The Final Countdown

Gather around kids because we have 3 very important things to discuss today. I’d like to begin our conversation with one my biggest demons, a lifetime control struggle, an inner strife, if you will. Yes, that’s right, I’m talking about my daily battle with my pantyhose. Besides automatic transmissions, pantyhose may be the worst invention ever. Surely they were designed by the same geniuses that brought us the iron maiden and David Hasselhoff. Who else could wish to torture us so? If you’re a man reading this, let me explain. First, no matter how gentle I am sliding my legs into these delicate sheers, I always manage to snag them on something. Be it a hang nail, my hardwood floors or even a piece of dry skin (I swear it happened), I can’t manage to get them on without snagging or somehow defacing them. And they aren’t cheap. Second, even if you do manage to get them on properly, the crotch is usually at your knees by lunch and all hope is lost by 5pm. Third… well, I don’t really have a third, but if the first two aren’t enough to convince you, go get yourself a pair and try it for yourself.

The next thing I want to talk about is the woman that sits in the cube directly across from me. Since I’m the new kid in the publication department, I don’t get an office like the big girls. I get to sit in a cubical in the customer service department. This means I get to listen to one-ended telephone conversations all day long between our customer service reps and people with questions about their prearranged funeral. It seems like all of the questions are either about the balance of the plan or when a funeral that already happened will be paid on. Nonetheless, what I want to talk about is the woman across from me. I have no idea what her name is, but I know she has a feathered mullet and she wears a leather jacket regardless of the weather. She’s so cool. I wish I had that kind of dedication to being awesome. Oh wait, I do. Oh yeah, story. Anyway, she talks on the phone all day and calls people names. Not offensive names (well they are to me, but I’m an indifferent biatch), but cutesy names. We all know how I feel about cutesy. Anyway, here is my list of names, just from today, in the order in which they were said:

Angel, sugar, sugar baby, sugar booger, booger, the bomb, girlfriend, pumpkin, what’s up doc, and my personal favorite- suck butt.

Really? You can call people suck butt at work? I always thought sugar booger and pumpkin were entirely appropriate, but suck butt? Blasphemous.

Last, but not least I want to vent about ribbon magnets on cars. They’re really starting to get out of hand. Now that I have to drive 250 miles to get to work every day, I’ve noticed a plethora of these though provoking, ribbon shaped presumptions. I thought I’d seen them all… Cystic Fibrosis, Spay and Neuter, every cancer out there, Support Our Troops, Cardinals, Rams, you name it. But yesterday I was caught off guard. In a mad dash attempt to beat Clayton traffic, I left 5 minutes early, certainly ensuring myself a good spot on the highway. Instead, I got a ribbonful of anti-abortion. Half of this ribbon was dedicated to “Stop Abortions”, while the other half slyly reminded me to “Support the Unborn”. Don’t let me forget to mention that the center of the ribbon formed a heart that clearly stated, “I heart God”. Covered all the bases there! A sure ticket to the pearly gates of heaven! I have an even better idea, support the drivers behind you and take that shit off your car so I can drive without practically rear-ending you to read your bumper stickers. And don’t tell me to not read them if I don’t like them or I’ll remind you not to have an abortion if you don’t like them. Take that.

Well that’s all for today. And for a week at that, because for the next 7 days I’ll be rolling around in fresh powder in Breckenridge with a 157 centimeter long board strapped to my feet. See you when I get back, and I might even have a cutesy picture or two for you. HAH! YEAH RIGHT! (Ooo, that just reminded me that I totally pulled off a homo-said-what joke off yesterday.) Oh and also, for those of you that know what I’m talking about- I started THE book. For those of you that don’t, it’s a secret. Mwahaha.

Putting the "fun" back into funerals!

Well team, your favorite unemployed bloggernaut finally landed herself a job. Yes sir, goodbye to Missouri Department of Unemployment paychecks and hello to sweet, hard-earned moolah. I didn't fully understand where I worked until today, and to even use the word "fully" is a complete lie. It's more of a loose concept with self invented explanations and theories to make myself think I understand what it is that I do.
I take that back, I know what I do, it's my company I'm confused about. I am a publication specialist. Yes, you can have my autograph later. But really- I design brochures, letters, training manuals and any other publications within my company. What is my company you ask? Simply put, they sell death insurance. No, it isn't the same as life insurance, this specifically covers your death costs- whatever they may be. You give this company money to invest in a trust fund and when you die, they make sure all of your wishes are granted.
An ash coffin lined with red velvet in a thin cement vault? DONE!
Donating your liver to a cancer patient, your eyes to a blind man and your heart to the cruel? DONE!
Laying your lifeless corpse above ground to rot for all eternity in a "green" cemetery? DONE!
Since my computer hasn't been ready for me for 3 days, I've taken this time to read up on the funeral industry and my company in general. I've learned this much:

• The man in the office next to me looks EXACTLY like Daddy Warbucks. He makes me want to burst into song everytime I see him. Everyday I go home with "Together at last, together forever, we're tying a know, that no one can sever" in my head because it's the only words I know to the classic Annie/DW duet.
  
• There's a product that's a biodegradable seashell specifically designed to hold your crematory remains as you gracefully descend to the ocean floor.
• The reason coffins slide in and out of hearses so easy is because they have rollers in the floor, which makes me wonder if the coffins bounce around while driving? Hmmm?
• I think I'm allergic to my work because my eyes and nose water incessantly the minute I walk through the doors. The same thing happens to me at department stores and Wal-Mart. My mom used to tell me it was because I was allergic to the dyes in the clothes, but I think she was just trying to get me into the store. It's like how I tell people I'm "allergic" to raisins because I think they're disgusting shriveled pieces of rotten food, unless an instant gag reflex is an allergic reaction.
• There are motivational quotes all over that heed such warnings as, "Dance like no one is watching, sing like no one can hear, love like your heart has never been broken and whatever the rest of the bullshit is". The strange thing is that they all end in morbid suffixes like "because this could be your last 60 seconds- EVER". Now, I've never been one for inspirational quotes, and maybe they're trying to keep morality up with job security, but it's just terrifying me. I know I'm going to die and I know it might be when I fall asleep tonight, but honestly- I have a lot to do still. Maybe working here will shift me into second! Or I'll slip the clutch and kill it. Score one for bad analogies.

That's all I know for now. I'll keep you updated as more bizarre occurrences, well... occur. Stay tuned and remember... don't come around here looking for frequent updates or cutesy pictures, because you're just going to be disappointed! Yeehaw!