Friday, February 25, 2011

Baby Can Read and Do Drugs

I heard a radio commercial on the way home today for Baby Can Read, you know, that program where you teach infants how to read instead of just letting them be infants.  Well, the woman said, and I quote:

"Kids who learn to read at an early age are less likely to do drugs."

Nothing like scare tactics to make you purchase $200 flash cards.  Maybe if I order in the next ten minutes they'll throw in a book on how to keep my kid from being gay.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

School Vacation Week...Again?!?

As I pulled out of Dunkin Donuts with relative ease this morning, I realized that there were noticeably fewer cars on the road than usual. "That's weird," I thought. "Yesterday was the holiday that everybody except for me had off. What's going on?" And then it hit me.

School. Vacation. Week.

F*ck.

Being the constantly evolving person that I am (Hello, sweet potatoes? Why did I hate you for so long?) I have grown to accept the fact that teachers might actually need all the vacation time that they get. While I'm sitting in my cubicle writing blog posts, they are trying to get those Bieber-loving punks to pay attention to math and science and that coma-inducing torture device known as The Odyssey. It's got to be grueling, I get that now. That's why this article isn't about the teachers. It's about the kids. What do the kids need all this time off for?

I have a family that I would like to spend more time with. After working for ten years I finally get 3 weeks of vacation which I must ration. But high school kids, they don't want to spend time with their families. So what do we do? We give them 12 weeks of vacation which they spend trying to get out of the house. Perfect.

Point #2: Kids do not own and maintain homes. Kids sleep until noon on Tuesday and then go off to the beach. I sleep until 6:00 a.m., spend the day at work, and then come home to laundry and cat puke. If you're reading this and saying "well you're an adult and they're just kids," save it. If you're old enough to sext, you're old enough for some responsibilities. Say it with me!

Sure homework sucks, but so do emails with red exclamation points next to them and guys with pit stains hanging around your cubicle. Work is a billion times worse than school. So here's what I propose - listen up Department of Education. High school kids should get two weeks off per year just like the rest of us. High school teachers can still take twelve weeks. For those twelve weeks that they don't have a teacher, high school kids can go get jobs. Don't worry, companies love cheap labor. And if the kids don't like it, they can become teachers when they grow up. I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure I just found a solution to the teacher shortage.

P.S. On my way back from lunch I passed by a driver's ed car full of teens learning how to commute to work. Nice hustle.

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Read this and other office humor posts at The Collared Sheep

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

I Hate Email Forwards

But this one was good:

The Best Flow Chart Ever
When top levels guys look down all they see is shitheads;
When lower level guys look up, all they see are assholes.

What? Why?

In a horrible twist of irony, I am trying to write a blog post using a pen and paper. It was never meant to be this way.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Why You're Not Married

This is a fabulous article by Tracy McMillan about why some women have such a hard time finding men to marry them....married or not, it's a great read:
You want to get married. It's taken a while to admit it. Saying it out loud -- even in your mind -- feels kind of desperate, kind of unfeminist, kind of definitely not you, or at least not any you that you recognize. Because you're hardly like those girls on TLC saying yes to the dress and you would never compete for a man like those poor actress-wannabes on The Bachelor.
You've never dreamt of an aqua-blue ring box.
Then, something happened. Another birthday, maybe. A breakup. Your brother's wedding. His wife-elect asked you to be a bridesmaid, and suddenly there you were, wondering how in hell you came to be 36-years-old, walking down the aisle wearing something halfway decent from J. Crew that you could totally repurpose with a cute pair of boots and a jean jacket. You started to hate the bride -- she was so effing happy -- and for the first time ever you began to have feelings about the fact that you're not married. You never really cared that much before. But suddenly (it was so sudden) you found yourself wondering... Deep, deep breath... Why you're not married.
Well, I know why.  
 Click here to continue reading

Thursday, February 17, 2011

A Valentine's Day Drive

The sound of rapping on my window made me jump and drop my phone. I looked up to see a familiar, but slightly grizzled face, peering at me through the passenger side. "Open up" it mouthed, and I reluctantly unlocked the door. He climbed in, gathering his trench coat over his knees and fastening the seat belt with a firm click.

"Drive," he said.

I put the car into drive and did as he said. It was all happening just as I had imagined a carjacking might. But I wasn't afraid. I glanced over at the graying, overgrown, hair and rolled my eyes. I shouldn't even be here right now. I should be on my way to...well...what did it matter? I had to do what I had to do. I changed the radio station from pop to country to oldies, then finally turned it off. Nothing seemed to sound right with him in my car.

"So, how's your Monday going?" I asked, trying to make conversation.

"Same shit, different day," he said. He typed something important into his Blackberry.

"It's Valentine's Day, you know. Did you remember to get your wife anything?" Oh God. I realized the error of my ways as soon as I had spoken.

"I don't know," he said. "Did I?"

"Of, of, course," I stammered. "The um, red roses with the teddy bear. Two dozen, actually." I gave him a reassuring smile and squirted a round of windshield washer fluid, just for something to do. Awkward silence ticked away as I drove.

"Did your boyfriend get you anything?"

I had been staring at a red light, willing it to turn green, when he spoke. The meaning in his words didn't quite fit with everything that I knew about the world. Interest in my personal life? I couldn't have been any more surprised if I was rear-ended by a Prius-driving Sasquatch.

"Well, I don't actually, um, I don't actually have anybody right now," I said. It figured that the one time he showed any interest in me as a human being, I had to reveal what a pathetic one I was.

"Pull over," he said, not looking up from his Blackberry. Confused, I did as he said, and waited while he hopped out and disappeared into a nearby Walgreens. I had checked my email, then Twitter, then Facebook , before he got back into my car.

"Drive," he said.

We rode in silence until we stopped outside our destination and he got out of my car. He tossed a plastic bag into my lap.

"Thanks for the lift" he said, ducking down to give me a quick wave.

I peeked inside the bag to find a small heart shaped box of chocolates - the words "My Hero" printed across the front. I watched as my boss headed into Hair & Now where I had scheduled him his 12:30 p.m. hair cut appointment. He'd be a new man when he came back out, though I wasn't quite sure if that was a good thing. I popped a chocolate in my mouth and put the car into drive. 

Finally, I could go to lunch.

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Read this and other office humor posts at The Collared Sheep

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

The Biggest Loser

They should have The Biggest Loser for secretaries. Except instead of losing weight we'd go out and look for better jobs. And then at the end the one who is still a secretary gets crowned The Biggest Loser.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Life Lessons from My Memo Board

It was just another ordinary day of sitting here staring into space, when I happened to take a look at my memo board and all of the junk that is stuck to it. "What is the meaning of these things?" I asked myself. Why did I bother to hang any of them up? What the hell is in gefilte fish? And why does my cat vomit after nearly every meal? We will answer a few of those questions below - and if you are a veterinarian, for the love of God shoot me an email. 


















1. A pretty postcard from Antigua - I went to Antigua in 2007 and have not been anywhere warm since. Basically this postcard is a sadomasochistic reminder that there are people out there drinking Blue Hawaiis and enjoying life while I am in my cubicle. Though I have a feeling that wasn't the reason I purchased it. 

2. A Subway points card - Everyone likes a free lunch, and if I get 50 points I can earn myself a free 6-inch sub. Having the points card in plain view 8 hours a day keeps me focused on the fact that one of my life goals is earning a free 6-inch sub, which in turns encourages me to find better goals.

3. A Dilbert cartoon - Who doesn't like a good Dilbert cartoon? This one was actually an ad we got in the mail from the post office about flat rate shipping, which should tell you how strapped I am for humor around here. But you make do with what you're given.

4. A Wendy's coupon for $1.00 off a salad - The chance that I will actually go to Wendy's and leave with a salad is about as good as me going into Dunkin Donuts and leaving with an egg white flatbread sandwich. Basically, the coupon hangs there so as I scarf down my burrito I can look up at the pictures of all the salads and say "Yep, made the right choice."

5. A quote from The Office which reads: "Right now, this is just a job. If I advance any higher...that would make this my career. And if this were my career, I would have to throw myself in front of a train. So really, it's a matter of life and death." Truer words have never been spoken and should be part of any self-respecting secretary's daily mantra.

6. Lottery numbers - Similar to the Antigua postcard, this is partly a reminder that there are assholes out there who have won the lottery and no longer have to work. The other part is a reminder to check my numbers, get my hopes up, crush them, cry, listen to Firework by Katy Perry twelve times, and stare at the pretty postcard from Antigua where I will someday return after becoming a successful writer thanks to nothing but my own hard work - no lottery necessary.

I like to think that's the real reason I bought the postcard.

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Read this and other office humor posts at The Collared Sheep

Monday, February 7, 2011

CSN Giveaway Winner

Congratulations to Henria O. the winner of my CSN Stores Giveaway!  Please check your email for your gift certificate code.

Thank you to everyone who entered and to CSN for giving me the opportunity. I hope to do it again soon!

The Joust

We've all experienced the office joust. You know, when you come out of the ladies room at the exact moment a coworker comes out of the office, all the way down the hall. You begin the horrificly long journey towards each other, fleeting eye contact mixed with an intense sudden interest in the carpet or emergency exit signs. Finally you pass and smiles or pleasantries are exchanged, or, due to a lack of coordination, one person is still avoiding eye contact at the critical moment. This of course leads to one person being snubbed and the offending party's joust etiquette, and worth as a human being, brought into question. It's a terrible thing all around.

If anybody has a good jousting story leave a comment below!

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Superbowl

Nothing like a football game I don't care about to kick off a week of work I don't care about.  Eventually something I care about will come along and we'll share a few laughs.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Local Secretary Not Sure Where Carl Is Right Now

Contrary to popular belief, local secretary Margo Waters has disclosed that seriously, she has no friggin idea where boss, Carl Dickerson, is right now. Maybe he's out at a meeting, or in his car, or being eaten by alligators. What is she, his mother?

Waters has offered to check his Outlook calendar, as if that will make any sort of difference. You can just stand awkwardly behind her chair while it takes six minutes to load. "Oh look," said Waters, pointing to the words 'Private Appointment' blocked out from 12:00 p.m. to 1:00 p.m. "Let me use my psychic powers to tell you what that's supposed to mean."

It being lunch time, and Dickerson being in his early to mid-fifties, he may have either gone to Subway for an Italian BMT or to his proctologist for a colonoscopy. It's really just guesswork you annoying ignoramuses. Do you not see that Waters, 32, is trying to order something from Babies R Us right now?

"Take this morning," said Waters. "I slipped in real late and was kind of nervous, but then I realized that Carl was nowhere to be found. You think I was going to start asking questions?" Waters expressed a similar sentiment when Dickerson failed to show up to her mid-year performance evaluation after being mugged and left for dead.

"He ain't here, he ain't here," she added.

When pressed by co-workers for comment on Dickerson's morning whereabouts, Waters took into account her boss's eating habits and familial structure, surmising that he could have been off having a massive heart attack or possibly hosting an intervention for that loser son of his who interned here a few summers ago. But really, he may have just overslept. What does she have, a GPS on the guy?

Waters, who really doesn't have time for this, also warns of the futility and total stupidity of bothering to ask when Dickerson is expected to return from wherever it is that he went - particularly if she is entering timesheets or reviewing a take-out menu from Arby's. "I don't have to know where he is every second of the day, alright?" said Waters. "It's not like I'm his secre.....oh."

As of press time, Dickerson was spotted leaving Centerfolds Gentleman's Lounge on Route 20 and will not be returning to the office.

Carl?  You in there? 

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Read this and other funny office posts everyday at The Collared Sheep