Monthly Archives: September 2007

BTSG Strikes Again!

Oh, my.

Last night at work, about four of us ended up catching on to the fact that BTSG was basically doing no work to speak of.

Instead, she was surfing the internet the entire time.  As in, myspacing, facebooking, blogging, etc.

I walked by once, and she had about three tabs up. One of them was livejournal.

“Jackpot!” I thought.

I had no idea it would get SO much better.

After a few rounds of “Let’s see what internet site BTSG is on NOW”, one girl let us in on a little secret.

Ok, back up.  I need to say that BTSG had made a sudden disappearance and I was under the impression she had gone home since I hadn’t seen her for about half an hour.

Oh, boy was I wrong.

She finally showed back up after I was returning from picking up food and getting a soda.

My dinner didn’t go down as well as planned, since, as I walked back to my desk, BTSG was leaning her very large frame over someone’s desk, giving me a very large view of her very large rear end.


But, I digress.

As we were all sitting there just cracking up at the audacity of our “coworker”, one girl, I’ll call her V, let the secret out: “Guys,” she said, “BTSG was just in the bathroom with a book.”

Poor V had gone on an innocent pee break and had to encounter BTSG emerging from a stall, book in hand.

V noted to us that “it didn’t smell like BTSG was having STOMACH PROBLEMS, if you know what I mean.”

So BTSG spent half an hour reading a book on the toilet.

Ten minutes after that, she clocked out for her break.


Finally, BTSG left for the night, and we were semi-free to bitch about her aloud [one little guy remained, and we’re still not sure if he’s too weird to realize what a headcase BTSG is].

After I revealed to CW/S, S, and V what I had seen on my latest pass by BTSG’s computer, CW/S and S decided to do a little digging.

They figured out BTSG’s login [not hard to do when someone never changes their password!] and checked her browsing history.

We found her livejournal name… and so much more.

About a hundred entries for “Stardust pictures”, several visits to the rubbermaid brand site (?), several websites for song lyrics (complete with misspelled titles), and, the best but most disturbing thing ever: several google searches and webpages for this subject: mental masturbation.

And how to conquer it.

I immediately began miming a girl jilling off, but on my forehead going “Y’all? Do you think this is what it looks like?”

Cue everyone participating in a mass-vomit.

Anyway, back to BTSG’s livejournal: the title of it has MY last name in it.


Ok, ok, so, although my last name isn’t the most common in the world, it IS a fairly common word.

But still: creeeeeepy.

We scoured the first few pages of BTSG’s blog, searching for my name, our company’s name, and the word “work”.

We found out that BTSG does a whole lot of blogging at work, a whole lot of bitching, and apparently HAS dated a girl.

And that’s it.

No scathing entries about how “those girls at work” have been “mean” to her, or how she longs for our friendship.

A little disappointing to find out that BTSG writes about a bunch of crap, but worth it to know that she has “a fictional doppelganger”.

who happens to be named after one of my friends [and former coworker].


Oh, hey, Big Brother.

It recently came to my attention that, in our NEW building [ETC: undetermined], we will not be allowed to have “stuff like that.”

“Stuff like that” meaning “anything that shows you have a personality and brings a little whimsy to your office.”

This was revealed to me when I told my boss I’d like to get a bulletin board for all my “fun stuff.”

She also told me that everything will be “streamlined” when I said “It’s not gonna be one of those ‘you can only have one file on your desk at a time’ situations, is it?”

Translation: offices that are boring as hell and all look the same.

We don’t even get to pick HAVE colors.  Because it looks too much like a “crayon box”.

A new building might be the beginning continuation of a lot of bullshit.

p.s. Yes, I’m still trying to get out of here.

I feel I must share this with you.

Because a photo of myself that is THIS good cannot be kept to my family alone.

Behold, me in my bikini-wearing, pacifier-chewing, baby-belly, wearing my dad’s working-in-the-garden-shoes glory at age 2:


That’s me on the right.  My sister didn’t [and still doesn’t] have the poochy belly that I had/have.

Go figure.