Aunts on Facebook

I have a couple of Great Aunts, and regardless of what it will seem, I do love them. I especially love that they are both on Facebook, and often post seemingly random comments and pictures. I've been saving some of these screenshots for a long time, but lately they have been more active.

The above was posted on a professional photographers photo of a young girl. My aunt doesn't know the photographer. Or even my niece per this comment:

My sister ended up deleting this comment because it comes off a little creepy. And mean.

Dear Asshat

Dear Asshat Riding a Motorcycle in my Residential Neighborhood,

The speed limit is 25. You can go faster? But for the love of all that is holy, do not try to pass me on the left, when I'm slowing down. Chances are I'm about to turn into my fucking driveway.

Sorry I almost killed you,
Ashley

P.S. turn your headlight on. It's pitch black outside; maybe if I'd seen you I wouldn't have a) almost killed you and b) laid on my horn. I hope your adrenaline is still pumping high.

Good Intentions

I have a cute pug-shaped chalkboard on the door to my office. When I first got it, I used it to leave messages as to my whereabouts and announcements I had. Soon people were leaving me messages or drawing cute things for me.Then I started finding fun things online and started doing more inspirational boards like this one:

I liked this one so much I Instagrammed it. 

Anyway, I pinned this one in December and was psyched to replicate it for my board as soon as 2013 rolled around. 

It stayed in place about three days before someone (oh I know who) changed it to this:

Because that person ran into an actual work situation in which she had to say, "Don't feed the goats." I liked this actually; it was far more appropriate for my sense of humor. Then last week happened. Many awful things occurred and a different co-worker said you know, "today is pretty bad but at least it can't eat us."

Late that same night, I discovered my goat feeding co-worker had posted this on facebook:

So while she was in an important meeting being elected President of a regional council, I sent her this one:

I got this back:

Living with Fritz

Fritz is my adorable french bulldog. OK, actually, he's my husband's. But I love him so I claim him. Even though he is so gross compared to my perfect, rock-star-esque pug named Pippa (we hate that Middleton chick; she stole Pippa's name). 

Fritz likes to pick fights with dogs that are bigger than him. He's a complete embarrassment in public. He has to walk in front of Pippa, because otherwise  he can't stop lunging for her legs. 

He RUNS to get under the covers at night. And the first thing he does when emerging is burp. 

He is the gassiest critter. I remember reading that characteristic in a book about frenchies but thought, oh, those people just don't feed nice food. Nope. 

I've been sick the last few days. It's not unusual for Pippa to stay right beside me - that's where she always is. Fritz has been velcro'd to my side. I think he's happy I'm sick.

Smokes vs. Popcorn

A co-worker says to me over beers, "Every time I get a bathroom break someone is either talking to themselves or taking off their shoes for popcorn money." 

Personally, I always thought that smokes were the favored bartering currency. I was wrong. Not where I work.

Microwave popcorn.

It's cheap. It's filling. It's not a candy bar. 

Cups

I was telling this story the other night and the person on the receiving end cried. This being said, I don't expect anyone else to cry.

I know a guy who paces all day. When he's not pacing, he's at the water cooler gulping water. Out of cups. Usually my cup. My morning grande cappuccino cup. The one with my name on it.

In my defense, cappuccino tastes weird out of anything except a paper cup. And I have recently made the change to the new recyclable cup.

Anyway. Sometimes we find a stash of cups in the building - hidden behind the fridge in the copy room. In a cabinet no one has thought to use in a year. In a locker in a corner. By stash I mean it can be upwards of 30 cups. NOT all mine. Cups are pilfered from everyone alike. Taken off desks, out of wastebaskets. New cups discovered in the board room after a meeting.

We always toss the cups.

We try to give this guy new cups. We let him store one cup in a safe place.

It doesn't work. I have finally come to the conclusion that he doesn't WANT his own cup - he wants my cup. Who knows why? It's likely so ingrained at this point, it can't ever change. And that's my job. To recognize this won't change, meet him there, and work on something else.

Like waiting until after lunch to come around collecting trash.

Velociraptors in the Workplace

It begins on Pinterest. A funny sign about Velociraptors in the Workplace. How they are not allowed. How many days since an incident.

I make my own and post in the ladies.

Unexpected results: I drafted a mock policy and procedure for reporting velociraptor incidents because I was immediately deluged with reports, both true and false.

Example A: Employee verbally attacked her supervisor. The attack was reported by the supervisor and strangely, verified by the attacking employee. This was deemed a true report and the count was set back to zero.

Example B: Popcorn was consumed in a non-popcorn approved location. This was deemed not an attack, just extraordinarily rude.

I'm lucky to work with people who have excellent senses of humor.

Tell me, what would velociraptor incidents look like in your home or office? How many days do you think you can go?

You will probably fail that drug test

That's what I told the guy who told me I looked like an aging, balding, male rock star on New Year's Eve.

I'll be honest, I was still so flattered by the first part - being told I look like a rock star - that it took a minute to register the slam. Fucker. 

He was very concerned about passing a drug test this week for a job. A job with a carpet mill; the very carpet mill he had as his first choice place of employment when he completed a degree at a local community college. He told us his dad refused to give him clean pee for his test. So he bought some synthetic pee and something called a whizanator. He was pretty anxious about the situation.

When the topic came up again, I shrugged and said, "I just don't think you're going to pass that test."

EDIT 1/23/13: He passed the drug test. I'm shocked at how disappointed I am. 

2013

It wasn't a bad year. It was pretty good. However, on the last day of the year someone told me I looked like a rock star. I was thrilled and flattered. Then he said, "you know - like Bret Michaels."

I obviously need to cut my hair.