with a 'd' (sorry to disappoint everyone who's been spelling my name 'dcaitlin' - there is no silent 'd'.), but my coworker, who i share a space with and work next to for eight hours every day - that guy's name is Don. so now everyone things it's his mug. and it's a little too girly for his taste so he's not totally into it.

this is an important story! feel grateful i shared!

in other news: WHAT HAS WORKING 9-5 DONE TO MY BRAIN?!?!?

caillou and wings

 

i work for this man. sometimes. in a way. i spend a good deal of time with him in the least. he's kind of a whiney baby most of the time and his lack of hair is troubling but his animated dad is kind of cute. is that strange? 

i recently remembered that i didn't eat pizza as a kid. i was just not a fan. i rejected the personal pizza's given as prizes for book-it in favor of the oily salad bar. i was not jazzed up about pizza fridays. and at birthday parties, i had my own special meal. i was not a picky eater by any stretch of the imagination - it was only in dealing with pizza. and i almost treated it like a food allergy - i could have technically eaten the pizza but everyone made special arrangements for me to have something else. 

 'something else' was frequently chicken wings. at my best friend's birthday party in fifth grade (a pool party at the holiday inn) i got a massive plate of wings all to myself, complete with bleu cheese. i was eleven and in sweet-ass tankini, chilling by an indoor pool, taking in the intoxicating scent of chlorine and scarfing down an entire plate of wings. i was beyond caring about the sauce on my face, so i probably looked crazy, but i was in the zone. that was total bliss.

i can't believe i almost forgot about such a perfect moment.

serious things i've pondered at work recently

 

1. how to draw dinosaurs proportionally
2. if the cardboard car should have cardboard fenders or cardstock fenders.
3. which animated preschool show has the hottest parents.
4. how can i live in the pajanimals house?
5.  foil or sequins?

work is weird.