- I mean, there's always the blaring fact that I write a blog at my job. Right now, for example, I'm sitting here pretending that I'm typing an incredibly important document. My brow is furrowed and I keep glancing at an invoice next to me like maybe I'm referencing important data or some price figures in this very important document I'm typing. What's funny is that I think they believe that I'm actually typing up something work related. Which is unbelievable because you're my boss–you give me things to do (which you haven't,) so what could I possibly be doing right now? But it doesn't matter! Because I look like I'm concentrating and I'm typing really forcefully. So it's completely irrelevant what I'm typing! Check it out–Cock! Balls! Shit! Damn! Hell! Fart fart fuckity fuck fuck this job fart fart balllllllsssssss! And all of these people still respect me. God I love corporate America.
- Tuesday morning my boss brought in some homemade guacamole for the office to noche on. I'm a guacamole addict, so I made myself a little platter and then died of happiness. Later that afternoon when I looked at my caller ID and saw that she was calling me, I picked up the phone with my mouth comically full of chips and guacamole and mumbled, "OH MY GAWWWDD, PLEASE STOP ME FROM EATING THIS GUAC!!!!!" I was met with an awkward silence and then, "Meghan, this is a conference call with Lockheed Martin's CFO and their design team talking about next week's event, got a minute?"........swallow. "Yes. Yes, I do." ........... Why? Why do I have to be me, all day, everyday?
- My eating habits have been scrutinized more than usual as of late because I essentially eat like a frat boy. I hate to cook. I'm sorry, but there it is. I know that cooking is a fabulous, sensual experience for the rest of the world, and I'm a woman so I should want to cook and spit out babies, but fuck that noise. It's a pain in my ass and a giant waste of time. I would much rather pour a good old fashioned bowl of Kashi Go-Lean Crunch cereal or not eat at all. My diet pretty much consists of the following: Kashi Go-Lean Crunch cereal, strawberry NutraGrain bars, a carafe of coffee a day, the occasional salad and a lot of beer. I like a good meal, don't get me wrong. Should someone else be gracious enough to cook for me, I'll cram food into my beak by the fist full. It's just that I don't have the time, energy or will power to go grocery shopping, chop shit, cook shit, worry I under-cooked shit, spend all of four minutes eating it and then 20 minutes cleaning up the mess. Do you know how many bowls of Kashi I could have poured in that time? Lots. This all makes me less of an adult, I know. But it's my prerogative to get scurvy, so step off.
- I'm panicky and irrational. I may be a lot of things, but logical and calm, I am not. Yesterday at a work function, I was in the back room of our studio making chocolate coated strawberries. I got one of those tubs of chocolate from Costco that you heat up in the microwave and then dip strawberries in and lay out on wax paper. And yes, I found a way to fuck it up (see above.) I overcooked the chocolate in the microwave and it started to congeal in the tub and wasn't viscous enough to coat the strawberries. Naturally, I panicked. I didn't want to my boss to know can't handle heating chocolate up in the microwave. I looked on the tub and read that if it gets too thick, do not attempt to cut with water, milk or butter, rather use vegetable oil. Well, I didn't have any vegetable oil and I knew my boss had been looking forward to these stupid effing chocolate strawberries for days, so I decided to get crafty and cut it with non-dairy creamer and half a bottle of Deer Park water I had been drinking at the time. It's disgusting, yes, but miraculously, it worked! My chocolate covered strawberries were the hit of the party. This morning, in fact, we had the leftovers on a tray in the middle of our conference table during our post-event marketing meeting and every time I thought to myself, "man, I'm pretty competent at this marketing thing," my back-wash infested strawberries would stare back, mocking me, reminding me that I am, above all things, an immature fuck-up.
- Yesterday I decided I needed a break from fake smiling and networking my face off and decided to sit at my desk and watch an Internet video that always makes me laugh, no matter how tired or cranky I am. The video is entitled, "Turtle Rapes Shoe," which is exactly what I was watching as Boss #2 walked up behind me and sternly asked "Meghan...what are you doing?"
I had to look my boss in the eye and actually say the words, "I am watching a turtle have sex with a shoe." She seemed disturbed, but not disturbed enough to fire me. But the fact remains; I risked my job and left a work function because I needed to watch a video of a turtle fucking a shoe.
- I sleep with a stuffed animal. Don't judge me. I don't sleep with him for emotional reasons and it's not like he's my childhood stuffed animal or anything (his name is Monty and he lives at my parent's house, thank you very much.) I got the stuffed animal from FAO Schwartz last year when Alex came to visit me in NYC for President's Day weekend. He's an over sized, plush fox named Jason (yes he's named after the actor Jason Shwartzmann, no I don't want to talk about it.) Jason is the most unreasonably comfortable creature in the entire world, and I've been using him as a neck pillow for the past year. His little body provides the perfect amount of neck support, and my face rests on his head at such an angle that all back pain I used to feel when I sleep is now a non-issue. Jason is key to my good night's rest, it just so happens that he's an adorable fox...who has a name. Recently, my chin has been breaking out and I hypothesized that it's because I haven't
To celebrate immaturity (and because I'm going to Alex's Ides of March toga party Saturday night,) this week we're playing The National Lampoon's Animal House Drinking Game!
- Glass breaks
- Anyone drinks
- Otter flirts
- Anyone says "faber"
- Anyone says "fraternity"
- Anyone says "frat"
- Anyone says "frat house"
- A car crashes
- There's a reference to the Jewish frat
As always, thank you for reading and spreading the 2b1b gospel, and I'll see you back in the office bright and early Monday morning!