Undercover?

Hmmm... I'm wondering.... Would I be able to post here and say whatever I want?  Without THOSE people noticing?  It's a thought.  A very clever one, I think.  Post right under their noses.... they'll never find it. 

Well... my first gripe??  You are addicted to Facebook.  You pretend to not know how to use technology and such, however, you find yourself completely able to comment on EVERYTHING!!!  And that wouldn't be so bad, except that you are always regurgitating the same 3 or 4 sayings.  I'm pretty sure you've been taken over by a religious cult and that sucks, cause I really used to like you.  Please don't take this too harshly, but you need to get a life away from facebook!  And this is coming from somebody who is off work and only has facebook to keep her company!

Second gripe?  Hmmm... it's not really a gripe... but I wish I could be 'friends' with my doctor.  He seems like he'd be fun...but mostly, I just wanna know a bunch about his personal life.  I feel like he knows me way better than I know him... inside and out, if ya know what I mean  =)  I just think it's fair that I get to know SOMETHING about you if you get to be ALL up in my business.  What kind of music do you listen to?  Do you play video games?  (cause I have a sneaking suspicion that he does)  Do you think you can play rockband better than me?  Or are you more of a World of Warcraft kinda dude... cause in that case.... keep it to yourself!  What do you do on weekends??  Most importantly... how old are you and are you straight?  Are you down for arranged marriages... because I know this great girl at work who doesn't care that you've never met, she needs to get married! 
Trust me, I know I'm probably crazy... but I don't care!  Is it so wrong for me to want to judge my doctor based on his lifestyle and not his actual medical background?  This is America!  All doctors have to pass tests and stuff and get certified.  Plus you work for Kaiser, so I know you are qualified to rummage around in my vagina.  What I need to know is... have you ever heard of Death Cab For Cutie?

Wow, that felt good.  Hopefully this incognito thing works... cause Shelly needs a vent.

Public Pissin'

To each his own. I realize some people grow up in families that are very open, and even leave the bathroom door open while doing their nasty business. I was not brought up in one of those families. True, it's a natural thing and like the book says 'Everybody poops'. Since I didn't grow up in one of those families, I find public bathrooms very fuckin' strange. I know I can't be the only one, otherwise all those forwarded e-mails about public bathroom etiquette wouldn't exist. Why do I have to listen to 5 or 6 other ladies peeing while I'm trying to squeeze out the largest shift of my life! I understand that logistically, it does not make sense to have 6 different individual bathrooms. However, this would have probably protected me from the Turd Burglar. We would save more water by not having to give a courtesy flush. And it would save some people from the horrible anxiety shown above. As you can see, 'Popos Wishbone' would rather do anything, then have to use a public bathroom at the office. As would most people, I'm sure. I find it funny that Directors, Managers and the common 'Popos Wishbone' all shit in the same place. Makes me happy.

What's My Motha Fuckin' Name?

This week our big topic of conversation has been names. What are they? How exactly do you pronounce them? Etc. Etc..

I actually had a 10 minute (felt like 10 years) conversation with somebody on how exactly to pronounce her name. 'Otter' as I have nicknamed her, is quite proud of her name and deserves to be. She is very particular about how you say her name, and if you just happen to say it wrong, or slip on on a vowel... make no mistake, she will correct you. So, 'Otter' says to me:
'Otter': 'Spokes', how do you say my name?
'Spokes': Um.. what? Well, I guess I say 'Aw-tur'
'Otter': No, see, that is completely wrong.... it's 'Aw' like in Saw, 'tear'

In my head, I'm thinking you say to-may-toe, I say to-mah-toe... Who gives a flying fuck as long as you know I'm talking to you and you answer when i'm barkin' at you... but alas... 10 minutes (hours) of my life wasted. Which somehow brings me to the biggest gripe of my week.

How is it that I can work in an office with no more than say... 30 people... for 2 whole years... and you still don't know my name? I've talked to you on occasion. I pass your desk on my way out for lunch. You peek around the cubicle when I say highly inappropriate things at work and my roommate is your 'work wife'. AND... I HAVE A TRICKED OUT NAMETAG!! This boggles me... and bursts my bubble all at the same time. I'm sure you don't know this yet, but I'm kind of a big deal.... or so I thought. Thanks alot 'Pyro'. I'll be sure to get to all that inputting just as soon as you can remember to ask me by name!

I'm sure this wouldn't bug me as much, except that it's the second time this week. My roommates cousin did the same thing earlier this week. He is trying to hook up with my cousin (drama, I know) but doesn't know my name. I'm sure he will address my Wedding Invitation "To my Cousin's Roommate"...

This is bullshit. I used to be SPOKES! Everybody knew me and my name. Now it seems like I've been reduced to somebody's roommate, cousin, daughter, SISTER... and for sure fuck that last one. I'm the oldest of 2. When did people start calling me 'Angel's' (my brother) Sister?

Note to self: make sure every last motha fucka knows my name! VIVA SPOKES!

Open Late?

So, today was a pretty fuckin sad day for me. It dawned on me that this whole bad economy thing could have very adverse effects to my life as I know it.

Sure, I'm scared my 401K will shrink to almost nothing. Of course I'm nervous about losing my job and being homeless. But folks, come on, let's get serious, it could really be much worse than all these things combined.

What if fast food restuarants decide to cut back their employees. Or MUCH MUCH worse, their Operating Hours. All drive thru windows could be closed at 10p.m. or earlier! What the fuck? Where will I get my late night fix? Who will have the late night DOLLAR MENU because I'm poor with no job or 401K (knock on wood). I might have to move.

Thoughts?

Whose Job Is It?

I was recently on a road trip. Like the kind that last 13 hours and conversation only gets you so far before you feel like you have nothing to do but think. Some people shouldn't think too much. I feel like I'm one of those people. Clearly. Since I've started a fuckin blog.

So, I was wondering as I am driving down this 2 lane highway down the middle of California behind some fucking asshole slow poke who I'm sure is perfectly nice and fun and I would hang out with outside of my car except that he is the reason for this road trip lasting 13 hours!! Don't you just love run on sentences. I stray. Finally, a break in the lines... I CAN PASS!! So, here I am, trying to guage whether or not I can pass the EM EFFER. Barely a mile of broken lines. O.k.. no biggy, I will go the next time. Dammit, there are cars flying towards me. Maybe the next break in lines will be my lucky go.

That's when it dawns on me, around these curves and turns and endless highway at a mere 65 (legal limit) miles per hour. Whose fucking job is it to stand out here on the highway, and decide when the Passing Line Breaks should start and stop. They stop, because you are approaching a turn or something and you may not see cars or trucks or hitchikers approaching you. Therefore making it unsafe to approach. Weird. This is how my mind works. I must know how this all happens. Do the Cal Trans folks just block off a chunk of highway and leave a guy in one truck and then drive toward him in another truck... and then they just decide.. o.k Bob, stop right there... I can't see you, so no more Passing.

Please let me know. I can't die happy until I find this out!

Turd Burglar

There I am, clocking back in from 'lunch' with my friend, Fancy Pants.

Spokes: I have to pee. (as I turn and start walking towards the restroom)

Fancy Pants: Mind if I go (rasing an eyebrow to question whether or not I have to take a duke {dookie})

Spokes: I said PEE... not shit.

I hate acting like a typical girl and going to the 'powder room' together, but at this point I didn't realize I needed somebody there to point out at a later time just how much of an idiot I can be.

Fancy Pants picks her stall. I'm sure without even thinking about it. She didn't realize that if I didn't want any neighbors that it really only left me with the Handicap/Person with Disability stall. No problem, I don't mind the extra room.

A lady walks in and joins 2 other pissers, Fancy Pants and myself. Looking at the arrangement of ladies who had already picked the prime stall real estate, the Turd Burglar probably thought the same thing I did - GO FOR THE HANDY STALL!

With a certain confidence, I sat there in mid stream as she tries to open my stall door. I even smile a little confident grin. Which kind of quickly turned to a look of shock as I look this stranger that I've seen a million times in the face. Thoughts pass through my head (What do I say? How the fuck did you crack the code to get in here? Why are you still looking at me?) Turd Burgler quickly shuts the door. Says her awkward apologies while fumblilng into the stall next to me.

Fancy Pants and I make our way to the sink, hunched over and trying not to laugh out loud (LOL). We get to the door, and halfway down the hall before we bust out laughing. We can hardly make it back to the office where of course Fancy Pants will not let me crawl under my rock in shame. That's not how we do it in our office. I tell the story to anybody that will listen. Some can barely catch their breath as my face turns even more red.

Moral of the story: Only pee and duke in stalls that you can quickly kick shut.

welcome to my blog.

Welcome to my blog. Hope you find my stories as funny as this Squirrel who clearly has the munchies. I'm just sayin.