Ooo. That was a little Don Imus of me.

OH GOD. I accidentally said something racist yesterday to Boss #1. My bad.

I got my hair cut Monday night. It was much needed. My hair was getting a little too "Horse Lover" for my liking. It was long and scraggly and every time it brushed against my back I'd shutter and be like "oh god my name should be Misty."

So, after work Monday night, I jogged over to Bang and hacked it all off. Madeline Kahn a la Mrs. White in Clue was my inspiration:


Russell-the-Co-Worker was the first at work to see my new do. "You...cut your hair." Yep! "...Did you ask them to cut it like that?" Uh, yes. "Oh. Well. It looks...nice." Thanks. I think?

Boss #1 came in later that afternoon and was much more receptive to the change. But then this highly unfortunate conversation happened:
Boss #1: So has Russell seen your hair yet?
Me: Yeah, he was in earlier.
B1: Did he like it?
M: Honestly, I don't think so. I don't think he meant to hurt my feelings or anything but he was all, "did you ask them to cut your hair like that on purpose?" LOL! Ohhhh Russell!
B1: Pshh! Don't let that bother you.
M: Oh, I'm not.
B1: I just think that men don't like change. That and I think they like long hair. Like, my husband won't let me cut my hair shorter than my shoulders, you know? But he'll get used to it.
M: Yeah, well, I'm not really that stressed about it. Russell isn't exactly the demographic of man I'm going for, if you know what I mean.
*ZACK MORRIS STYLE TIME OUT!* Now of course, the demographic of man that I was referring to was older, married men. Why would I go for Russell? Look at him; he's happily married, has a giant flock of kids and is old as fuck. The fact that he's black has nothing to do with anything, I swear! *TIME IN!*
B1: [Nods understandably] Gotcha. Have you ever tried dating a black guy? Had a bad experience or something?
M: No, although I did have a big crush on my morning Caribou barista who's bla—wait a minute...Oh! Oh, god! You thought I meant Russell isn't my demographic because he's black! *ZACK MORRIS STYLE TIME OUT!* Oh Meg. Why couldn't you have just let Boss #1 just think you're a giant racist? She's kind of a hillbilly, you know it didn't bother her. Why did you have to start digging a giant hole for yourself and then awkwardly try to climb out of it? Bless your heart...*TIME IN!* Because that's not what I meant. When I said "demographic." I meant he's married. And old. Not that he's old, old. Because you're probably the same age. [Boss glares at me] I just meant older. Than me. And married. And Russell. So he's not who I'm going for. I don't care that he's black. Because I like black people. A lot, actually! Haha...hah...I think I'm black on the inside. What's that called? An inside-out-oreo? Inside-out-twinkie? Oh no, that's as Asian thing. NOT THAT THERE'S ANYTHING WRONG WITH ASIANS. Although I've never dated an Asian either. Mostly I date white Jewish guys. But not on purpose! I don't like, profile or anything.
B1: Ok... [shifts eyes around and walks away]

BAHAHAHAHA! I out-overshared the Queen Oversharer! Yes, with accidental racism and then an embarrassing amount of effort spent trying to prove that I'm not racist, but still! I made her uncomfortable. Hats off to this girl.

Next step: talking about my snatch.

You'd think white slavery would pay better.

I've gotten a bunch of emails recently asking me whatever happened on the haunted hayride with my boss a few weeks ago. Seeing as I'm a lazy house cat, I thought I'd explain once en masse and save myself some trouble and you some curiosity. (I feel like there's a curiosity killed the cat joke I could make here, but I just can't get there.) (That's what she said.)

We all know that I don't do anything all day long. Well, that's not quite true. I breathe air. And drink coffee. And try to teach myself to write left-handed just for funsies. But besides that I don't really do anything. You see, I was hired to do marketing/event planning for my company three months before our market/eventing planning budget was cut by a whopping 80%. This means I can afford to throw a party once a month and serve hot pockets and 40s. The rest of the time I sit here and clip coupons and research ambidextrous training tips.

Boss #1 and Boss #2 are well aware that I have nothing to do all day. Why they haven't layed me off is a giant mystery that I don't like to think too hard about. On the rare occasion they actually come into the office, I just awkwardly shuffle blank pieces of paper around and type numbers into a blank excel spreadsheet while furrowing my brow in an attempt to look deep in concentration. I don't know why I do this. They know I'm not actually doing anything. And I know they know. And they know I know they know. It's like the skydiving scene in Break Point when Keanu Reeves knows Patrick Swayze is trying to kill him and Swayze knows that Keanu knows, and Keanu knows that he knows he knows and they keep switching their parachutes back and forth and it's like, holy shit who'll jump first?! Totally just like that.

Sometimes Boss #1 and Boss #2 like to take advantage of this and ask me to do random shit for them that has nothing to do with my job. For example, I have two responsibilities today: design and assemble Boss #1's best friend's daughter's baby shower invitations and research how to rent-out Fur Nightclub her daughter's 19th birthday party (local side note: LOLZ, right?! Nothing says "I'm turning 19!" like getting shot in the face by a crack dealer.) I'm happy to do this for Boss #1. For all intensive purposes intents and purposes I like Boss #1. Boss #2, however, is a whole other bag of crazy. I do not like the idea of helping her. Boss #2 is a mean old Mexican woman who scares the bejesus out of me. So when she comes into the office and says "grab your purse, we're going for a ride," I grab.

So, I hopped into Boss #2's unmarked white van, fully expecting to get knocked out and wake up in Tijuana hustling to sell chicle. Instead, Boss #2 just talked about her son's baseball camp for 15 minutes until we arrived at an office building in Crystal City, Virginia. Boss #2 then handed me a pad of paper and a pen and instructed me to pretend to take notes. "PRETEND. TO. TAKE. NOTES." I was there to pretend to be her personal assistant. Because, you know, having a personal assistant makes you look like a more impressive businessperson. I really wish I were making this up, but sadly I'm not. And this isn't the first time we've played this game! She's asked me to do this not once, not twice, but thrice before! Three times I've had to sit in on her incredibly long and boring meetings doodling Mrs. Meghan Ben From Ace of Cakes all over my binder. And the best part is that she didn't even take me back to the city when the meeting was over! She was like GOOD LUCK GETTING HOME ESSE! and floored it.

I mean, yeah we were by a metro, but still! If you're going to kidnap me and force me into some weird role-playing game, I'd at least like a ride back to the city. Common courtesy, people.