What Happens at Work When I’m Bored. A (Somewhat Blurry) Photoessay.

So I have this shirt.

It’s alright, as shirts go. Certainly not fashion-forward, in any sense of the term. But it’s…kinda cute, and it serves its purpose, which for me means it gives me something to wear to work when I don’t feel like wearing my usual scrubs.
But what is that little ass pocket for? As far as I can tell it’s too small to serve any real function.
My pens would fall right out of there. Not good.
Handheld computerized Yahtzee? Maybe. But the battery’s dead, so no point in that.
Hello Kitty? Oh, I wish. But she might fall out and get lost forever. Sadness.
Paperclips = lamesauce.
Wait a minute…what’s this?
Swedish Fish? Perfect fit!
And delicious, to boot.
Om nom nom.
Adios, fishies!

Ladies and Gentlemen, My Mother.

The scene: This past Sunday afternoon, while floating in mom and dad’s pool:

“Momma, you have a follow up with Dr. R. on Tuesday, how’s your knee feeling?”

“Still no better. Think I’m going to need that MRI after all — hey, I’m stopping at the farm stand tomorrow, want me to bring you any veggies when I come down? Fresh tomatoes or something?”
“You don’t need to buy me –.”
“Do. You. Want. Vegetables?”
“Oh, alright. But I’m good with tomatoes. Maybe yellow squash? Or broccoli. That’s enough.”
“Mmm-hmm. And what about green beans?”
“You don’t have to buy me–“
“Do you want green beans, if they have them?”
“Sure. I’ll take green beans, if they have them. But don’t go nuts.”
“Of course I won’t, honey.”
Cut to today, 10 am. I’m at work. My cell phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Jenny, can you come to the back entrance? I want to give you those veggies. I’d bring them in with me but there’s a couple of bags here.”
“Mom, I told you not to get a lot–“
“Jennifer, come get your vegetables.”
“Yes, mom.”
Safe to say I’ll be eating healthy this week.

I Am A Delicate Flower.

I spent some time on the phone today calling a couple different companies inquiring about phone, internet, and TV service because my bill had become outrageous – to the tune of $270 a month.

Dudes. I KNOW.
So, anyway, I called a couple companies, got some prices for their bundled packages, and then called my provider telling them I wanted to cancel service, which of COURSE got them to lower my bill (I did lose a couple services, including 20 Mb internet which I had NO idea I had – unnecessary!), and I’m ending up saving almost $90 per month.
ANYWAY.
I was talking about the situation with my co-workers, going over the pros and cons of each company, when this little exchange occured:
D: But with (company redacted), they charge you per TV.
Me: I only have one TV.
D:Really? You don’t have TV in your bedroom?
Me: No. Bedrooms are for sleeping and fucking. Not watching TV.
Wilson:JESUS!
Me: Oh, look. I think Dr. Z.’s head just exploded.
two minutes later….
Wilson: You know, Jenn, I used to have an idea about what went on in the work place as far as propriety and professionalism went.
Me: Oh, honey, that flew out the window long ago.
*cue evil laughter*

He’s Not Cooking for Me, Ever.

Me, to Wilson: “Look at this!”

Wilson: “Homemade Pop Tarts? mmmm. What’s in them? Gummy Bears?”
Me:”Ha ha, no, looks like cinnamon and brown sugar, and ooh – Nutella! mmm, Nutella.”
Wilson: “What is Nutella? I hear a lot about it, but never tried it.”
Me: “Oh my word, it’s this spreadable chocolate with hazlenut flavor – the first time I ever had it, I swear I had an orgasm right in the kitchen. Have you ever had a Rocher?”
Wilson: “The candy? No.”
Me: “Oh, well it’s like a wafer with a hazelnut and Nutella inside. It’s delicious.”
Wilson: “So, what, you just put it on stuff?”
Me: “Yeah, or in pastry. You should get it for Julie, she’d probably hump your face she’d love it so much. I’ve seen people make Nutella sandwiches. But, mostly you spread it on stuff…”
Wilson: “Like steak?”
Me: …

There’s No Point To This Whatsoever.

Ok, so! I have a (slightly[probably only to me]) amusing story to tell you about my adventures today. But it’s one of those stories that you need to hear about three different back stories on, so bear with me.

Anyway. I’m having a small group of friends over for a BBQ tomorrow night, just throwing some burgers and chicken legs on the grill and some beers in the cooler. It’ll be fun times. You should totally come. And today I decided I’d run to the grocery store during my lunch hour and get all the groceries I need for this BBQ and save myself the time after work. I decided to go to a store different from my usual because they have a better produce selection, and their prices are very reasonable.
I’m all about saving money, you see.
So! Okay, here’s the back story: I work with a lady who, let’s just say, has some quirks. Some peccadilloes. Some idiosyncrasies, if you will. Alright, I’ll say it.
She’s a tad weird.
But totally not in a bad way. She just (I think) has some (possibly undiagnosed) OCD going on, and some definite anxiety/nervous tendencies. Most days it goes unnoticed, especially because I don’t work directly with her, but some days? Dudes. Some days I just want to say, “GIVE IT A REST. IT’S FINE. YOU DON’T HAVE TO CHECK THAT TRIVIAL THING FIVE TIMES.” But I know that would send her into even more of a tizzy, so I just keep my mouth shut and am thankful that she does check that trivial thing five times because what if she hadn’t and something got mixed up. And I get why she is anal about everything because I totally understand the need for order and organization. I am a Virgo, you know.
Anyway. Wilson mentioned to me one day that this person (let’s call her Twitchy, ’cause it’s fun) resembles a pop culture icon from the early 90’s.
Yes. She looks like Garth Algar, of Wayne’s World fame. More specifically, she looks like the girl in the sequel to the Wayne’s World movie (remember that steaming pile of poo?) that looked like Garth.
Her.
Side note, did you know that’s Olivia freaking D’abo? The ‘hippie older sister’ from The Wonder Years. I never knew. Huh.
Anyway, yes, Twitchy looks exactly like that. And we’ve had a little fun with it ever since. Which, yes, is kind of mean, but Wilson and I pick on everyone, including each other. Mercilessly. Besides, it’s kind of awesome that Twitchy resembles someone remembered so fondly in my teenage memories.
OKAY! Back to today, where I’m at Valley Farmer’s Market, otherwise known as The Land of Awesome Produce and Phenomenal Butcher Counter, and I’m running around like a fool because it’s not my usual grocery spot so I don’t know where everything is, and did I mention it’s Old People Senior Citizen Day, so isn’t that lovely (don’t get me wrong, I treasure the older generation and think we have much to learn from them but DUDE I AM TRYING TO BUY EGGS GTFO PLEASE), getting stuck behind Ma and Pa Kettle in the dog food aisle when I have TWENTY MINUTES ZOMG to get back to work.
So I grab the last of my items and jump into line to check out. I was lucky enough to get on line right behind someone that was almost done checking out, so I loaded my goods on the belt and waited patiently while their groceries were rung up and bagged. They paid and left, and I looked expectantly at the cashier waiting for her to begin my order. Except that it was apparently shift change and that cashier was switching with a new cashier. Which meant they had to switch out money, cash drawer, etc.
Now this was fine, I’ve worked a cash register or two in my day, and I know how that sort of thing works. I waited patiently as the new cashier put her drawer in, and got her money in order. And put the receipt envelope in the drawer. And put her pens side by side next to the register. And put her lip balm next to the pens. And her anti bacterial hand gel and OH GOOD LORD I GOT THE OCD CASHIER.
Now, let me tell you, I am not one of those people who has to have everything separate in their grocery bags. I don’t care if there’s bars of soap in with my milk. I don’t mind if you put more than two bottles of soda in one bag. Just don’t squash my heirloom tomatoes or my bread (should I have any) and we’re okay. I usually prefer to bag my own items just to facilitate the process, but OCD Cashier was not. Having it.
Ring three items. Put them in a bag. Right two more. Put them in the bag. Get a new bag. Fix new bag on the bag hanger. Open new bag. Fix bag again. Open bag wider.
Cut to Jenn, slowly dying inside.
During the whole grocery-ringing fiasco, I was texting Wilson, because damn it someone needed to share in my misery.
JC: OMG Dude I’m at Valley Farms and I swear I have Twitchy’s long-lost sister as a cashier. FFS.
Wilson: Garth?
JC: ha ha, no. just anal and OCD and OMFG SO SLOW.
Wilson: Ah, gotcha. Yikes.
JC: But her OCD did just spy a coupon on my garbage bags so good on you, annoyingly anal cashier.
JC: AND HOLY SHIT SHE DOES LOOK LIKE GARTH BUT WITH BROWN HAIR. TOTALLY TWITCHY’S SISTER.
JC: AWESOME.
At some point Wilson stopped replying, which often happens when I go off on tangents at the grocery store, so I’m used to it. As is he.

If It’s A Girl? Jennifer, Of Course.

My brother from another mother closest work friend Wilson just told me this week that his wife is expecting their second child. I reacted in the typical girl fashion; that is to say I squealed, clapped my hands, jumped up and down, and tackle/hugged him until he said, “Okay, okay, shh.”

I tend to get excited at good news. Ask my BFF J, who gave me the same news as Wilson did earlier this week and I almost dropped the phone. (Yep, I’m going to be ‘Aunt Jenn’ again, I’m so thrilled for J & E. I’m also not drinking the water, because. Dude. So many babies!)

Anyway. With impending baby news comes impending ‘What are we going to name the baby’ speculation, and Wilson wasted no time combing websites looking for names for his (possibly) baby boy. I rallied for Lucius. As in Malfoy. Wilson’s wife J shot it down hard. Sad Panda.

They’re looking for a name that goes with their chosen middle name (a family name), Justice, which just made this the most awesome game ever. I’ve taken to inter-office emailing him when inspiration strikes. Here are just a few of my favorites.

To:Wilson
From: JC
Subj: I’ve Got It.

Knight.

Knight Ryder Wilson.

You’re welcome.

To:JC
From:Wilson
Subj:Re:I’ve Got It.

No.

Damn.

To:Wilson
From:JC
Subj:YES.

Stark.

Stark Justice Wilson.

Dude. You are FUCKING WELCOME.

To:JC
From:Wilson
Subj:Re:YES

No.


Sonofa…

To:Wilson
From:JC
Subj:Seriously.

Steel.

Steel Justice Wilson.

AM BABY-NAMING GENIUS. NEED TO WRITE BOOK ON NAMING BABIES.

Didn’t get a reply to this one, actually.

Big mistake, Wilson. Huge.

Now I start to get desperate.

To:Wilson
From:JC
(No subject)

Tracker.

Trapper?

TRIPPER. AS IN JACK.

You know, Three’s Company?

COME ON.

*Crickets*

The hell? THIS IS BABY-NAMING GOLD. YOU ARE MISSING OUT, MR. WILSON.

The Hail Mary:

To:Wilson
From:JC
(no Subject)

Plaxico?

T. Rex?

SPIDERMAN

Nothing.

I’m entirely underappreciated.

Wilson told me later that so far he and J are liking the name Logan.

“Like Wolverine, snikt snikt?” I said, hopefully, making Wolverine hands (like jazz hands! Only with pantomiming Adamantium claws!)

“As in Wolverine, snikt snikt.”

“I suppose that’s fine.”

SQUEE!