Monday, August 22, 2005

the sound that makes me want to punch babies

"There are certain sounds in this world... that make you want to punch a baby."
----Dane Cook

I have discovered the sound that makes me punch infants. It is the sound of my coworker laughing. She sounds like a drunk freshman. Nothing in an office could possibly be this funny this often. I'm glad I don't have children for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is because I would be forced to punch them as soon as I got home, due entirely to having heard this banshee's goddamn squealing all fucking day long.

And she acts like a fucking whore. She throws herself (not even just flirting, but fucking throwing herself) at every guy in the office. Doesn't matter if they're handsome or if they look like something I once saw my dog sniff on the side of the road--she apparently wants them all. And she has chosen "You are my MAN!" as her catch-phrase.

I'm going to have to take in a radio just so I can drown her the fuck out. It's either that or I have to cut a bitch, and I'm pretty sure that if I can get fired for not wearing pantyhose, I can get fired for cutting a bitch while on the clock.

Saturday, August 20, 2005

old navy tags

What's with the tags on so much of Old Navy's clothing nowadays? I don't mean the prices. I'm talking about these fucking "Remove Before Wearing or Washing" tags that are hidden in all of my work clothes. (You know the sort of clothes I mean. Button-downs. Knee-length skirts. Inexplicably sheer blouses, as though nipples were accepted office attire.)

They don't seem to serve a purpose. They don't give me washing instructions and they don't appear to be any sort of security tag. I could be wrong about that, because they are incredibly thick. But "Remove Before Wearing or Washing" is all they say. Well, that and "Cut Here." Which is handy information to have, because otherwise I might have taken a machete to my new skirt. I guess they just had a lot of material to use and didn't feel like making a bunch of really stiff-collared shirts. Perhaps they were afraid that people would pop them.

My brother does that. He starts college in less than a week. I hope someone educates him in the ways of shirt-wearing while he's there.