Somebody’s watchin’ meeee! -or- Did I really just say that?

While I realize the internet is a public forum, it still skeeves me out a bit to know that someone in my town googled “the fresh cracker wordpress” and landed here.

I have to wonder: did someone from my office somehow find out the blog title and domain and come here to see if they could catch me saying anything bad about work? Too bad, I never mention the company or what we do. Or name names.  I’ve been spied on by coworkers before, had things I’ve said severely twisted to the point of them being given a whole new meaning. Suck it.

Could it be a friend of mine who just forgot to mention that they came here to get an eyeful of ridiculousness? Maybe.

I have one other suspect, but let’s not talk about that.

IN OTHER NEWS: today I was eating lunch with my friend Amanda and talking about baby names [our coworker's wife is pregnant] and totally slipped and said, “I like the name Zelda for a girl….” Then proceeded to freak out because what I MEANT to say was “Stella”.

SHE IS STILL EVERYWHERE!!!!!

Have I ever told you…

- that the house I grew up in was haunted? Now, you might be picturing a ramshackle, run down piece of crap house, but ours was nothing like that.  It was a cute brick ranch in a middle-class neighborhood with a very above-average yard (my parents have the greenest thumbs of anyone on the planet).  We had hair touching, and phantom tv noises, and “who the hell was I playing with?” moments and parents falling out of the attic but feeling pushed moments.

My parents have since moved to a larger house in a town about 10 miles away, and every time I visit I go by our old house.  It is apparently empty now, and I desperately want to find the woman who bought it to ask her if anything ever touched her hair or otherwise scared the crap out of her.

- that sometimes I do lots and lots of random shit at odd hours? For example, it is now 3:03 am, Eastern time, and I am blogging. Two hours ago I was taking a camera phone photo of myself and my room as proof of the aftermath of ebaying.  I tore shit apart in my entire apartment looking for one USB cord that is seriously about 10 years old, all so I could sell my old digital camera.  I did a total super-cussin’ victory dance that included thanking Jesus [for real], fist pumping, jumping around and doing some weird cheerleader-type stunt with the help of my bed.

One night about a year ago, I decided to move my entire living room around, also at about 3am.  After thirty minutes of sweating and cussing, I realized I hated it and went to bed very angry.  I moved it back about a week later, completely crestfallen.

Cleaning the bathroom and driving also make this list.  Maybe those don’t necessarily qualify as “random shit” but most people I know do not take a two to three hour nap just so they can drive at 4am and avoid traffic, or decide that their bathtub HAS to be sparkling after a night out til 2.

- that almost nothing grosses me out? (This does NOT count worms on the sidewalk) If you look closely, you’ll see I have the categories “farts” and “snot and boogers” in this blog.  My family has no qualms about discussing bowel movements and nasal output.  I’m lucky that many of my friends feel this way as well.  It isn’t uncommon for my friend Katie and I to email or text each other:  ”Dude, I just took the greatest shit of my life.  It filled the bowl,” or “My butt just exploded.”  The latter is often after we hit up our favorite sushi joint.  Go figure.

My brother-in-law and I discuss farts on a regular basis and I have often been the victim of his crop dusting skills. And he is an EXPERT.

- that my ideal house is one that may resemble a castle, will probably creep people out a little when they come over, and will also probably be dust-filled? Ok, so we can probably attribute the dustiness to my hatred of dusting. Seriously. I have not dusted my apartment in YEARS, except for the last time this guy I’m kind of seeing came over.  And that was just a dusting of the bookshelves around my Mexican money and skeleton key collection.  However, dust does lend a certain creep factor to things and although I am by no means some goth girl, I LOVE creepy.

I think antiques and dark wallpaper and damask fabric are beautiful things and I am all over trying to have a house that features this.  Bonuses would include: gargoyle statues, an atrium with tinted windows so it always seems gloomy out, and a library with large windows flanked by heavy, heavy drapery.

Boo!

Stand up and shout! This entry is mean.

Here’s a list of things I’d LOVE to stand up and shout while at work:

“It’s ‘asterisk’, not ‘asterik’ or ‘asterix’. Geez.”

“Just because you can’t hear yourself whisper-singing doesn’t mean the rest can’t. Shut it!”

“If you’d stop complaining about how overwhelmed you are/how much work you have to do, you’d get it done a lot faster.”

“Is it really necessary to yell every time you sneeze? I bet not.”

“SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!”

“Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize the sign on the building said ‘bring all your kids and their friends to run through our office while we’re trying to work.  Every day.’ They’re cute, I get it.  But today they are loud and in large numbers.”

“You just used the word ‘like’ four times in a seven word sentence.  I counted.”

“You smell like a thrift store.  That’s not a compliment.”

“PICK UP YOUR FEET WHEN YOU WALK. ARE YOU REALLY THAT LAZY?!”

Things adults should never say = things I have heard adults say

“Let’s see if there’s a Bucky’s around.  I could go for a latte.” – A grown man  Any person alive should not refer to Starbucks as “Bucky’s.” Ever.

“Dere’s go.” – A former coworker would say this CONSTANTLY instead of “There we go”.  Someone has spent a little too much time around her grandkids.

“my ‘rents” – Are you seriously too lazy to fully say the word “parents”? Plus, ” ‘rents ” just sounds stupid.

“cool beans” - I’m sorry, I just have a personal hatred for anyone who uses this term.  Where are these beans and why are they so cool?

“chillax” - Are you on your way to the frat house to “bro down” with your homeboys before the kegger tonight?

“liberry”, “valentime’s day”, or “birfday” - if you are over the age of five, you should probably have your dental fricatives down pat.  I’m looking at YOU, ex-bosslady.

Anything that is said in a baby-voice or a squeal – there is a FORTY YEAR OLD woman in my office who speaks this way on a daily basis. It makes me want to rip my eardrums to shreds with my scissors.

Bluh.

Uncle! -or-The dumbest relatives are non-blood

Let me give you a brief listing of things my uncle has said… rather, things my uncle has let spew forth from his gaping maw, attached to his tiny, tiny brain:

- “That’s not even intermittently true.”  Seriously? So, sometimes it’s true, and sometimes it’s not?  Next thing you know, he’ll be telling me his car’s intermittent windshield wipers are accompanied by high-tech intermittent brakes.  If only.

- “Well, I pulled up diangally at the intersection right before we got hit.”  Hm. Nice to know he understands basic third-grade math-related vocabulary.

- “Have you gotten a urinal to put his ashes in yet?”  I wish I was lying about this one, but I’m definitely not.  It brings new meaning to the term “pissing on someone’s grave.”

I should feel guilty speaking about my mother’s sister’s husband this way, but I don’t.  After all, this is the man who referred to the house I grew up in as “tight” when we congregated there as my parents hosted Christmas one year and told my cousin he was lazy for taking a music appreciation course. 

WHICH IS ONE MORE COURSE THAN SAID UNCLE TOOK IN COLLEGE. EVER.

I feel like Nick Burns and my knee sounds like velcro

Ok, so I’m not an IT professional.  But sometimes, lately ALL the time, I totally feel like Nick Burns.  I get the lamest questions thrown at me, usually by people with “seniority”. 

Does it take THAT much effort to click the little blue circle surrounding a question mark that is present in ALL your MS Office applications?

Yes, apparently it is.  I’ve even gone so far as to tell someone “Well, I just Googled it,” when they thank me.  It escapes them that I’ve basically  just told them to do the same thing.

And why, WHYYYYYYYYY do people do things that they think are super helpful without telling me first?  Those things usually tend to be the exact opposite: completely inane, utterly useless, and making my job even more tedious.

Even non-IT questions are starting to get to me.  I want to scream, “We have a process in place.  It is documented.  REFER TO THE TEXT.”  Well, since RFTM wouldn’t quite work here.

Chumps.

Also: when I descend the staircase here, my knee sounds EXACTLY like someone is ripping open some velcro.  I mean EXACTLY.  Sometimes the people sitting downstairs look up at me like “WTF?”

As I ASCEND the same stairs, my knee sounds like a little kid snapping.

I would not lie to you.

According to my doctor, the cartilage under my knee is worn down and my thigh muscles are uneven.  Or something.

CRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRK!

It’s not spam, but it sure is something

Okay, seriously.  I didn’t think I had that common of a last name, but, in recent months, I have gotten a SLEW of emails for people other than myself.

These emails are not spam.  Most of the time, they are forwards from the person’s work email address, or, better yet, order confirmations [one today was for a "hand kit" or something. WTF?]

I should start a blog in the vein of “The wrong KMiller” entitled “The wrong LMeadows”

Learn your own email addresses, idiots!

 

Seriously.

Attempted theft!

The damn food-stealer just got a mouthful from me.

And I’m not talking stolen food, either.

Today, my coworker K offered to make a Starbucks run for us.  Now normally, I don’t get anything because, ever since they got rid of their Coconut Creme Frappuccinos, I’ve had no idea what to get from Starbucks.

K advised me to look online and I decided on a delicious Chai Tea Frappuccino.

Mmmmmmmmmm.

Since about seven of us ordered drinks, K called as she was on her way back so I could let her into the building/help her carry the plethora of drinks.

We climbed the stairs and stopped at the first cube to hand off drinks to two of our coworkers.  K pointed out that the last one in my drink carrier was my drink.

Trying not to look and failing miserably, I saw the damn food-stealer’s eyes get really big as she eyed my drink.

I tried to turn and run but she blurted, “Freshcracker, what did YOU get?”

…

Notice she didn’t ask about anyone else’s.

“A chaiteafrapp,” I quickly said.

Without missing a beat, the damn food-stealer said, “Mmmmm can I have some?”

I saw red.

And my coworker’s probably saw red. On my face.

Finally I said, “You are ALWAYS taking my food!”

The damn food-stealer’s face went red and she attempted to shift focus to K for not including her on the drink order.

We all ignored her.

Damn, that felt good.

p.s. I am employing the slap method (Jimsmuse, not quite as radical as a fork, but I may have to work up to that) next time her bony hand comes anywhere near my food or beverage.

Oh crap!

Dammit dammit dammit!

I just realized that the damn food-stealer (see previous post) could possibly become the damn beer-stealer after tomorrow evening.

See, we work across the street from a mixed-use center. You know, you can live, dine and shop there type place.

This mixed-use place has free music on Friday nights, coolers welcome. This is great, because I can go buy my glorious imported Belgian ale [it's called Lambic. try some.] and drink it on the lawn instead of paying five bucks for a cup of warm Bud Light or something [nothing against all domestics, but there is some NASTY shit out there].

Today, I made a major mistake: I told the damn food-stealer about this glorious beverage and that I was probably going to get a couple of bottles to bring to the music thing.

I can see it now:

“Hi Freshcracker. Ooooh that looks good! Can I have a sip?” OR “What are you drinkeeeen?” (Yes, she says her gerunds like Kelly Kapowski)

GULP GULP GULP.

I think, starting early early tomorrow morning, I’m going to have the beginnings of a pretend cold.  One with a fake very sore throat included. My feigned symptoms will probably reach their not-for-real peak between 6pm and 7pm, which is prime time for the damn food-stealer to start her mooching.

*cough*

The damn food-stealer

There is a girl with whom I work who is ostensibly very nice, but she has a dark, dark inner self that I have come to recognize as the bane of my existence: she is a damn food-stealer.

It started out when my cubicle was near hers, and she’d mosey over to chat.

…

I hate myself for phrasing that last sentence like that.

Anyway, she and I became fairly good work pals right away and I think I know why: not only would I listen to her detailed conversations -including verbatim dialog, much like Lady Criesalot- I also overlooked her tendency to use “like”, “you know” and “or whateverrrrr” at least four times each during the course of a sentence or two, but I like to keep tasty snacks in my desk drawer so I don’t freak out and eat an entire buffet during lunch.

The damn food-stealer began taking advantage of my snack stash.

First, it was “Oooh that looks good! Can I have some?”

This, of course, should’ve been a major red flag, but at the time I was the new girl so it was merely a pale pink piece of fuzz in my peripheral.  Although I absolutely detest the thought of ever asking to sample someone else’s food [I assume if they want to share, they'll tell me] I decided to give the girl the benefit of the doubt and let her hand go snaking into my bag of granola bar bits.

That is where this Cracker made her major mistake: I opened the floodgates for all damn food-stealers and accidentally branded myself a girl-who-doesn’t-mind-sharing-food.

WRONG.

I moved cubicles due to a coworker leaving and the new space being a prime spot to sit near my other team members, and, as I was moving across the room,  I assumed the damn food-stealer would find other desks to scavenge, but I was wrong.

Just the other day, we were on a major project deadline [data cutoff, semi-annual report due, and preparation for my coworker to be gone for a week] so I didn’t leave to get lunch. At all. Not even takeout.

I decided I could tide myself over with goldfish crackers until dinner and opened my food drawer to retrieve them.

It must’ve been like a dog whistle and the damn food-stealer some kind of terrier with as quickly as she spanned the room and stood before my chair.

My blood began to boil as I saw her skinny little hand go reaching into the bag of what was my only meal until 7pm or so.

“Girl, why’re you always stealing my foood?”  I said this in a joking, more-Southern-than-I-actually-sound way, but on the inside I really meant it.

“Because I know you don’t care,” she replied.

cue the crickets.

I was about to say, “Are you sure about that?” but I only got “Are y-” out before I was called to answer a question or take care of something.

Dammit.

Next time, I’m bringing in nothing but wasabi peas, McDonald’s [the damn food-stealer is kind of a health nut] and the flaming hot salsa from my local burrito joint [I happen to know that the damn food-stealer refuses to eat there on the grounds that she will have the hershey's about three minutes after eating].

I can’t wait until the damn food-stealer changes departments so I can snack and work undisturbed.

The very thought makes me drool…