Bob and Peg Ride the Elevator

I'm pretty damn fortunate to work in an awesome office with really rad, laid-back (read: not stuffy) people. We throw things at each other, exchange profanities, blast music and do all of those things that a really creative and productive office does that suits and squares just don't. Here's the catch: we work in an office building with a lot of suits and squares.

Don't get me wrong. There's a place for people who put on a tie every day and see networking as an actual conscious activity. And most of the suits and squares (let's call them the Bobs and Pegs) are really friendly and seem like good human beings. But regardless of their worth as decent, amiable people, there's a few things almost every Bob and Peg do that really, really aggravate the hell out of me.

Take an average ride in the elevator. No matter if it's first thing in the morning, to or from lunch or even leaving at the end of the day, Bob and Peg can only initiate two topics conservations with me: the weather or the streak of hot pink in my hair. While the weather is good ol' standby small talk fodder, there's really only so much to say about it. Take this exchange from a recent 25 degree day:

Peg: "Can't wait for Spring, huh?"
Me: " Yeah, won't be here soon enough."
Peg: "I heard it's going to warm up this weekend. The 50s or something."
Me: "Let's hope so. "

And that's pretty much every weather conversation. Ever. Replace the details if you want, but the menial pointless dialogue remains the same. Now check out the small talk about my hair:

Bob: "Wow, what color would you call that?"
Me: "Oh, uh, pink."
Bob: "Huh. Is that, permanent or..."
Me: "Semi-permanent. Gotta keep things interesting! "
Bob: "Well, it's...striking/bright/working for you, that's for sure."
Me: "Ha, thanks."

Now let's just completely gloss over the fact that's it's pretty ballsy and borderline rude to question a complete stranger's personal appearance (I could have a whole post just for that). What is there to say here? Yes, part of my hair is pink. Yes, I know this. No, you don't know nor care about the difference between permanent and semi-permanent hair color but I can certainly tell you which of the two it is. Glad we had this talk.

While I don't expect to discuss philosophy or debate the dominance of Hellenic references in pre Judeo-Christian Persia during my five story ascent, where's the creativity? Where's the interest? Have the Bobs and Pegs of the world fallen into such a routine that even something as simple as small talk on an elevator has a mere two forms? No deviation, no straying from the traveled social road, no...improvisation.

Ugh. Even thinking about being that static is making me bored. I think that calls for a break to pose the action figures on my desk, take photos and post them to Facebook.

Loves,

Kt

April FAILS

I really love holidays. Sarcasm aside, I genuinely feel that they bring people together in a way that, say, August 14th or something fails to do. People are cheerful when they're buying presents, or drinking a lot, or wearing silly sweaters, or pinching each other. Having something in common makes us more conspiratorial, and that makes life feel more like a movie. And I'm autistic, so I can only identify with feelings that I've closely studied in Cameron Diaz movies. Anyway. The one holiday I can't stand is April Fools. I'll even take the one where I can't eat all day - is it Rosh Hashanah? I forget. I'm a bad jew. - over this garbage.

Look, I'm the most gullible person on the planet. I think it comes from all my psychological disorders. No matter how strongly I comprehend, logically, that something isn't true, a tiny part of my brain goes Wait, wait, what if you're wrong this time! What if they really DID take gullible out of the dictionary? What if there really IS a spider on your face? Better check. Once, my high school boyfriend pinched me because I wasn't wearing green. I was PISSED, not because it hurt so much, but because I love St Patrick's Day and I never fail to wear at least green underwear or sparkly eye shadow or something (Note: I'm 8 years old). It took me hours to realize it was October.

So I've always hated April Fools. I always get mad at people, because they always trick me even when I specifically ask them not to. Duh. This morning I was furious when I found out Merlin Mann wasn't really following me - wtf Twitter? That shit's not nice. But the worst 4/1 I ever had was my junior year of college. It's mostly a long, complicated, dramatic, irrelevant story, but the short version is that I drove down to Beverly Hills to visit a boy over my spring break. It was a long drive, I'd never been there before, I was staying at his house with his whole family, I had just met him 2 weeks previously, oh and I had a boyfriend back in Santa Cruz - I felt really vulnerable. We were having a great time, until he had to take me to the emergency room at 2 am. Sorry, I digress.

I woke up the morning after the ER, feeling exhausted and sick and sorry that he'd had to deal with my drama (although he was very nice about it, and loved me, so I figured he didn't mind). He was already awake, sitting at his desk and glaring at me. I figured he'd gotten in a fight with his parents or something, so I went to take a shower, figuring I'd give him some space. I opened the door to go back into his bedroom and he was suddenly in my face, furious. He yelled at me about how my stuff was all over his room, how rude it was to take over his space like that, how annoying it was that I had to go to the emergency room, and he said that he wanted me to leave right away. I was supposed to be there for 2 more days. Oh, and I didn't have anywhere else to go. My family had recently moved out of state, my boyfriend wouldn't let me stay at his house, and my college had a policy about not letting people stay on campus during vacations.

My eyes filling up with tears, too shocked, sad, and disgusted with myself to say anything, I started to pack my bags. He watched me, waiting until I finished to speak again. As I hoisted my bags and lifted my head to walk out of the room, I noticed him looking at me with a nervous smile. "What the hell are you smiling at," I snarled, tears still dripping down my cheeks.

He shrugged and spread his hands out, sheepishly.

"April Fools?"

I collapsed, sobbing, and couldn't be consoled for hours. We never quite worked out.

Anthropomorphism

I wrote a new blog for you to read.


Actually, no I didn't. April Fools motherfuckers!

I got you good, didn't I? You had no idea it was coming. One minute you were filled with joy, and in less than a second, I took it all away.

I imagine you are depressed now, and I can understand that. You came here expecting something, and got something totally different. Maybe I intrigued you by titling my post "Anthropomorphism", maybe not. I wouldn't think about it too much if I were you, it was just one of the words that randomly popped into my head. I thought it was neat, so I'm sharing it will all your asses. Here's another one, for old times sakes:

Transubstantiation. That's when Catholics eat Jesus (definitely in a non-sexual way...maybe). Mmmm, Jesus meat. Well, its still bread and wine... but when you put it in your mouth, MAGIC.

Anyways... when the hell did April 1st decide to be the biggest dick out of all the days of the year? I mean, I like April. It's warm outside, plants and shit are starting to grow, and everything wants to have sex. But amidst it all you've got April Fools Day, standing there like that chronic masturbator guy that lives on your floor of the apartment building and constantly locks himself in the laundry room.... What I'm trying to say is, you know he's there, but you sure as hell don't talk about him or agree to come over for dinner (and it might be prudent to wash clothes at the laundry mat).

Honestly, April Fools Day really cramping my routine. Is posting a link to what I thought was spoilers about who the new Batman would be but in reality was a link to lemon party considered funny? This shit is serious! Don't toy with me (or get me fired for pulling up a picture of old men playing with each others shriveled wieners).

So, to set this day straight, wanna know what I think is funny and would make for good April Fools Day pranks?

Call up a cancer patient and telling them that their tests came back negative.... APRIL FOOLS!

Send loads of boxes to Darfur labeled food and fresh water, but when those wonderful hopeful people open them up, the boxes are full of nothing but sand! APRIL FOOLS!

Tell your boyfriend that the test came back negative and that you really AREN'T pregnant. Then, nine months later... APRIL FOOLS! (Note: it may take a pro to pull this one off).

Stand on the deck of a aircraft carrier and declaring that the war in Iraq was a success.... APRIL FOOLS AMERICA! (Note: this one gets progressively funnier every year).

These are just a few, I swear I have literally tens more that I could share. But I don't want to ruin the element of surprise.

(Side note: I need to buy a van.)

(Side, side note: Any of your chemistry folks know how to make chloroform?)

I'm like the Mr Rogers of Mortification

How to Turn Perfectly Neutral Events into Situations Which Are Embarrassing Because You're a Temp So No One Wants to be Your Friend at Work

(Sidenote: step one is obviously to have debilitating social anxieties.)

Get to the fancy cafeteria. Order your fancy food. Go to grab a napkin - the guy in front of you has just taken the last one. "Oh, do you need this?" he asks with an almost imperceptible sneer (but you're crazy, so you catch it). "Oh no," you laugh, "I'm not a messy eater." Too much information, you scream at yourself, now you look like you're trying to be his friend. Quickly break eye contact, worry you look too bitchy, resign yourself to sitting alone and reading a book AGAIN. Lift the fork with your first bite of delicious tortellini - oh, it's on your pants. And there's no napkins. Proceed to surreptitiously remove the pasta from your lap, put it back on the plate, and attempt to clean the sauce from your pants with your fingers. Fail. Finish your pasta, realize you ate the one that fell. Worry that everyone in the cafeteria noticed for some reason.

Notice your chapstick is missing. Must have fallen out of my pocket. Ugh. That shit costs like $4. Fuck it, I have another one at home. Not worth staying late to look for it. Get your stuff, go out to sit (alone) on the company shuttle. Before it can leave, someone climbs in with your chapstick in her hand. "Someone lost their Burt's Bees!" she exclaims, as if she's just saved a box full of kittens from a burning elementary school. Don't say anything because you've already resigned yourself to having lost it. Everyone on the bus proceeds to check their purses and pockets, announcing one by one that they all have theirs. You panic inwardly. It's been too long now to say something, and you don't feel like going through the ruse of checking your pockets. You also don't want to say anything, because you're hoping no one has noticed you exist, let alone that you're sitting on their bus like a criminal. One woman says "Oh! I think it's mine!" She goes up, opens it, crinkles her nose and says "Nevermind, mine was new. Look, this one's used." She throws it in the garbage, and you have a 25 minute bus ride to deride yourself for being so blue-collar as to actually use your $4 chapstick. Which is now in the garbage.

Smash your finger in a drawer. "Oh my god, are you okay?" asks your (probably faking it)concerned coworker. Pretend like it didn't hurt; kick yourself for grimacing when you should be producing a convincing smile. Gradually realize that the pain is getting worse, not better, and that you may have broken your finger. Shit, it's bent. Did it always look like that? Do I need to go to the ER? Glance at your coworker; she hasn't noticed the tears welling up in your eyes. Announce too loudly that you need to run to the restroom. Hide there, running cold water on your finger, until you can convince yourself it was always slightly bent and that if your future husband really loves you he won't mind. Worry that you've been in the restroom too long and that someone will assume you're up to something. Consider faking puke noises to further your bulimia charade; decide against it in case the CEO overhears. Sneak back to your desk; announce too loudly that you stopped by the kitchen for some water.

TO BE CONTINUED.

signs a girl likes a boy

So there's this boy I like, and because I also respect him (novel concept, right?), I'm handling the situation in a patient, mature manner. This, my friends, is not how I ever handle boys. So with this new adult approach to pursuing a potential relationship, I've noticed I've been displaying new signs that I am interested.

In the past, my methods of signifying I like a boy often include 1) blurting it out in the most socially awkward scenario, 2) making out with him out of the blue, 3) telling him he is going to like me, and the piece de resistance 4) oversharing and spilling my guts about every ex, bad life decision and any flaws I have. It's actually shocking I could even get a guy this way, I'll admit that.

But in this new situation, the signs are so different. And it's not like I have to try not to make all those fatal awkward mistakes of yore. It's just...different and easy. Wanna know how I know I like him and how it's becoming apparent to my near and dear?

1. I don't talk about him incessantly. In fact, most of my friends don't even know who it is I like. I'm keeping this romantic development close instead of announcing it to the gossip mills.
2. I cleaned my apartment before he came over. Seriously. I dusted, did dishes and (gulp) vacuumed. (Note: I have vacuumed maybe a total of 6 times in the past two years. True story.)
3. I'm not rushing it. I leap before I look, and many times, I don't even look at all. But in the hope of not screwing this up, I am finally taking it slow and not immediately assigning labels.
4. I get butterflies. I know this is the corniest, gayest, girliest, most cliche sign, but it's honestly one I haven't experienced in quite, quite a while. And it feels good. So suck it.

There it is. Dudes out there, take note, as you may be causing this effect on a chick but had no idea. Look for these signs. It means she's totally into you. And girls? If you're experiencing any of these symptoms, run with it. Apparently, this is how adult relationships happen. (Or call your doctor; you may be experiencing a minor stroke.)

Loves,

Kt

Unspoken Twitter Rules (That I Just Made Up)

You know how, before facebook sucked, it had rules? Like the one that said you couldn't join unless you were a student, at a university, with an .edu email address? Yeah, that was awesome. Considering the increased media attention that twitter's been receiving, and the subsequent exponential increase in users, someone really needs to tell the slower people that THEY'RE DOING IT WRONG. These unspoken laws of twitter are (for NOW) just my passive-aggressive opinion, but I think twitter should officially adopt them and remove anyone who doesn't comply. Or at the very least: I just can't follow you if you commit any of the following twaux-pas.



You really shouldn't:

• Use 5-year old internet acronyms (like lol, roflmao, brb, g2g) or 1-year old lolspeak (like I can haz, I'm in ur - -ing ur -, or anything else obnoxiously misspelled). The only exception is if you're doing it ironically. Otherwise you look like you haven't been on the internet in years, and you might as well be my grandmother. Acronyms that I won't judge you for include omg, wtf, ftw, ftl, and fml.
• Spell things wrong. The people I follow write complete sentences, and spell-check if they're not sure. This is not a chat room; it's not about speed. It is, however, about exchanging intelligent information, and I'm not interested if you can't communicate like a person.
• Ask "What does # mean?" "How do I send a reply?" "How do I find people to follow?" Do your research, dude. You shouldn't be allowed on twitter until you understand the basic concepts. There's like 4 things to know. Also, let me google that for you.
• Abuse caps lock and/or punctuation. Again, this isn't 6th grade, and we aren't in a chat room. Sometimes caps lock is funny; a lot of people use it for emphasis since bold/italics aren't supported everywhere. Bad punctuation is only funny if we already know you can use it correctly.
• Follow a million people, wait til they follow you back, and unfollow. I shouldn't even have to say this. You're an asshole for even considering it.
• Steal people's ideas without giving them credit. I know, it's extra work sometimes to reword tweets to make it fit with a RT, or maybe you feel weird mincing their words, but trust me, it's better than just pretending you came up with it. And I promise, there's always a way to make it fit.
• Ask people to RT. This is retarded. If it's interesting, we'll RT it.
• Use twitter as your personal messaging system. If your entire history of tweets is you replying to one friend about where to get dinner tonight, good luck to you. Direct messaging was invented for a reason. Also, EMAIL.
• Bribe people to follow you. I swear to god, if I see "If you follow me I'll follow you back!!!" in one more bio, I'm going to explode. Is that REALLY how you want to describe yourself? That's all you've got?
• Talk about your meals. I'd rather hear about almost anything than what you're eating right now - no matter HOW DELICIOUS that Subway sandwich is today. This just alerts everyone that you literally can't come up with anything else to tweet than the fact that it's 12:00 and you're eating, just like everyone else in your time zone. You know what? If you don't have anything interesting to tweet, don't tweet anything at all. This should be in the constitution.
• Use twitter as a truncated RSS feed for your blog. Look, if I like your blog, I'm subscribed to it in google reader, and I'll see when you have a new post. If I have to hear about it twice, I'm going to get rid of one source of those alerts - and it's probably going to be the one where I have to click a god damn link to see what you're talking about. I'm not saying you can't link to your (infrequent) blog posts, just don't let it be the only thing you use twitter for.
• Tell everyone when you're "logging off" for work or sleep or whatever. Um, this isn't instant messaging. It's expected that you won't be there all the time, and if you don't respond instantly no one's gonna be like "OMG are you mad at me?"
• Oh yeah, and don't say tweeps.

I don't have a million followers, and I'm not pretending I can teach that (You should be a celebrity or a fictional character. There, I did it.), but I CAN suggest a few ways to have a decent amount of not-retarded ones. Or at least, to have me.

if you're not awesome, you're out

I am a woman of theories. I think I have the world somewhat figured out, and although I am completely aware this is a self-induced delusion, I feel compelled to spout my theories as gospel. But then there are the theories or systems or whatever stupid buzz word you like to call them that really ring true, like how I determine who to befriend.

I hate being bored. It's probably my most despised thing (except for ranch dressing, which is the most atrocious development in the history of humanity). With my hatred for boredom in mind, it's accurate to assume I don't like or befriend boring people. So that's any easy befriending issue. But what about all those people who don't fall in the completely and utterly boring category? Let me break it down for you.

Say we're meeting for the first time. You have about 15 seconds to reel me in and prove that I should at the least continue this interaction. If you bore me or push any of my numerous buttons during this time, you're going in either the "hate you" or the "mere acquaintance" group. It may sound like a snap judgment, but it's not. I'm just smart and observant and know what I like in the people I surround myself with.

And this method has paid off. While I have a vast group of acquaintances and casual friends, my true friends are the most interesting, talented and smart people I've ever met. (Feel free to blush if you fall in this group.) It's not like it's a static list, like where someone has to die or something to make room for a new friend. But just by investing this first 15 seconds, I figure I've saved myself thousands of hours of wasted time with people I don't even really like (note: thousands is by no means a scientific measurement, just the estimate by this self-important blogger).

So the moral of this tirade? Stop wasting your time with stupid people.