A little poop shy

Just went to go have my early afternoon poop. I walked out of my office at the exact same time the girl across the hall did. She scared the shit out of me so I did a little "Ah. Oh sorry, you scared the shit out of me."

I was optimistic that she'd stop at the elevator. Nope. I unlocked and then held the door for her into the ladies room.

It's a small three-staller and I debated whether I should just play the waiting game (which is much less embarrassing when anonymous) or just have a phantom bathroom run.

I go to the bathroom about once every hour and a half. I'm not sure if it's because of my small bladder or if it's because I get so depressed at work that the bathroom becomes a pseudo vacation spot. (I must mention though that I am the fastest pooper/bathroom trip taker in the world, so my time spent in the bathroom is definetly not the source of my only 25% productive work day. My speed bathrooming amazes people all the time, and sometimes I have to affirm repeatedly that yes, I did poop faster than you dried your hands.)

I sat in my stall for thirty seconds and had the teeniest tinkle (since I just went to the bathroom about twenty minutes before) and then ran out of the bathroom trying to avoid her scaring the shit out of me again or something*.

Then I had to wait in my office's waiting room area and tell my coworker that I was waiting for our building-mate to finish up in the bathroom so I could poop in solitary.

I always feel the need to confess my awkward situations, as if someone is really going to confront me about it. "Hey, wait a minute. You were just in the bathroom. Then you came back. Now you're leaving again. Are you on drugs?" I'm pretty sure that in fact no one gives a shit.

So after explaining myself unnecessarily, I went back in, did my thing while mentally drafting this blog post, and walla** (wall-ah? you know-- that magic related french sounding word) here I am.

*or offering another explanation. It's practically involunary for me. "Oh hey there. Yeah, I actually have to poop, so I know it sounded like I didn't even go to the bathroom, but I'm going to make a return trip when I think it's safe. It's really echo-y in here dontcha think?"

**Ah, I just googled it. "Voila." So uncouth.

I prefer to be sedentary, thank you.

For some reason I hate this term, but will use it begrudgingly: Yesterday I "worked out" for the first time in about six months.

"Working out" conjures up images of buff, spandex-clad mens and womens sweating. Usually when if I exercise I am in a dorky t-shirt and basketball shorts. I also try not to sweat under any circumstance as doing so turns me into a grumpalump.

My roommate, who "works out" regularly (eh it's giving me tinglies even writing it), does these Exercise TV videos on demand. Usually I just lay on the couch and watch the videos while she bounces around and contracts her abs or whatever, but I was feeling good yesterday. I decided to exploit that energetic mood and pay for it today.

We did some cardio yoga thing that was hosted by this guy who you would have thought was Australian looking at him until he opened his beautiful curly-headed head and he was American. He was very pleasant to exercise with and kept telling me that I could do it, so I did.

Result- I hurt here:

The baby toe is actually the result of my clumsiness, not cute Exercise TV guy. He was actually very graceful and I did my best to imitate him. He kept telling me while I was bent over with all my weight on my right fingertips, "Look up if you can, it's harder to balance." I only leaned on the couch for support once and fell over only twice.

Anyway, this morning I was walking my five block path to work and I turned a corner too sharply and stepped on the pointy concrete side of a building. Yes, I'm not really sure how I managed to step UP a wall, but I did. I heard something like a twig snapping, did a little hoppy scream and limped the rest of the way.

My baby toe is swollen and uglier than usual now that the nail is all fucked up and the skin scraped off a little. It's been almost five hours since this happened so I think I might have broken it.

Anyway, my sonufabitch boss keeps making me get up to do stupid shit that would actually be easier for HIM to complete.

Example 1: "Hey! This copy machine is clogged! Come fix it!"

Twice within twenty minutes, I have had to use my injured toe and throbbing thighs to go open two copier compartment doors and close them while he watches. The blinking diagram is apparently too hard for a man with a JD to understand.

Example 2: "HEY! Where is I Sue Everyone's file!"

"To your right."

"I don't see it."

"On the surface to your right. Look down. No, right."

"I can't find it."

Here, let me stop typing and answering the phones so I can get up and point to it for you.

My boss is unbelievably dependent on me to do the simplest things.

Can he dial a phone? No. I am the only phone dialer around here. Can he date a document? No. Only I know the date and am capable of transcribing it. Will he ever, ever, ever pull a file out of the cabinet that he is at least ten feet closer to than I am? He may or may not know the alphabet. I'm unsure.

Has Christmas come early?

A-hole boss just told us that he's now on Xanax after an especially horrific last two weeks (example).

I got lost on my way to work today

Hello friends!

I'm sorry I've been writing so sporadically! The day I'd been waiting for finally arrived last Thursday. I moved into my new downtown apartment with my good friend who is also a law student. I've been a bit busy as such.

This morning was the first day that I've driven directly from my apartment to my job in Towson. Yesterday, before leaving from work, I printed out directions on MapQuest for the best route home. I have a terrible sense of direction, but actually haven't had any problems getting TO my apartment from most locations in the city. Still, I wanted to know the most efficient route.

This morning, I sat in my parking cave and studied same printed directions/map I had used yesterday. Like a dumbass, I thought, "I'll just reverse them."

Living in a city + not taking into account one-way streets = Being thirty minutes late to work.

I have since looked up the correct route.


The purple line is what Yahoo suggests. I blazed my own trail on the red line. And yes, I did go in a circle like that about four times.

Low blogging result of A-hole boss

I haven't been able to write regularly for a while because I've been swamped at work (key blogging time) and was off all last week for graduation, etc.

But, just as a quick note before I dive back into the piles on my desk:

I have been having the two worst days of work in my time here at the Law Offices of Jerk & Jerk. My boss keeps yelling at me for no reason and actually had the nerve yesterday to crumple up a piece of paper with a typo on it and throw it at me in front of a client. I have now moved past the point of anger and am approaching insanity. My coworker and I are now looking at each other each time something happens and laughing uncontrollably. Not good, but at least I'm not so grumpy today.

I'm never wearing this outfit again

Today I am wearing a very troublesome corduroy skirt. Every time I stand up I get a wedgie and end up having to fix my entire ensemble. Luckily I'm not shy and don't mind adjusting my derriere in view of my female coworkers (although it is every twenty minutes or so), but it's a little frustrating when my male boss is in the office and my boyshorts are behaving like a thong.

I hate my job.

I fantasize about the day when I have my own copy bitch.

I have spent a good portion of today at work making copies of clients' documents. Here are a few ways that you can really piss me off when I'm doing so:

1. Hand me a stack of about 250 pages, with every 2-3 pages stapled, while telling me to "keep the originals organized."
2. Give me documents that are folded/crumpled up to the point where each page jams the copier so that I have to scan them individually. For extra points, make sure that they are coated with grime so that while I pull apart each stuck-together page I legitimately fear contracting an infectious disease.
3. Keep records that are unnecessarily meticulous and that no one will ever need to see. Example? A photocopy of cash that you used to pay for your child's school lunch.

But that's all for now. I have to go copy someone's diary for the last two years, and you know that it won't even be an interesting one to read as I copy it page by steno-pad page.

Morning Rant

I work for an attorney. Some of my responsibilities are answering phones and talking to people that wander in off the street without appointments.

When talking to clients, a surprisingly large number refuse to give me either their last name or their phone number. These people usually either tell me "Just tell him it's (first name), he'll know who I am" and "He's got my phone number." The reason that he has your phone number is because I give it to him when he wants to call you.

Usually, I'll give my boss the message with the person's first name, and he'll have no idea who they are. I guess this is attributable to the fact that people that do this have an inflated sense of their own importance anyway.