Office Space

Sometimes, people will approach me on the street and say, "Amanda, I thoroughly enjoy your blog!"**  
(**never happened.)

They say, "I'm constantly amazed at your creativity and sense of humor.*** (***also never happened) Where do you come up with this stuff?? HOW CAN I BE LIKE YOU???**** (****nope.)"

My advice, my small yet adoring public, is to surround yourself with constant, relevant inspiration. For example, this blog looks like a meteorologist watched his 10 year old niece play with Photoshop for half an hour, decided it wasn't so hard, dropped acid, and logged on. As such, I find it's useful to surround myself with things that keep my ADD, lack of concentration and odd sense of humor fine tuned. This is especially true at work.

When you work in an office for 8+ hours per day, it's important to keep little things around that remind you of your individuality, so your creativity doesn't stifle under the repetition. It's impor-- wait, are those dogs wearing pope hats?

Truth be told, I've had these for years, and don't really remember why this had to happen. I do know that I used to have a sign for them which read "Pope Dog Pug and the Bishops of Chaos." I should make another one.

You may have noticed, to the right of the bobble brothers, a curious sight. A disturbing sight. This would probably be a good opportunity to back track and introduce you to my mom.

Hi, mom!

Before you ask, no. I'm not taking this picture down. Ever. 

I love my mom. She's mah bestie forever. Aside from being a smart, kind and creative soul (much like some certain bloggers I know... /smugface...) she also has the same, slightly off sense of humor that I do. That said, when my birthday was approaching, and she saw this statue, she knew she should buy it for me.

And buy it, she did.

You're probably wondering why the bottom rabbit is not wearing any clothing, while the rabbit on top is. Or why the smaller rabbit is holding a huge carrot like a mace. Or why he is humiliating his naked steed. Or why he has this ominous expression on his face, like whatever he's doing, must be done.

Do not make direct eye contact.

It's best not to dwell on these things, friends. I have pondered and contemplated these things quite extensively. The answers remain beyond my grasp.

I have another piece of mom flare around here somewhere. Actually, if you've been following me since April, you might remember this from before:

See that creepy-as-shit rabbit card in the upper-right? You know, next to the Napoleon Dynamite card, Comic Sans hatred, sock monkey, origami owl, and various other items that make no sense together? Yep, that's from mom. Actually, so's the Napoleon Dynamite card.

Although this is probably perfectly obvious, I feel inclined to mention that these things:

Are the only actual work items on this wall. And that this isn't even the whole wall. And that I've seen less clutter in a kindergarten toy chest. I'm a grown-up!

I am a grown-up, by golly! And I can prove it! Know how? Because grown-ups use pens. And I have pens! See?


Alright, you got me again, you sneaky bastards. I'm a total pen kleptomaniac. Black pens, colored pens, fluffy pens, holiday pens, probably even pens that don't work but look pretty. I keepsiss them. I lovesiss them.

I'm always adding onto this clusterfuck of an office space as well. Just today, one of my coworkers asked if anyone would like a fake rooster. Never having found myself in this situation before, and having no immediate need for an artificial rooster come to mind, I did the only logical thing.

I taped him to my moniter.

I like to think he's watching over me, encouraging me to do better.

....What? You don't think that's a comforting thought? What if I need that sort of motivation and reassurance, hmm? What would you have me do instead? Hire Jean-Luc Picard to stand over my shoulder, with a little bunny on his shoulder, wearing a fake headdress or something stupid like that?

Because I already have that, genius. Well, a cardboard cut-out, anyway.

So yeah. In short, to talk this kind of crazy talk, you must first walk a crazy walk. And I think it's pretty safe to say I have that covered. Hence the blog. You're welcome. ^_^

There's actually a couple other things in ye olde office that I'd like to share with you, but this is already hella-long. Some other time, perhaps. Adios!


A Darker Side of Etsy

We all know what Etsy is, right?

Psh. Why am I even asking? We live in the golden era of the almighty Hipster. Of course we know what it is.

I can't judge too much. I totally get sucked into browsing its enticing pages for hours, wishing I had enough time or patience to make and share arts & crafts with the world; browsing the creative wall decals covetously, before remembering that my fickle ways would have me tearing it down in a week; trying to justify buying tiny glass bottles and stoppers in bulk.

But every once in a while, I'm jolted from my mystical, homemade wonderland, by something like this:

First and foremost: FUCK.
Secondly: You have to realize: At some point, someone stepped back from this labor of love and/or murder, gazed into this little critter's bloodshot, secret-concealing eyes, and thought, "Yep. This is exactly the sort of thing that would lull a child to sleep." I just... I don't know. Maybe I'm being insensitive to albinos, but this thing scared the hell out of me.

This next one is.. ah... um.... Hmm. Right. An ... elephant?

Regardless of whether or not this is an elephant, I've become convinced that the ominous meatsack hanging from its face most likely could and would be used to take advantage of anything within grabbing/groping distance. I'll take a pass, rapephant, but thanks anyway.

Then, I came across this scary motherfucker:

In Soviet Russia, tea drink you!
(By that, I obviously mean tea murders you in your sleep, harvests your organs, sticks a straw in your liver, and sips the night away. *shudder*)

This next one is a double threat. First threat? It lures you into believing it's actually adorable.

Do. Not. Be. Deceived. The narwhal is a murderous death beast. Greek mythology speculates that the narwhal used to swim in seas of the blood of their victims, until their supply of obtainable prey ran out.** They migrated to the oceans in order to survive, but their blood lust is as strong as it ever was. They can- and would, without hesitation- impale you through the chest, on Christmas morning, in front of your entire family.

**Citation? I'm Greek. I just know this shit, okay?

Speaking of Christmas, the final disturbing Etsy find of the day comes to you with three gentle reminders.

#1 - He sees you when you're sleeping.

#2 - He enters your home, uninvited, every year, and could snap your neck like a jolly twig.

#3 - The fucking devil lives in his eyes.

Why are you still at your computer? Run!


Anyway... thanks for the nightmares, Etsy! Better browsing luck for me next time, I hope.


Best meeting ever?

You be the judge. I certainly can't, as I am unable to find the meeting.

What's that, you say? Important meetings should have a fixed, designated location with a solid, efficient agenda? Where on god's mysterious planet do you work, good sir? For I, in all my days, have never heard such tomfoolery.

What do you see here?

 To the untrained, naive eye, I'm sure this looks like a calendar invitation to partake in some mysterious meeting about project management, between the hours of 1:00 and 3:00, on Wednesday and Thursday.

Clever, but they can't fool me. Only an experienced, seasoned professional could see past this innocent exterior to the truth.

For one, I didn't receive either of these invitations until said Wednesday at about 1:45. In other words, I received an email inviting me to this alleged "meeting," which was immediately followed by an Outlook calendar pop-up, which looked something like this.

Yeah. Unfortunately, you just can't make that shit up.

Calendar mix-up aside, I start towards today's meeting to discover the following two things:

1.) The auditorium is empty. All of the meeting rooms in this building are empty. I know this, as I wandered around for about 15 minutes trying to locate the (not-a-)meeting.
2.) Even had I been able to find this meeting, which (it was my understanding) was to train me to assist with this project, is not actually a meeting or training. It's the project itself. What this project is, is anyone's guess, as I have been part of neither a meeting nor training on the subject.

Confused? Yeah, join the club. 

 I really think they ought to take the direct approach next time instead of this elaborate facade, but that's just me. Something like this should be sufficient:

Or at least those asterisks, that let you know what person A is selling, is not actually what person B is buying.

I suppose I should be happy that I have less work to do. I just really don't enjoy having my time wasted, which, I'm fully aware, makes me a completely unreasonable bitch. That aside, I kind of like being asked to do things. It makes me feel important, or like people value the skills I have to offer. But not this time.

Not this time.

I'm glad to see the majority of voters (in the side bar, slacker.) are asking for more office humor, because by golly, there seems to be a never ending supply of it around here. Whether I like it or not.

Is it Saturday yet???


Mr. Biffles is earning his keep

And it's about time!

Sometimes, I just don't have a lot to say. But far be it from me to deny you any amount of fuel for your internet addiction! Yes, you have an internet addiction. And if you're denying it, it means you don't even want to get better. And that's fine. Neither do I.

Anyway, Mr. Biffles will be taking up some of the slack with those fancy shmancy memes you've seen in recent posts. I might give him his own site... but more on that as it develops.

Also! Please note that poll in the side bar, which will be open to your anonymous demands for the next week. See how much I care about you? *warm fuzzies*



Get it? Monday + mundane = Mondayne? Get it...?

Oh never mind.

There's something about Sunday night that makes you want to go all Romeo and Juliet. By that, I mean ingesting poison, then stabbing yourself, usually looks like the lesser of two evils by the time 8:00 rolls around on a Monday. You're tired. You're hungover. You're replaying all of the fun and relaxation that just passed you by, which will elude you like Bin Laden for the next five days. And as for work itself, Monday seems to be worse than the same old. It's the same old, yet, with a quiet vengeance, which can destroy you at a glance. I just try to keep my head down and truck through it.

Yeah. We're doing charts today. A) The radar is ridiculously boring, and B) it makes me feel like a grown-up.

It's easy enough to get on autopilot on a Monday... but even with the cruise control on, driving through the vast wasteland of corporate 'Murica is still a chore. It takes me until at least 11:30 to form good brain thought things. I try to distribute my attention span fairly.

Seems fair to me. Also, I'm thinking about vinegar today because I had the most amazing salad ever yesterday, and keep replaying that last, vinegar-soaked crouton over and over in my mind. Mmm.

But I digress. Which, in itself, somewhat proves my point. Monday. The busiest day ever, and yet the hardest day on which to stay focused. My non-focus inevitably lead me to thinking back on my childhood for a few minutes, and to how much easier things were. And how much better school was than work is. And how much I miss Lisa Frank stickers. And how close I may or may not be to becoming Jack Nicholson and chasing Shelly Duvall around an abandoned hotel with an axe.

Another Stephen King reference? 

Once I hit the oasis of lunch time, and spend some time with a turkey sammich and Photoshop, things usually start to look up. I can see the end of the Monday tunnel, and 5:00 is closer than 8:00. I cling to the fact that in just a few short hours, I'll be home with Mr. Biffles, who is a compassionate, perfectly-behaved, and affectionate source of comfort, especially after a long day.

Let me dream.



Deja Vu

Well... that looks familiar, doesn't it?

Fear not, though. This was completely different.

Well, kind of different. Yes, I was sick again, but this time, with a whole bunch of things! Not just one boring thing, like strep throat.

And no, I'm not exaggerating. I actually was on sabbatical because I had all of those things. Of course, I couldn't have pissed off the gypsy that makes you Thinner (hur hur... Stephen King reference...). No, no... I had to piss off the gypsy that keeps you sick for three weeks and makes you run out of brake fluid while you're fucking driving. Yeah, that happened, too. /wrists

But, I'm back now! Hooray!

........Deja vu?

And anyway, you people don't care about my ailments! You want the hard-hitting weather news you've come to expect at Meteoroflgy! In fact, I daresay you'd only be truly invested in my personal struggles if I told the story via weather radar. Which is fine. 'Cuz I'm gonna.

So I'm driving along in my car, minding my own business.

*Ahem*. I said, driving along in my car... 

Okay, fine. You know what? You got me. I can't draw cars. I have never been able to draw stupid cars. But you know that cloud cluster looks like a car. Just shut up. I don't see you making your own blog. Fucking shut up.

So, driving along, minding m-- yeah, I still hear you laughing at the car. Seriously, can we move on?

Bottom line, my breaks go out, on a crazy busy street, during rush hour. It basically looked like this:

Because I am awesome, I escaped that situation with zero damage to life and property.
.....Only to be rewarded with this, shortly after:

Which, of course, is me on the couch for days, dying from aforementioned sicknesses, being attacked by an unsympathetic Mr. Biffles. What he possesses in extra phalanges, he lacks in compassion.

So yeah. That's why I haven't posted much lately. Barring any run-ins with ebola or scurvy or pneumonia, we should be back on track shortly!

Happy Tuesday!

By the way - for little sprinkles of comedy and crazy in between posts, 
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