Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Those silly girls

Hi-de-ho, readers. Are there any still out there (besides ever-vigilant Mr Ring of Fire, who by the way has been quite busy causing a ruckus on the west coast of the Americas and in Japan)? I think my co-workers are all comatose for the summer, because none of them has been doing much interesting lately. However, I just had quite an enlightening conversation with the broker who previously stated that it was beneath him to brew a pot of coffee. Remember him? I think it's time to officially induct him into blog infamy and give him a name: Mr. Misogyny. (sung to the tune of "The Magical Mr. Mistofolees").

I was in the kitchen, getting my mid-morning snack (or, for all you dorky Lord of the Rings fans, "second breakfast"), when Mr. Misogyny ambled in to get a cup of coffee, which fortunately had already been brewed by some industrious female (i.e., me). (Do you think I can possibly put more side comments in parentheses?). The fact that I was standing at the counter while fixing my snack, right next to the coffee pot, didn't deter him from shoving his arm in front of my face and floundering around for a coffee cup. I picked up my plate and moved.

Me: Oh, let me get out of your way.

Mr. Misogyny: Is that breakfast?

Me: Nope, just a snack.

Mr. Misogyny: We're having a real problem with Jill (his kindergarten-age daughter) with dinner.

Me: Oh yeah? She's a picky eater?

Mr. Misogyny: Yeah, well she's a typical girl.

Me: Oh? What's that?

Mr. Misogyny: Well you know how girls are.

Me: No, I don't. All girls are picky eaters?

Mr. Misogyny: Well my niece is, my other niece is, why should my daughter be any different?

Me: Huh. I thought kids in general were pretty picky about their food.

Mr. Misogyny: Yeah well, you know little girls...

No, not really, I don't. If my own niece is anything to go by, she blows his theory out of the water. She'll eat anything you put in front of her, whether or not it's actually food. Of course she's still in the shove-everything-you-can-get-your-hands-on-into-your-mouth stage, so maybe that doesn't count. But maybe the fact that Jill has a total dickwad for a dad is stressing her out. She's useless at this age anyway, considering she can't make coffee yet.

Monday, June 13, 2005

Surprise!

Since Nutjob has been going around asking everyone about their weekends in hopes that they will ask about hers, I have heard about her trip all morning. I have a very strong feeling that the poor bastard indeed didn't know about this little visit. Apparently, ever since the accident he's been in and out of the hospital for various things. Also apparently, Nutjob didn't know he was back in the hospital with some kind of pancreas problem, because she had been making all kinds of plans for touristy things they could do together while she was there. Now, if you knew you had a guest coming for the weekend, and you were admitted to the hospital, you'd call the guest and tell them, right? If it was an especially good friend, they might come to see you anyway, but if it was someone you'd say, oh, only seen once before when you met in some vacation spot, you might think they'd change their plans and come another time. Judging from Nutjob's story, she wasn't even aware he was in the hospital until she got there. But that hasn't diminished her giddiness at having new prey to stalk. She is bubbling with excitement this morning, telling everyone that he was happy to see her and told her she "looked great", and really liked the giant oversized obnoxious card she brought him, with pictures of said vacation spot taped inside.

This woman will be on the news some night, I guarantee it.

Thursday, June 09, 2005

Aloha, twit

I know you're all suffering from Nutjob withdrawal, so here's a little tidbit for you to slake your thirst.

Firstly, she is trying to outdo herself when getting dressed every day. Yesterday she wore a Hawaiian print sundress. Today she wore a very bright yellow Hawaiian print sundress, with a flourescent hibiscus flower in her hair. I shit you not. It's attached to a barette or something, and is bright-ass orange and yellow. Tomorrow is Friday, and we have dress-down days on Fridays. I'm frightened.

Secondly, I think I've mentioned the saga of the "boyfriend" in the hospital, whom she is stalking, but it bears repeating. Several months ago, she made a trip to Florida, where she met (and spent a grand total of one afternoon with) a guy. When she came back she was telling everyone he was her boyfriend. I don't know all the details but apparently he doesn't live in Florida, he lives in a city in the northeast. He got into a pretty bad auto accident and was in the hospital for a while, during which time Nutjob wanted desperately to send him a card, but no one in his family would tell her where he was. Not to be thwarted, she sent numerous cards to his home address, and finally cajoled the hospital address out of his nephew. There is no low to which she will not stoop...

Anyway, she is going to this northeastern city this weekend, for what I can only assume is a visit with this guy. I wonder if he even knows she's showing up? For the last two weeks, she has asked at least four different people in the office for driving directions. Each person has given her a slightly different route, and she is only getting more confused the more people she asks. Musketeer #3 decided to have some fun with her.

Musketeer #3: You know, Stonerboy's directions take you over the Tappan Zee. In rush hour. (all the routes so far take her over that bridge)

Nutjob: Oh....

I missed part of the conversation due to a phone call. It must have been good because here's what I heard afterward:

Nutjob: Well I've driven on that bridge. That's that really long bridge, right? Way up high? I used to drive on it in Connecticut.

Musketeer #3: It's not in Connecticut.

Nutjob: I mean... on my way back and forth to Connecticut. I had a boyfriend there. [Is there a state in this union she hasn't dated someone from?]

The last person I overheard giving her directions was totally confusing her. Not hard to do, I know. But maybe there's some hope for this poor hospitalized guy after all. I wish I could warn him that she was on her way. Flourescent hibiscus and all.