Friday, April 15, 2005

Look out, ladies

Yesterday was the lunch outing for FunkyChick. What started as PartnerInCrime and JerseyGirl taking her out expanded when Nutjob got involved, and ended up becoming a nearly office-wide event. Even Jane, who can't stand FunkyChick or JerseyGirl, went along. I stayed behind, thankful for the conference call that kept me from being able to attend. Musketeer #1 was chagrined to find out that I wasn't going, but I assured him he'd do just fine with the rest of the girls there to keep him company. He filled me in this morning on how he made it interesting.

On the way back from the lunch, he rode in JerseyGirl's car with FunkyChick and Nutjob. As per custom, the three gals started lamenting what a sad thing it is that PartnerInCrime isn't dating anyone, since he's such a nice guy, and he just needs to work on his image a little more, etc. Musketeer #1 decided to help him out. Here is the conversation, as related to me by Musketeer #1, with strong admonition to keep a straight face and not give away his ruse.

JerseyGirl: I mean, he hasn't dated anyone for six years!

Musketeer #1: Well you know why that is.... he's embarrassed.

JerseyGirl: Embarrassed? What are you talking about?

Musketeer #1: Come on... he's nine inches. It's embarrassing.

JerseyGirl almost drove off the road and three women's jaws dropped and eyes bulged.

FunkyChick: Come on, how do you know that?

Musketeer #1: It's guy talk. Guys who are really small or really big are embarrassed and sometimes it's hard to date. MiddleAgedHippie is the same way.

I asked if he was sure they believed him... considering it was he who was imparting this information. Musketeer #1 said because he kept such a straight face, they bought it. Then he said you could see the gears start turning in their heads as they exchanged glances with each other. All the rest of the way back to the office and even in the elevator, they badgered him, made him swear on his kids that he wasn't putting them on. (He told me as he swore on his kids he thought in his head "I love my children, this has nothing to do with them", effectively cancelling out the swear).

Poor PartnerInCrime. He doesn't know the real reason why the girls have decided he should toughen up his image and go by the name "Snake". All that's left is to see how long it takes JerseyGirl to try to get into his pants.

Of course, I got a good kick out of this story. Then I got an uncomfortable feeling.

Me: So... what kinds of stories have you spread about me?

Musketeer #1: None. I don't talk about you like that.

Me: Give me a break.

Musketeer #1: Well... none... other than the one about the affair we had. I told everyone it ended badly because you broke my heart.

Considering the source, I'm figuring he's pulling my leg. I sure as hell hope so.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Nutjob on fire

It's birthday cake time again. And instead of our usual ice cream cake, we had regular sheet cake. What? No gasp of shock? No paroxysm of dissent? Could it be that no one else but Nutjob cares that much about what kind of cake we have?

This month one of the birthday-ees is FunkyChick. Woe unto her, she requested a "regular" cake instead of an ice cream cake. Nutjob, ever presenting the smiley helpful nice you-can't-live-without-me front, honored her request, but spent the entire two weeks leading up to Cake Day going around telling anyone who would listen that we wouldn't be having an ice cream cake this month. She then reported back to PartnerInCrime with glee whenever anyone expressed the slightest bit of disappointment (which most likely was in her own mind anyway). She rubbed her hands together with glee, and told him how happy it made her that "everyone wants ice cream cake". She was ecstatic at the thought that everyone would be so disappointed by FunkyChick's choice that they'd clamor for ice cream cake every month hence. She alternately vowed that she would never get another "regular" cake again, and swelled with pride at the fact that no one seemed to want the "regular" cake.

Yesterday was Cake Day, and I happened to be in the kitchen getting my lunch out of the refrigerator when everyone else was in there eating. What were they discussing? The cake. Nutjob was going on at length about the lack of ice cream in the cake, and successfully goading Musketeer #2 into a bitch session about how we're not having ice cream cake this month. (It doesn't take much goading to get him to bitch about something). They were all speculating on when the best time to eat the cake would be. I swore it was decided that 2:15 would be Cake Time, but 2:15 came and went, nary a slice of cake to be found. Ah but yes, I forgot that Nutjob has to control every little bit of this office tradition. She waited until 3:30 and then made the announcement over the intercom, which almost had me falling out of my chair:

"Would everyone please come to the kitchen for birthday cake? And it's NOT ICE CREAM!"

FunkyChick is so lucky that she gave notice and will be moving on from this nut house.


And that's not the last of the Nutjob stories involving food:

PartnerInCrime and JerseyGirl are taking FunkyChick out to lunch tomorrow as a "good bye good luck" type of lunch. It was just going to be the three of them, until Nutjob shoved her nose into it. While standing at FunkyChick's desk, Nutjob peered over FunkyChick's shoulder at her calendar and noticed it said "Lunch w/PIC" in tomorrow's box.

Nutjob (squeaky little girl voice): You're going to lunch?

FC: Yeah.

Nutjob (pouty/whiny little girl voice): Oh.... [silence] Oh, I want to go too!!!!

FC actually gave in and told her she could join them. I think I would have told her that for being nosy and for being rude enough to ask to be included, not only could she not come with us (if this was my lunch), but she'd be excluded from the next social lunch as well.

Farewell, FunkyChick. What more fitting way to leave the office than to have Nutjob worm her way into your goodbye lunch.

Friday, April 01, 2005

Back in her good graces?

I guess I'm off Jane's shit list. She's been coming to tell me little things here and there, which she had stopped doing for a while. Just a little bit ago, the Musketeers were reminiscing about a big fancy event we had, specifically, about FuckingLyingScumbag getting wasted and pawing FunkyChick, and asked what time I left the event.

Me: I left around 8pm

Musketeer #1: Ah, so you missed FLS's display.

Me: Yeah, thank god.

Musketeer #1: Good thing- he probably would have tried it on you. That would have been funny.

Me: No it wouldn't have been funny. I would have punched him in the face.

Musketeer #1: I know- that's why I said it would be funny. I'd love to see you deck him.

Ten minutes went by, and Jane came over to my cube, whispering.

Jane: See? See why I feel ignored in this place? They didn't ask ME what time I left.

Me: Are they really worth it?

Jane: No.... but I just feel like an old hag sitting over there, being ignored.

And this is my problem how?

April Fools' Update

The Musketeers and PartnerInCrime were trying to decide what to do to Nutjob's desk while she was up front answering phones. Ideas floated were: surrounding it with crime scene tape and sprinkling some white powder on her desk (she was super paranoid about anthrax during that whole scare); hanging the Dreidl Of Death over her desk and telling her it's December; putting clear packing tape across the entrance to her cube. Out of laziness, the packing tape idea won. However, I discovered the origin of the "fake donuts" joke she tried to pull this morning.

PartnerInCrime: She's upset that you didn't fall for her donut prank this morning.

Musketeer #1: You know why? Because about ten minutes before that, I told her and Musketeer #2 there were chocolate donuts in the kitchen, and they both jumped up and ran to look.

BlogCompany Op/Ed


Nutjob apparently felt the need to comment on a few recent events. After offering everyone donuts that she didn't have (April Fools!!!!), she started talking about Barry Bonds' girlfriend, who apparently is blabbing about his steroid use. This branched off into a discussion (don't ask me how) of mistresses recording their beau's coversations. Exhibit A was Gennifer Flowers' recording of Bill Clinton saying he hoped she got rid of his number because he wouldn't want people to know they were dating.

Nutjob: Well, we girls do that. It's called "evidence".

Thank you, you manipulative twat, for making the rest of us look bad. Yes, we are all as demented as you and sit around recording/spying on/worming into the family of our ex's or potential ex's.

She went back to her desk but the lone neuron in her brain must have fired because she jumped up again and came running over to Musketeers #1 and #3:

Nutjob: And how about that jerk!

Musketeer #3: What jerk?

Nutjob: Michael Schiavo- he won't even tell her parents where he's burying the body!

(Am I behind on my news? Has he changed his mind about cremating her?)

Musketeer #3 asked Nutjob for her feelings on the Michael Jackson case, but she either didn't hear him, or that lone neuron was busy with something else, like plotting her ex-boyfriend's public embarassment and demise.

And no Op/Ed roundup would be complete without Musketeer #1's views on the Pope.

1) The Pope is at home rather than in the hospital because he doesn't want what happened to Terry Schiavo to happen to him.

2) He better throw his hat in the ring soon, so he can be voted the next Pope.