Nobody Move!

There's a family of geese outside. And I want a gosling.

I will name him Jeffrey and I will feed him gummi bears.

And he shall wreak sweet, goose-y vengeance on mine enemies.

Tremble in the face of your doom evil doers!

Red Shirts

I've likened my role as "breaker-of-bad-news-to-angry-Italians" to any number of helpless ensigns assigned to away missions with Jim or Jean Luc or Ben or Katheryn.

Except I don't even have the benefit of a phaser...

Unintended Consequences

I've discovered an unexpected danger of reading DamnYouAutoCorrect.com at work:

The offending post:

Come To Think of It, I Do Remember Seeing Train Tracks...

This morning I stopped to buy a bagel and some tea. Dunkin Donuts is notorious for getting my order wrong basically always so when the guy making the food handed me my bag, I just wanted to confirm: "A plain bagel with cream cheese right? Toasted?"

This guy gives me the biggest, creepiest smile I've ever seen, nods, then twirls his Snidely Whiplash-esque mustache, points right at my boobs and says "NUMBER ONE!"

Artist's representation.

I didn't know whether to be flattered or offended. 

The Next Generation in Racism

Apparently there was a big stink in Georgia recently when a 3rd grader asked her big sister for help with a particular social studies homework assignment. First of all, the handout was titled What is an illegal alien? So there's that. But slightly more offensive was the last question on the sheet, which was: What does the US do with illegal aliens? Two of the four choices were as follows.

Shoot them into outer space:

An efficient solution that's often overlooked.

Or kill them. Admittedly, this choice lacks the creative flair of the above solution, but it is nonetheless just as offensive. 

This little faux pas landed the school district in some hot water and the teacher who assigned this travesty of a questionnaire underwent some disciplinary action. Fantastic, I'm sure he or she learned a valuable lesson. 

First of all, why is this part of elementary school curriculum in the first place? What could a 7 year old possibly need to learn about illegal immigrants for? Are they trying to raise an army of teeny weeny Minute Men? 

"Go back to Guadala-who-the-hell-cares!"

What happened to teaching kids about the joys of diversity? Remember those little rainbow-colored cutouts of multiracial children holding hands in a giant circle? What was wrong with that? Children do not need to be exposed to adult paranoia until it's absolutely necessary (say, the week before a federal election). By forcing children who couldn't possibly understand the complexities of an issue that most adults are still hazy on, we're raising a new generation of intolerant xenophobes who'll eye every dark-skinned or slant-y eyed classmate with unprovoked suspicion. 

As if being raised by the last clinging remnants of Generation X hasn't screwed them up enough.

Momentary Lapse in Judgement

Everybody has them. It's probably one of the things that holds us back as a species. But you must admit, it makes life far more entertaining for those of us who enjoy schadenfreude. (As a side note, the only way I can spell that word is by singing the Avenue Q song in my head.)

The reason we, as a species, have not cured cancer or invented a device which turns farts into green energy.

Rambling

I'd like to begin a trend on my blog (mainly as a means of creating filler content for when I'm too lazy/unconscious/incapacitated by the weight of my own genius to post anything of value). In an effort to make the world at large understand the workings of my mind a little better, I give you: Something Candi Likes & Something Candi Hates.

The Like:

The Hate:

Mystery: Solved

At the risk of possibly losing all of my faith in mankind's ability to survive beyond the next few episodes of House, I've had to invent a nefarious villain whose sole pleasure is in running around to every public restroom and scattering lint and stray dog hairs all over the toilet bowls. Occasionally he will spill lemonade (sometimes raspberry lemonade) as well. And there are times when he becomes over-zealous and the melted chocolate bars he keeps in his pockets tumble out and onto the floor/walls/light fixtures.

He also sneaks into your room at night and stuffs lint in your belly button.

You're welcome.

Dental Hygiene Is Important

This morning began innocuously enough. I arrived early to work, got myself settled, read my morning comic strips. Then I got up to get coffee. And that's when it struck me. In the 10 months I have worked here, there has only been one fixture that has remained unchanged in this building. A styrofoam cup. It rests, solemnly, on it's perch beside the coffee machine, alone and stoic. No one knows why it's there or from whence it came. It sits, unmoving, day after day, like a minuscule white mountain, like the eyes of God, watching over us all as we pour our coffee. 

I sat for a while at my desk, contemplating my life through the eyes of a styrofoam cup, when suddenly a woman appeared, as if out of thin air. She smiled at me for a moment before opening her purse with a flourish and brandishing a shiny white egg in my face. What exactly is the expected reaction under those circumstances? I stared at her, immensely confused. She grabbed my hand and placed the egg on my palm, saying "For you. God bless you."

Then she left. Leaving me alone with my egg. It lolled goonishly on my desk while I pondered what purpose it was meant to serve in my life. Was I to eat it? Or maybe I was supposed to sit on it until it hatched, birthing some tiny Easter spirit to accompany me for the rest of my life. My own little talking Disney companion, just like I'd always wanted.  

Unfortunately, it turned out to just be a hard boiled egg. Forget prayer, good deeds, and faith, apparently the secret to salvation is a hard boiled egg.

You thought I was kidding, didn't you?

Also today, I ate a gummy worm and one of my fillings cracked in half. From a GUMMY WORM.

Merry Christmas!

I Can Has Car

Her name is Crystal. She's a blue Honda Civic.

Maybe 5th time's the charm?

Hell Fire

Today is Good Friday. Today is when Christians remember how Jesus died on the cross to save their sorry asses. As a predominantly Christian nation, we rightfully have today off. And by we, I mean all government buildings and most offices. Not me.

Let me remind everyone that the godless hellhole that is the DMV is closed for Jesus' death-day, but my CHRISTIAN TV station is very much open. I don't think the Big Guy would be pleased by this, thus I have illustrated his reaction:

I celebrated the impending doom of my place of employment by festooning myself in used up postage strips. Used up by me as I spent the first 2 hours of my work day sticking stamps to postcards.

YAY JESUS!

Ringing In My Ears

Whenever our signal goes down or there's an issue with the transmitter, the computer dials the phone number as a sort of alarm system. That would be fine except for the fact that it rings on my line.

Today there was some sort of commotion in space because the phone Would. Not. Stop. Ringing. This, of course, is annoying, like every character Eddie Murphy has ever played.

Oh my God, I have a Bananaphone....

The Stages of Video Game Ownership

Discovery:

Desire:

Acquisition: 

Joy:



LOOK A SHINY!!:

Good Grief

While watching a DVD of one of our news broadcasts for quality control, I came across a segment about dealing with grief. They had an interview with a child grief counselor. This woman was one of the most horrifying individuals I've ever seen. Her hair was in wild tangles, her pupils were so engorged I thought they might pop right out of her eyeballs, and she had this unmoving, toothy grin that would've put the Cheshire cat to shame...

Angry Italians

RAI International made the crappy business decision to stop broadcasting with us, leaving me to deal with the flood of incredibly angry emails and phone calls from disgruntled Italians.

The funny thing is, a number of those emails complained that they pay "far too much for cable" to have us just up and change programming on them. Despite the obvious stupidity of that statement, there's one thing that strikes me as borderline brain dead: we're not a cable channel. We're free. Always have been. I've had to fight the very strong urge to point that out all morning.

I'm on my 23rd email. And it's only 9:30....

Also, I think I might have accidentally told an elderly Italian man that he should blame the donkeys... My Italian's more rusty than I thought. : \

The Joys of Being A Secretary: Part Deux

Three teenagers pull up to the building in a beat up Honda Civic. They sit there, idling, and making me very uncomfortable. Finally they get out and stumble through the front door to my desk. All three stand there staring silently at me for a few minutes. They are obviously stoned out of their minds.

Me: Can I help you?

Teen 1: *giggling hysterically* Where are we?

Me: ...a local TV station?

Teen 2: WHOA! Like TV TV?

Teen 3: Are you guys, like, hiring?

Me: No.

Teen 2: TV TV? Like MTV?

Me: ...No.

Teen 1: *laughing louder*

The three of them continue to stare at me.

Me: ...I can take your resumes if you like, we keep them on file for when a position opens up.

Teen 3: Resume?

Teen 2: Thanks!

They start to stumble out again when Teen 1 turns to me with a GIGANTIC SMILE on her face.

Teen 1: WHAT'S YOUR NAME?

Me: ...Candi?

Teen 1: BAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!

They peeled out of the driveway. I really wanted to hide under my desk...

Fax Attacks

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate PR firms? There's something about the people who work for them... they're all stupid. This morning I began to receive a number of press releases from this one PR company, which is common especially on Mondays. I guess whoever was sending these faxes had an anneurism while hitting the "send" button because the same press release kept printing over and over. After the first stack of paper fell off the printing tray onto the floor, I began to get concerned. I called their 800 number and tried to explain to the receptionist what the problem was while the fax machine raged behind me. She put me on hold for 15 minutes after which my call was promptly dropped. At that point, I was neck deep in press releases and fuming slightly from the ears. So I called again, and again the same woman answered. I told her the problem once more, a little LOUDER this time. Again I get put on hold. Just as I'm prepared to combust from rage and likely take the whole building down with me given the amount of kindling around me, a customer service rep answered. I was poised like a panther. I was going to tear him limb from auditory limb. When I was through with him, his coworkers would need a mop and buckets to send his remains to his grieving family. But no. No, my sweet vengance was stolen from me. The bastard was nice. How can you go off on a nice guy who's only trying to help you? DAMN YOU, NICE MAN!

Anyway, he cleared it up for me as I dog-paddled around my desk through the sea of paper and ink.

IT'S A NAKED LADY!

Apparently, I've lost the ability to draw anything besides buxom naked women. So enjoy!

Confusing Cable With Colons

A man just called the station. He sounded about middle aged, certainly not elderly. The following conversation ensued:

Me: Good afternoon, how can I help you?

Him: Oh wow! You're a real person!

Me: ....yes?

Him: That's great! I was expecting a robot.

Me: Ok...

Him: So you guys air this commercial, well I guess it's a public service announcement really, about colons.

Me: ....colons?

Him: Yea, you know, getting regular colonoscopies once you reach a certain age?

Me: Ok?

Him: Yea, well I was wondering if I could set up an appointment.

Me: ....

Him: I live in south Jersey, is that too far? I know y'all are up in Newton.

Me: ....Sir, you realize you've called a television station, right?

Him: Yea! But you ran that commercial. So can you help me or not?

Me: I don't think so, sir.

Him: Is there anyone there who can help me?

Me: You know what, let me put you through to my manager's voicemail.

She never checks her voicemail but I'm sure the one day she finally decides to she's going to get a good laugh...

On Excitement

I genuinely pity people who think it silly to get excited about little things. These are the types of people who like to "save" their enthusiasm for big moments, like marriage and birth and all that crap. It's as though they think that they have a limited amount of excitement stored up in them and that if they expend it on nonsense they won't have any left for the things that really matter. Well I say to them: FIDDLE DEE DEE! We're all capable of unlimited love and unlimited excitement.

I, for one, take great pleasure in the simplest and stupidest of things. For instance, I'm in a positive tizzy about a new TV show airing on HBO this Sunday. Is it going to be life changing? Probably not, but one never knows. But that doesn't stop me from letting my anticipation carry me forward on a wave of giddiness and barely coherent babbling. Now I ask you, is it better to be the one scowling in the corner proclaiming in a joyless voice "it's just a television show" or the one smiling and skipping along, heart full of song because something so silly can bring her so much pleasure?

I thought so.

Almighty Alrighty

It's been difficult finding time to post this week, mainly because I've actually had work to do. Also, I've been working on stuff for JerseyBites.com. Check it out, it's all about food. ^____^

Occasionally I start to feel taken for granted at my job, as receptionists often are. Then something happens that reminds everyone just how miserable everyone's life would be without me. For instance: This morning one of my coworkers cut herself on something and needed a bandaid. I gave her the keys to the giant cabinet where we keep stuff like that locked away so no one steals it. I handed her the key and assumed no further instructions were needed, seeing as she is a college educated adult with all her limbs intact and, I assume, a normally functioning brain. A few minutes go by and she skulks up to my desk, sheepishly, and says "I think I broke the cabinet." I'm not entirely sure what to say at this point seeing as I could not for the life of me figure out how she could possibly have done that. Apparently the meltdown occurred when she had tried to close the cabinet door and lock it. When that sequence of events did not happen to her liking, she turned to two other employees and asked for their help. Neither of them managed to shut the door. So they all chalked it up to the cabinet malfunctioning and went about their business, leaving the door wide open and consequently spilling a number of unsecured pens onto the floor. Seeing as I still could not figure out why three bipedal creatures who possessed opposable thumbs and a reasoning brain could not shut a door, I had to see for myself what the issue was.

It took me 5 seconds. 1, unlock the door because some genius had locked it before closing it, 2, shut the door, 3, kick in the warped bit at the bottom of the door, 4, turn the key in the lock, 5, WALK AWAY.

I was a freaking hero today. Suck on that, Obama.

Totally Not Racist

I've been working here for almost a year. This company is Korean-owned. The vast majority of our guests are Korean. I've become something of an authority on the upper-middle class Korean family. And I can tell you without fear of rebuttal, that they all drive this car:

In this color. 

All of them. I think it's a prerequisite for entering the US...

Personification

Welcome To The Jungle

Everything echoes in this building. This wouldn't be such a problem if my coworkers were like normal people, but they're not. The women all wear shoes whose heels, I swear, must be made out of snare drums and cymbals because every time one walks down the stairs, it sounds like a herd of zebras stampeding through the lobby. And then of course comes the laughter. I can't imagine what's so funny that everyone in back guffaws like hysterical baboons every day, but whatever it is needs to be shut down. The only person in the world allowed to sound like that is Whoopi Goldberg and even then only when she's playing a sassy hyena.

I Didn't Post Today

It Has To Be Said...

I Made A Pretty

I bought a new tablet. Then I spent hours drawing this:

Grog and Mead

Being a secretary can cause "Benjamin Button Syndrome." The longer you spend staring blankly at a computer screen, silent and alone, the faster your brain reverts to a childlike state. This is actually useful as it's the only real way to get any sense fulfillment out of your work.

I take great pride in even the smallest accomplishments:

My sense of danger is replaced with a giddy wonderment:

And then I begin to replay classic movie scenes in my head:

*grumble*

Hunger is a funny thing. It's a reminder to survive that most of us don't really need. Desire for food is not always brought on by hunger pangs; more often than not it's brought on by a commercial for a McRib or the lingering smell of popcorn in the microwave. Food may be a necessity, but it's also a huge tease.

As a member of the RMC (relatively middle-class), I have never experienced true starvation. But tell that to my stomach. Actually, please don't. I can't be responsible for what happens if you do... The rumbling of my stomach is a warning to all creatures, large and small, that Candi has not yet eaten and must not be disturbed. Woe betide those who do not heed the warning.

Hunger causes mental anguish and an acute lack of common sense regarding one's life choices. For instance:

How I view myself while hungry:

The reality:

Not hungry:

Hungry: