quotes from coworkers

As he walked by my desk: “I may be attending a gay rugby fundraiser Friday night…"

Why the receptionist and I will never be friends

So look: I know Everybody Poops. I poop. I have lied and told boys that I do not, but I do. There shouldn’t be any shame in that, but there is. And I cannot- CAN NOT- do it in a restroom with stalls and other people. I’ve tried and I cannot do it. All that happens is I sit there trying to play Jedi mind tricks on the other people in there, trying to make them leave. And until they do, I fake that I am not trying to go. I blow my nose. I flip the lid up and down on the sanitary napkin receptacle. I lift my feet up so that people will think there is no one in there. I sit and wait for people to leave and I grow full of hatred for them.

So I came up with a new strategy. When nature calls and I cannot shut her up, I have taken to using the first floor bathroom in the lobby. No one is ever in there and I can just take my time and do my thing. Sometimes this timed deodorizer goes off and spritzes the room with a floral scent. It’s beautiful. The only problem, is that I have to walk by Claire and Debbie, our receptionists. Somehow Debbie is never there when I make trips down there but Claire sees me every single time. She’s never busy talking to someone else or off doing something. I swear it’s like she waits there for me. She’s this sweet shy type and we’ve never broken the ice enough for me to joke with her or to have anything at all really to say beyond “hey.” And I know she’s on to me. I kind of thought she might just believe that I use that bathroom because was in the downstairs kitchen or something but I think it’s getting pretty obvious that that is not the case. So I have all but stopped making eye contact with her any time I see her anywhere in the building. And I honestly don’t know that I could speak to her if I ran into her on the street.

We will never be friends. Claire, if you ever read this, please understand. It’s not you, it’s me. [Although it would be HUGE if you would just please be somewhere other than your desk just ONE time when I walk by to use the bathroom.]

Thanks, family.

My friend Amy is in NYC today visiting family. I just got the following chat from her:
"I'm being attacked by my family right now. My aunt and cousins are up from georgia. My aunt is like 'Amy, you're SO old, how are you not married now?' and 'Amy, if you don't have babies soon, they're gonna have down syndrome' "

HAHA. Awesome.

Ho-dom.

J: I think the dress I am thinking of wearing might be too short
A: Lol its ok I'm wearing a low cut one.
J: Should I wear leggings?
A: No don't. There are girls at work who wear shorter things.
J: And so begins my decline into ho-dom.
A: Population: 2

To the French woman, with love.

So I work with this French woman, and one time in the kitchen, while we were both getting coffee we parléd a little Français. Or for my part, I made a terrible attempt at it. The thing is, I was already scared of this woman because she’s that strong and silent type that gives NOTHING away about what she thinks about you, and I personally am way too insecure for that sort of nonsense. So anyway, I’m nervous and as a result my French was pretty bad. To cover for myself, I try to say “I don’t speak French as well as I would like these days” but instead I said something like “I speak not as soon as French as I would like recently.” The thing is, my French is actually good enough where I cringe as the words come out because I know they are wrong. Instead of correcting myself though, I stare at her, and instead of asking me to repeat myself, or joking with me that ‘hey wow your French IS bad!” she smiles politely and walks out of the kitchen leaving me mortified and beginning several months now wherein I feel like I need to avoid her because of my shame.

We were both walking from the parking lot together this morning, for example, and I sent imaginary text messages as I walked 30 feet behind her until we got to the building and she let me in with her key.

Anyway.

I guess I just hope that one day, she reads my blog for some crazy reason because this is for her: “Je ne parle pas Français aussi bien que je voudrais.”