An attempt to pay homage to a great coworker and friend, Dana, whose last day is today. These are just some of the many things I will miss about her:
1.) My lefty neighbor at Ladies Who Lunch
2.) Her random contributions to the day's Hot Topic
3.) Her lovable affinity for jingles
4.) Hearing her literally laugh out loud when we're chatting about inappropriate things on IM
5.) Her freaking toaster that makes my morning Pop Tarts warm with sugary bliss
6.) Her cute socks that peak above her boots
7.) Dana-isms
8.) My faithful, spontaneous lunch-hour shopping buddy
9.) Her "baby toosh" scent
10.) Her constant search to incorporate "My Humps" lyrics into copy
11.) Her reports about her addictions ... to online shopping and chocolate
12.) Her excitement after winning a game of Free Cell
13.) She's the worst shopping enabler I know ... good for my closet, bad for my bank account
14.) Our almost-but-not-quite eerie similar-ness (nis?)
15.) Her genuine offers to help and listen
16.) Her good advice
17.) Her inner band nerd ... we share that trait
18.) Her dog whisperer tendencies
I will miss so much about you, Babier. I know we'll still see each other. We'll still hang out. We'll still spend money together on unneeded shopping binges. Maybe we'll get to drink more wine together since our time spent together will be outside of the office. Because we're friends. But I'll sure miss being able to walk over to your cube and waste 45 minutes talking about nothing ... among other things. Love!
11 April 2008
04 April 2008
Equally as funny ...
But in a whole different way. Awful.
This isn't the full version, but this saves you from having to listen to all the JG Wentworth crap. There are many others throughout the commercial who are mad about not having the money that's theirs since they need it now.
Ok no more commercial blogs for at least a month.
This isn't the full version, but this saves you from having to listen to all the JG Wentworth crap. There are many others throughout the commercial who are mad about not having the money that's theirs since they need it now.
Ok no more commercial blogs for at least a month.
03 April 2008
Telephone is a funny game
I try not to blog about work-related things. I can appreciate an advertising blog. In fact, I read several of them. I cannot, however, appreciate someone who tries too hard to talk about amazing advertising efforts when it's really just blank efforts in order to look cool. They're really saying "look at me, I'm blogging about advertising. I love my job. Give me a raise ... by the way, I'm smarter than you because I blog about advertising." Vom.
But I have to talk about a commercial I just saw that made me laugh out loud. LOL, if you will. It was for an Oreo product called an Oreo Cakester. (The fact that it looks delicious is completely beside the point.)
"Bobby got his first chest hair???" Hilarious. That is all.
But I have to talk about a commercial I just saw that made me laugh out loud. LOL, if you will. It was for an Oreo product called an Oreo Cakester. (The fact that it looks delicious is completely beside the point.)
"Bobby got his first chest hair???" Hilarious. That is all.
02 April 2008
My closet welcomes a new friend
Oh Chip & Pepper jeans on eBay ... I saw you yesterday morning, and immediately said "no." My recent shopping binge ended with a pit of guilt, even though my longing for new jeans never fully subsided.
But I couldn't stop thinking about you. I visited your web page several times. I passed on your link to get others' opinions. Your sister, my current pair of Chip & Peppers, are involuntarily making their way out of my jeans rotation. The hole on the knee isn't so bad. The hole in the crotch area that I'm giving about three more wears to develop probably isn't work, or public, appropriate.
So I started justifying why you could come into my life. I decided to "watch" you. Five hours before your auction ended, I received a notification that you were still in my price range. In fact, no one else had bid on you ... it was starting to feel like denim destiny.
I warmed up some leftovers and poured a glass of wine. Things were getting down to the wire. I decided I might try my luck at acquiring you ... but not until the last minute. With two minutes to go, I started wondering what other Chip & Pepper hunter was out there. Watching. Waiting for time to almost expire to pounce. Was she watching Law & Order: SVU, too? Probably. It's kind of awesome.
One minute left. My heart started racing. "Should I really do this?" Bid one cent above starting rate, with 48 seconds to go. But I wasn't logged into my eBay account. I typed feverishly. Confirmed bid. Whew ... that was close. But then I noticed a prompt that said "You are close to getting outbid." No! My suspicions of another suitor were spot on. 8 seconds left. Bid two dollars higher. Disappointment ... the auction was closed. But apparently the eBay gurus lied when they told me someone else was going to reign triumphant. I won! For the starting price, too. Not even one cent more.
Within 60 seconds' time, I spent $65. But as the commercials geniusly say, I "shopped victoriously." I think they targeted this campaign/slogan at eBay'ers who bid against each other. Turns out I was bidding against myself. Whatev. Those new jeans are for my butt and my butt only.
But I couldn't stop thinking about you. I visited your web page several times. I passed on your link to get others' opinions. Your sister, my current pair of Chip & Peppers, are involuntarily making their way out of my jeans rotation. The hole on the knee isn't so bad. The hole in the crotch area that I'm giving about three more wears to develop probably isn't work, or public, appropriate.
So I started justifying why you could come into my life. I decided to "watch" you. Five hours before your auction ended, I received a notification that you were still in my price range. In fact, no one else had bid on you ... it was starting to feel like denim destiny.
I warmed up some leftovers and poured a glass of wine. Things were getting down to the wire. I decided I might try my luck at acquiring you ... but not until the last minute. With two minutes to go, I started wondering what other Chip & Pepper hunter was out there. Watching. Waiting for time to almost expire to pounce. Was she watching Law & Order: SVU, too? Probably. It's kind of awesome.
One minute left. My heart started racing. "Should I really do this?" Bid one cent above starting rate, with 48 seconds to go. But I wasn't logged into my eBay account. I typed feverishly. Confirmed bid. Whew ... that was close. But then I noticed a prompt that said "You are close to getting outbid." No! My suspicions of another suitor were spot on. 8 seconds left. Bid two dollars higher. Disappointment ... the auction was closed. But apparently the eBay gurus lied when they told me someone else was going to reign triumphant. I won! For the starting price, too. Not even one cent more.
Within 60 seconds' time, I spent $65. But as the commercials geniusly say, I "shopped victoriously." I think they targeted this campaign/slogan at eBay'ers who bid against each other. Turns out I was bidding against myself. Whatev. Those new jeans are for my butt and my butt only.
27 March 2008
Smell you later
Something about me is that I have some sort of hypersensitivity to smells. This can be an extremely good thing. Like when my brother is making goat cheese mushroom risotto, for example. My taste buds can already sense the amazingness that is soon to occur. Or when the soap in my office bathroom smells like my favorite candy ... causing me to crave, then go out and buy said candy later that night. (Sour Punch Straws. The bomb.) But more often than not, it's an awful thing.
Like the other day, I walked into my apartment lobby during my lunch hour and it smelled like surplus-sized jugs of Chloroseptic were dumped on the floor and carpet and a wet dog had rolled in it. I couldn't hide the look of disgust on my face.
In other apartment-related smells, a note to the girl who likes to drench herself in perfume in the morning, and therefore leaving the elevator and lobby as some sort of flammable hazard ... I don't care if it's cheap Celine Dion perfume from Walgreens or Eau De Pricey Toilette made from the secretions of a rare marsupial ... don't slather it on. I have my own scent, thanks, and I don't need to smell like yours just by walking through the lobby.
Then there's the time I walked into the Clydesdale stables at the Anheiser-Busch Brewery tour and gagged for a minute, sure I was going to vomit in front of 50+ people. That wouldn't have been embarrassing at all.
I even have a rule set forth in my car and any car I ride in on a regular basis ... no farting while driving. I don't care if you roll the window down, that's just cruel.
Once, when I was at Mr. Goodcents enjoying a delicious deli sub-style sandwich, some pimple-faced employee decided it would be a good idea to mop the floors with bleach infested water. Right next to the table I was sitting at. Now my turkey sandwich with provolone cheese tasted like mop water and I was immediately done eating. (I never bow out early when it comes to meals.) I refuse to return to that establishment to this day.
But here's the worst smell-induced reaction. Located within miles of my office is some sort of tannery factory, or so I'm told. Someone told me that on certain days, they're boiling or tanning the hides of animals for whatever purpose. Whatever the factory actually is, the resulting stench is revolting. On these smelly days, I have to run to and from my car in order to avoid dry heaving. On one fateful day, however, I thought I could handle it. Walked at a normal pace. But soon, I started gagging. Gagging turned into dry heaving. Dry heaving turned into actual vomiting. Yes, I vomited outside of my office building due to a smell in the air. I went upstairs to get a cup of water to wash away the evidence but the damage was done. I was officially dubbed "the girl the threw up because of the elusive nasty smell." And it happened again. It was raining and stinky. I stopped in the middle of the road on the way to the parking lot and puked a little and walked on. Um ... sick.
So yeah, there's all of that. Just don't fart in my car and we'll be friends.
Like the other day, I walked into my apartment lobby during my lunch hour and it smelled like surplus-sized jugs of Chloroseptic were dumped on the floor and carpet and a wet dog had rolled in it. I couldn't hide the look of disgust on my face.
In other apartment-related smells, a note to the girl who likes to drench herself in perfume in the morning, and therefore leaving the elevator and lobby as some sort of flammable hazard ... I don't care if it's cheap Celine Dion perfume from Walgreens or Eau De Pricey Toilette made from the secretions of a rare marsupial ... don't slather it on. I have my own scent, thanks, and I don't need to smell like yours just by walking through the lobby.
Then there's the time I walked into the Clydesdale stables at the Anheiser-Busch Brewery tour and gagged for a minute, sure I was going to vomit in front of 50+ people. That wouldn't have been embarrassing at all.
I even have a rule set forth in my car and any car I ride in on a regular basis ... no farting while driving. I don't care if you roll the window down, that's just cruel.
Once, when I was at Mr. Goodcents enjoying a delicious deli sub-style sandwich, some pimple-faced employee decided it would be a good idea to mop the floors with bleach infested water. Right next to the table I was sitting at. Now my turkey sandwich with provolone cheese tasted like mop water and I was immediately done eating. (I never bow out early when it comes to meals.) I refuse to return to that establishment to this day.
But here's the worst smell-induced reaction. Located within miles of my office is some sort of tannery factory, or so I'm told. Someone told me that on certain days, they're boiling or tanning the hides of animals for whatever purpose. Whatever the factory actually is, the resulting stench is revolting. On these smelly days, I have to run to and from my car in order to avoid dry heaving. On one fateful day, however, I thought I could handle it. Walked at a normal pace. But soon, I started gagging. Gagging turned into dry heaving. Dry heaving turned into actual vomiting. Yes, I vomited outside of my office building due to a smell in the air. I went upstairs to get a cup of water to wash away the evidence but the damage was done. I was officially dubbed "the girl the threw up because of the elusive nasty smell." And it happened again. It was raining and stinky. I stopped in the middle of the road on the way to the parking lot and puked a little and walked on. Um ... sick.
So yeah, there's all of that. Just don't fart in my car and we'll be friends.
18 March 2008
It's so not the thought that counts
I don't pride myself in much, but one thing I know I'm "gifted" with is my supreme gift-giving skills. (The quotes stand for puns.) I love love love to give gifts. There's nothing quite like the feeling of satisfaction after finally finding the perfect trinket or item for your friends and loved ones.
But, like any journey to greatness, I recently stumbled on the road to gifting success. Sure the idea was there, it just didn't pan out. And anyone that tells you "it's the thought that counts" is full of crap and they probably haven't received an awesome gift in their lifetime. Sure, saying that is a nice gesture to someone that tried, but I know what you're really thinking in that head of yours.
So what was this setback? While shopping for my buddy Bop (congrats on the mention two days in a row), I decided it would be fun to get her a fish. Why? You see, last year when Bop went on a 10-or-so day vacation to France, her team - including me - decided she needed a nice, bright welcome on her first day back. After much thought, we came to the obvious conclusion that her cubicle, and every single thing inside of it, should be wrapped in aluminum foil. The process and aftermath could - and should - be a blog in and of itself. But I'll just leave you with this and get on with things:
In the midst of wrapping everything in site in foil, we had the genius idea to make Bop think that we had also wrapped her fish in foil. No betas were harmed during this prank, however, so we actually transferred the fish to a coworker's vacant fish bowl and molded some foil in the shape of a fish and plopped it in her own little bowl. Don't be jealous of the cleverness. (Unfort, I don't have photo documentation of this. Use your imaginations, please.)
I'll admit it was pretty rude of us, but we never got around to returning the fish to its rightful owner. So it was kind of involuntarily adopted. (Sorry, Ben.) Enter the awesomeness of buying Bop a new fish for Christmas.
Not only did I want to buy her a new finned friend, I wanted her new buddy to have a fetch home. (I just said fetch!) So I searched and searched the world wide web for a bowl that would fit Bop's personality. Finally. A match was made.
I wrapped it. Gave it to her with the addendum that we would soon visit the pet store so she could pick out her very own fish to live in this office within an office. So we finally find the time to use a lunch hour to pick out a fish, and Lionel Fishy is born to Bop. Done deal? Nope.
After taking the new bowl out of the packaging, Bop noticed it was cracked along one side and across the bottom. I called customer service and was told this product was currently out of stock. (I have since learned it's back in stock ... but is it now a moot point?) I wasn't going to give up. I purchased some epoxy in hopes that I could seal the crack. Suffering through a skunk-like stench, I made many attempts to make the bowl leak free and Lionel friendly. But after about the tenth try, I realized my efforts weren't good enough. So Lionel would have to live in his tiny quarters until another solution was reached.
Two months later, on my birthday vacation day off, I receive an email from Bop ... mourning the loss of a friend. Lionel died. I mean really? I have GOT to be the worst gifter ever. One slip and my reputation has been tarnished. I only hope I can regain position as an awesome gifter. Her next birthday is going to be a doozy!
But, like any journey to greatness, I recently stumbled on the road to gifting success. Sure the idea was there, it just didn't pan out. And anyone that tells you "it's the thought that counts" is full of crap and they probably haven't received an awesome gift in their lifetime. Sure, saying that is a nice gesture to someone that tried, but I know what you're really thinking in that head of yours.
So what was this setback? While shopping for my buddy Bop (congrats on the mention two days in a row), I decided it would be fun to get her a fish. Why? You see, last year when Bop went on a 10-or-so day vacation to France, her team - including me - decided she needed a nice, bright welcome on her first day back. After much thought, we came to the obvious conclusion that her cubicle, and every single thing inside of it, should be wrapped in aluminum foil. The process and aftermath could - and should - be a blog in and of itself. But I'll just leave you with this and get on with things:
In the midst of wrapping everything in site in foil, we had the genius idea to make Bop think that we had also wrapped her fish in foil. No betas were harmed during this prank, however, so we actually transferred the fish to a coworker's vacant fish bowl and molded some foil in the shape of a fish and plopped it in her own little bowl. Don't be jealous of the cleverness. (Unfort, I don't have photo documentation of this. Use your imaginations, please.)
I'll admit it was pretty rude of us, but we never got around to returning the fish to its rightful owner. So it was kind of involuntarily adopted. (Sorry, Ben.) Enter the awesomeness of buying Bop a new fish for Christmas.
Not only did I want to buy her a new finned friend, I wanted her new buddy to have a fetch home. (I just said fetch!) So I searched and searched the world wide web for a bowl that would fit Bop's personality. Finally. A match was made.
I wrapped it. Gave it to her with the addendum that we would soon visit the pet store so she could pick out her very own fish to live in this office within an office. So we finally find the time to use a lunch hour to pick out a fish, and Lionel Fishy is born to Bop. Done deal? Nope.
After taking the new bowl out of the packaging, Bop noticed it was cracked along one side and across the bottom. I called customer service and was told this product was currently out of stock. (I have since learned it's back in stock ... but is it now a moot point?) I wasn't going to give up. I purchased some epoxy in hopes that I could seal the crack. Suffering through a skunk-like stench, I made many attempts to make the bowl leak free and Lionel friendly. But after about the tenth try, I realized my efforts weren't good enough. So Lionel would have to live in his tiny quarters until another solution was reached.
Two months later, on my birthday vacation day off, I receive an email from Bop ... mourning the loss of a friend. Lionel died. I mean really? I have GOT to be the worst gifter ever. One slip and my reputation has been tarnished. I only hope I can regain position as an awesome gifter. Her next birthday is going to be a doozy!
17 March 2008
I also broke things.
In addition to my "what I did this weekend" post below, I forgot to mention that I managed to break two dishes: a porcelain mug and a tall glass. Almost a year and a half of owning my dish/glass sets, nothing broken. Not a one. Yet within two klutzo days, I'm now down to seven coffee mugs and five glasses. The mug doesn't bother me as much. I'm pretty much of the belief that coffee mugs are meant to be random. I like it when no one is the same. But the glass really gets at me. I immediately contemplated running to the nearest Target to replace it, even though I'd have to purchase a whole set of six. But either way, it will probably haunt my dreams. Exaggeration? No, not really.
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