Me

Posts about me!

I Do Not Know Everything

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Or: Why I Will Totally Mess with People Who Constantly Ask Me Questions That Don’t Pertain to My Job

When I first became an official grown up*, I was so excited. I’d conquered college. I’d graduated with honors. I had a cap, a gown, and the world’s most expensive piece of paper proving I was ready to be gainfully employed. I was about to become a professional.

*When I received my very first mildly threatening phone call from the people who own my student loans.

But it came with a hat

Ahhh…the naive enthusiasm of youth. That piece of paper cost $87,000.

I started my career as a Publisher’s Assistant**, which is about as low on the corporate ladder as you can get. EVERY question I was asked pertained to my job. I knew when every meeting was, I knew how to contact printers, and I knew exactly which exotic land (Iowa) was shipping that giant box of fortune cookies we’d ordered. I knew how much it weighed and how many days it was due in transit. I felt like a knowledge guru. It was epic.

**All-purpose office minion.

And it was my job.

Now I am older. I’m probably wiser. But mostly, I’m a more specialized*** asset for my employers.

***expensive

Climbing the corporate ladder means my job no longer includes a lot of the in-office maintenance, and it also involves knowing less about projects I have nothing to do with. Mostly because I’m being paid to deal with completely different projects (which I happen to know lots about. Oodles, even.)

On the one hand, it’s kind of sad to not know about where boxes of fortune cookies are in transit. On the other hand, I know more about things like “Return on Investment” and “market response.” I still try to know as much as possible about what’s going on around me, but some things I just have no reason to know.

(I’d still like to know where the boxes of cookies are, though.)

But that doesn’t stop people from asking me lots and lots of questions about things I’m not involved in. Without providing context. It’s perplexing, and kind of implies they think I know everything.

This is becoming an exciting new game for me, and a dangerous game for them. Because I like making things up. It’s like a science experiment.

I'm serious. People ask me this. A lot. Maybe I'm accidentally dressing like a US Postal Service employee every day?

I’m serious. People ask me this. A lot. Maybe I’m accidentally dressing like a US Postal Service employee every day?

Coworker: “So how much does this box weigh?”

Me: “Three tons. You are amazingly strong.”

Coworker: “No! Seriously. I need to know.”

Me: “Why are you asking me?”

Coworker: “Because I need your help.”

Me: “…What?”

Coworker: “So how much does it weigh?”

Me: “…127 ounces. And be sure to get them to add flammable liquid insurance****. It won’t ship without it, and I heard someone say we need to get it on every package we send.”

Coworker: “Really? Thanks!”

Me: “Have fun at the Post Office.”

****Apparently this box was full of promotional notepads.

This may seem a little harsh. What you need to know, however, is that my job has literally nothing to do with shipping things, or with determining box weights. Our office also has a scale. (Like I said: Everyone is on a diet.) Periodically, I remind people that their guess is as good as mine. In fact, their guess is probably better than mine, because shipping things is part of their job, and they do it all the time. They’re good at it. I am not.

I'm changing my name to Encyclopedia Brown

^ Actual question I have been asked. Verbatim.

Coworker: “So, which form are we sending to the conference?”

Me: “Sorry, but I don’t know. I’m not part of the conference team. If I had to guess, I’d say Form A. But you should probably ask-“

Coworker: “You’re really being unhelpful.”

Me: “…The CEO. You should definitely go ask the CEO. He knows for sure.”

Coworker: “Isn’t he in meetings all day?”

Me: “I thought you said this was important. Probably important enough that he won’t mind if you barge right in and ask him about a conference that has a whole team dedicated to it.”

Generally, these questions occur while I am working on some sort of rapid turn-around project. That limits my ability to commit vengeance beyond bad advice and quick-fire sarcasm.

So, to save everyone’s time, I am confessing this here on the Internet.

I do not know everything.*****

*****Just a lot of things that absolutely no one should know.

Leave Me Alone

Someday, however, I am going to be less busy. Someday, I will get my revenge. 

Life Lesson: Trying to be Normal Makes Me Weirder

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Life Lesson 7,247:

Listening to Talk Radio while you’re in the shower does not convince anyone that you are a normal adult.

Most people probably don’t believe me, but I’ve spent a really absurd amount of my life thinking up ways to be a more “normal” adult.*

*Because that is definitely a sign of normalcy. As is, of course, this.

When I was a small child, I read very large books, convinced that adults would take me more seriously and I would be viewed as the most normal, well-adjusted child.

Seriously - Thanks!

Look. In my defense, I was like, 6 when I developed this theory. Also, my parents had me convinced it was cool to be smart. _Thanks_, parents.

This tactic did not work. As it turns out, reading very large, literary books when you are very small makes you a total weirdo. Both adults and other children will perceive you this way. Probably because you smell like a library and can define “supercilious.”

As an adult, I turned to Talk Radio (specifically NPR) to help me be perceived as both intelligent and normal. What could be better than having someone tell me all about current events and wars and new music and pop culture? I determined that listening to it in the shower every morning was even more brilliant, because by the time my work day started, I was completely** informed about the happenings of the world.

**20 minutes worth of informed.

It has taken be about 6 years of adulthood*** for me to realize this tactic also does not work. Instead of being viewed as charming, informed, and normal, people view me as knowing an abnormal amount about things like horrifying wars and interviews with obscure geniuses from foreign lands.

***Adulthood, of course, not starting until the point after college graduation where your liver has healed FROM college.

In other words, NPR is totally awesome, but it makes you weirder than you were before.

Also, they have Sandwich Mondays.

It's kind of amazing I'm not fired

As a reward for learning a life lesson, here is a Post-It Note Confession that I randomly left, unsigned, on a coworker’s desk. Because I’m _normal_.

Everyone in My Office Is on a Diet

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Alternative Title: Why I Went Home and Made Junk Food Last Night

Seriously. They’re counting calories; I’m experimenting with hot sugar in my kitchen. It’s like some kind of instinctive response to the people around me obsessing about numbers on the scale.*

In response to this in-office diet craze, where everyone is eating scads of steamed broccoli and cringing while staring at the break room candy with longing, I went home last night and made marshmallows.

Peanut butter “swirled” marshmallows.

With chocolate on them.

This is not what my marshmallows look like.

This is what chocolate covered, peanut butter filled marshmallows look like…if you know what you’re doing and use a recipe.
*Courtesy of Fancy Toast. Click to discover delicious.

Admittedly, I did it with the same level of artistry as the entire Nailed It! section of Pinterest.

But anyway, they’re totally delicious.

So here’s how you make marshmallows if you’re also watching TV and eating all the ingredients at the same time.

1: Evaluate possible recipes.

2: Disregard all recipes and decide to wing it, based on what you remember about the recipe you used last time.

3: Assemble ingredients you think you’ll need. Replace the raw honey you used last time with Karo syrup and sugar in whatever amount you feel like. Because, you know, we’re not going for natural or healthy here.

Valentine's Day Toaster Not Included

Everything you need to make marshmallow blobs.

4: Dump gelatin into your mixer with some cold water. Stare at it for awhile, while making a “gross” face. Poke it once or twice to make sure it’s not alive.

Probably The Blob's Offspring

When you poke it, it sort of gooshes AND wobbles.

5: Since the gelatin didn’t attack you or eat your poking finger (which is super definitely extra washed and hygienic), ignore it and dump the sugar, karo syrup and water into your pre-prepared pot on the stove. Turn on the heat and stick your preposterously sized candy thermometer in the mix.

This picture is why there is a glob of sugar cemented on my phone

This pot is actually too big for this task, but turns out sugar, corn syrup and water don;t boil up the same way honey does. Science!

6: When the candy thermometer says the boiling substance will melt all your skin off, but won’t form a hard ball in water, pull it off the heat. Then, pour it down the side of your mixer into the gelatin, with the mixer going on low or medium. Or, if you have my ancient mixer, make sure it’s going on any speed it’s willing to work on.

Actually, I didn't eat the syrup. I couldn't get it off the bowl.

Point of fact: It is only AFTER you eat cemented sugar that you will remember you have a dentist appointment in the morning.

7: Fetch peanut butter. Then, fetch more peanut butter because you ate the spoonfuls you set aside for marshmallow making.

A peanut allergy would literally kill me

It’s peanut butter!

8: When marshmallow fluff is successfully whipped into coolness, mix a third of it with peanut butter.

This is how you get Diabeetus

Be sure to eat any fluff that happens to stick to the mixer attachment.

9: Spread the marshmallow fluff in your pre-prepared pan, and attempt to swirl the way-too-cooled-for-this peanut butter fluff in too. Smack the whole thing a few times with your spatula, then decide you don’t care if it’s ugly, because you’re going to make them beautiful by dipping them in chocolate.

...I am totally keeping my day job

Total artistry, I know. I could probably give up my day job and rely solely on my marshmallow making. _Definitely_ Also, be sure that all pictures of marshmallow blobs are blurry.

10: Eat disgusting lime jello while you wait for marshmallows to set.

There is not always room for jello

This ALSO gooshes and wobbles.

11. Get tired of waiting, and chop up marshmallows after 2 hours instead of the needed 3-4.

This is why we can't have nice things.

Alternatively, you could probably just eat the whole blob.

12. Attempt to make chocolate for dipping using only the ingredients you find in your closet and your microwave. Burn two batches of chocolate and hit your head on the microwave door. Melt a third batch, and dump chocolate haphazardly over the marshmallows because now you just want to go to bed.

Still totally. Freakin'. Delicious.

This is why I will not be giving up my day job for confectionery artistry.

Know what? They taste totally amazing though.

Anyway, other people’s diets are bad for my health, so if you could all just start loving yourselves, I’d appreciate it.

*This is totally ridiculous to me.We all want to be thinner, prettier, fitter, but how is subjecting each other to weekly weigh-ins in the workplace, while demanding total secrecy about that number on the scale, improving anyone’s health?

If a woman somehow looked like supermodel, but happened to weigh 300 pounds, I’d just be impressed by her ability to store mass. I mean, she’d be a science magician. But for the most part…we see each other every day. You can look at someone and have a rough understanding of their body weight.**

**Unless you’re me, and you ignore math and science completely and just make things up.

Confessions of an Otherwise (sort of) Dedicated Blogger

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I’m very sorry, y’all.

My couch is more comfortable than my keyboard

I know. You’re all very sad about this. I feel just _awful_.*

*Actually what I feel is very, very well rested.

So, instead of a normal blog post, today I bring you my favorite thing I’ve said all week, in eCard form, and all the cool things I’ve found on the Internet while I should have been writing blog posts.

This week in conversation:

What? Do you not know people who have vampire catastrophes?

I really talk like this, y’all. It’s pretty awful to know me.

Meanwhile, on the Internet:

You have more body parts than you thought you did.  Seriously, doctors? Where have you been? 

My friend Andy skipped a blogging day and I am telling everyone I know about it. Way to go, Andy.

The entire Internet is obsessed with Siracha Candy Canes.

Do not buy these for me.

Science hates teddy bears and they proved it with a cloaking device.

Speaking of toys, here are some really, really disturbing ones. Honestly? Who lets these people around other people? Some people should not be allowed to invent things.

We forgive science for hating teddy bears, because they also agree I’m right about Daylight Savings Time being evil, and Standard Time being awesome. And healthy.

Also, there’s a new T-Rex. SERIOUSLY you guys! They found more dinosaurs!!!!!!

And ultimately, this can lead everyone to the conclusion that I love Time’s Newsfeed. Happy Friday, everyone.

There Comes a Time in Every Girl’s Life…

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When she has to learn to get rid of some of her damn shoes.

This sounds like a cliché, I know. You could interpret this as some awkward admission that I have a shoe-shopping problem.

This is not true.

What I have is a problem with getting rid of shoes. I buy them and wear them and then never, ever, ever get rid of them. The live in my closet, they get packed up and shifted for moves, and slowly but surely a few shoes turn into a lot of shoes.

Now this can be a problem for some ladies. You finally find the perfect pair of pumps, or the most practical set of flats. You hang onto them forever and get them fixed when you wear them out. And for guys? You’ll wear the same shoes until you can no longer deny the holes, and then grab a replacement pair when the others hit the trash can. (Sexist generalizations? Who? Me?!) Not me. I keep ridiculous shoes, hideous shoes, impractical shoes, and useless shoes. Even I don’t know why.

Don’t believe me? Let’s start in chronological order for a few choice items still living in my closet, shall we?

Exhibit A: Too many black flippy floppies

Exhibit A: Too many black flippy floppies

Exhibit A: The flip flops purchased in sophomore year of high school. And these are not the only pairs of black Tevas I own. They’re just the oldest ones. The ones I’ve had forever. The ones I no longer wear because I have newer ones. But these seem fairly practical to keep around the closet, right? Let’s move on…

Practical Fall Footwear

Exhibit B: Several thousand pounds of boots, compressed into one seriously overkill pair.

Exhibit B: THE BOOTS. These glorious creations, which even have attachable front covers with spikes and zippers so stiff you have to douse them in WD-40 just to make them move an inch, were purchased my junior year of high school. I’d just discovered eBay auctions, and a whole new world of gothic attire was suddenly available to me.  I have not worn them in five years…and that time was for Halloween. But still, they continue to take up (an absurd amount of) space in my closet.

But don’t worry, My high school years weren’t all about highbrow fashion:

Truly vintage Addidas. These are probably collector's items.

Exhibit C: Real vintage Addidas running shoes, circa late 2002.

Exhibit C: The running shoes I bought at the start of my senior year of high school. It was beautiful late summer. I was getting in shape to for impending college* departure. And these shoes, a size and a half too large and in the men’s section, captured my heart. And despite having no tread on the bottom anymore, and the arch support of flattened cardboard, they have remained in my closet.

*slow-motion jogging to the 7-11 up the street for mini donuts and slurpees.

But it doesn’t stop there…

Not suitable for use on the ice planet Hoth.

Exhibit D: They light up. Seriously.

Exhibit D: The pride and joy of any woman’s classy, everyday footwear collection: The light-up Star Wars sandal. These I acquired my sophomore year of college, and wore through summer suns and New England snowstorms. What girl could resist velcro sandals with flashing lights? Not this one, that’s for sure.

And then I grew older…

Handcrafted by the Spanish Inquisition.

Exhibit E: Torture devices in the guise of graduation-ready high heels.

Exhibit E: My college graduation heels. Now, keep in mind that I graduated in 2007. So maybe these were some sort of glorious, high-investment shoe? Oh nay nay. These beauties right here were a Payless purchase, The first day I wore them, they split my heels and blistered my toes. They’re a size too big, and viciously uncomfortable. And I have yet to get rid of them.

Surely we’re done, right?

WRONG.

Eat your heart out, Dorothy

Exhibit F: There’s no place like my closet…There’s no place like my closet.

Exhibit F: The Ruby Slippers. Bought in 2009 to be practical, fun work shoes. And so they have been. They have been repaired twice….and yet….

When good heels go bad

Exhibit F.1: Not recommended for travel on the yellow brick road.

I have destroyed them. Shoe repair people shake their heads at me, and tell me to invest in new heels. I don’t wear these anymore, as they’re capable of destroying carpets and clawing hardwoods to shreds…

…But I just can’t bring myself to get rid of them.

Help.