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Workplace Cleanliness (Or lack thereof)

[Exasperated]  

This is by far the most graphic, disgusting post I’ve ever written, but I’ve just GOT to get this off my chest.  

Why do we have to hang signs in our workplace break rooms that read:  “I am a recycling bin; not a trash can.”  “We’ve done a great job keeping the gnats away.  Please dispose of food properly.”   “Your mama doesn’t work here.  Please clean up after yourself.”

I’ll tell you why — Because someone got fed up.  People don’t like gnat distractions in general, much less while they’re concentrating on work and they also don’t like having their microwaved lunch taste of kimchee because the person before them failed to clean up their splatter.  

Your brain has conjured up an image of a man right now hasn’t it? 

Men shouldn’t take all the blame for being the designated slobs of the two sexes.  Lord knows women can be quite disgusting!  And while I can understand a nasty BAR bathroom, I don’t understand a nasty Fortune 500 company bathroom.  Who doesn’t take the time to properly dispose of their hand towel?  It’s a giant garbage can with a rather large opening just a reach away from the sink!  And if you have bad aim?  Bend down, pick it up, and try again!  And how can one pee on the seat of a toilet in a well-lit stall just steps away from where they work 9 hours a day?  I just don’t get it.  

So what drove me to this post?  What sent me running to the blogosphere to send out rhetorical questions into the void?  I’ll tell you what it was.  It was vomit.  Yep.  In the women’s restroom.  Of a Fortune 500 company.  No attempts at a clean-up.  Just…there.

Lucky me, I came eye to eye with the culprit shortly thereafter.  After looking down my nose at her I asked, “Are you pregnant?”  She looked at me, kinda puzzled like, “No?  But my Mama works here.”

I think it’s time for me to call it a day.

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I Got a Haircut

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Tap-Tap-Tappity-Tap…*ding*

We’ve all had that moment when we realize we’re getting older.  It usually stems from the “kids today aren’t like they use to be” conversation.
The other day I was talking to a friend about how kids won’t/don’t know anything about vinyl records, 8 tracks, the telegram, typewriters, etc.
Turns out, I might be wrong about their knowledge of typewriters:  http://www.magicmargin.net/p/student-typecasts.html
Kudos to this teacher in Phoenix for exposing his class to the joys of using a typewriter (as I type on a laptop).  Trouble is, I’m not sure if I’m charmed or concerned.

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“Oui, oui, Senorita.”

I dined at a local sushi restaurant after work tonight.  The hostess cheerfully greeted me by saying, “How many in your party?”.  Umm.  It’s just me.  “Take out?” she asked.  No, I’d like to stay for a bit.  Sake’ in a styrofoam cup is just as bad as beer in a styrofoam cup — a fact of which she was unaware.  My contribution to making the world a little better place.

Anyway, my adventures in dining alone is not the theme of tonight’s blog.  Rather, it’s sex with someone of Asian decent.  (No holding back, remember.)    I dated a guy that had an Asian fetish.  He could spot a hot Asian woman a mile away! Sometimes they were hot; sometimes… not so much.  So in listening to the waitress communicate with the sushi chefs, it got me to thinkin’:  What does it sound like when Asian people talk dirty?  Notice I said, ‘sound’.  I am not curious about what they say.  Rather, how does it sound?  Think about it… Now compare it to the love scene featuring a Frenchman, or a Spaniard.  

Oui, oui, Senorita.”  

So why aren’t Asian men ever cast in the sweep-me-off-my-feet-and-rock-me-all-night-long roles?  Or even the make-sweet-sweet-love-t0-me-role?  And what about Indian men?  I’m not asking about Pacific Islanders or Scandinavians.  There are a lot of Asian and Indian men in this country!  Aren’t white (yes, I said white) women equal opportunity pleasers?  Aren’t we sleeping around with everyone?  Why haven’t I heard the juicy details?!

Just curious…thinking of Googling it.  If only I had an audience that could give me real feedback.  (Gonna work on that.)

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The Holy Spirit of Mardi Gras

(This post brought to you by anw  overgenerous flight attendant.)

The holy spirit of Mardi Gras has descended upon me.  I wear it like the headress of a Zulu chieftain.  

I pity the poor souls in my new country that intend to celebrate Mardi Gras at TGI Fridays where they’ll pretend they’re having a good time, however, instinctively they’ll dknow there’s something missing.  

Such as…

Reunions with dear friends
Cocktails, just because
A chance of plastic showers (a’la GB)
Dance girls and bass lines
Sweet Feet and the Mohawk Drummer
Brisk air filled with the sounds and smells of…happy
Not-so-formalwear
The Gator, performed on the Civic Center floor
The Masked Observer
King Cake and extra cheesy broiled Doritos
Hangovers cured by the hangover inducer
The wherewithall to do it again the next day, with…
Swollen feet, that feel so good.

Damn, life is good.  I just hope The Boy can keep up.

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Fantasy Flight with Formula One

Rarely has their been a flight where I didn’t fantasize about being seated next to Mr. Cool, Traveling, Drink of Water.  I’d tell him I’m a gynecologist and was part of the panel of researchers that found the G spot.  He’d buy me a gin and tonic and share that he’s a Formula One race car driver.  “Did you know your eyes match the color of your sweater?” He’d say.  “Really?”  I’d respond with a coy smile.

Our deep gaze would be interrupted by the pilot announcing that we were about to start making our decent.  He’d scramble to learn what connection I was making, and I’d offer a light touch of his arm and a heart felt ‘thanks for the cocktail’. 

Ahhh but this scene shall remain a fantasy, at least for now.  Formula One didn’t find his way to seat 6C. Instead he gave it up for Cathy the cartoon character. 

That’s okay.  There’s always the connecting flight.

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Art. That is All.

**For all of my Cliff’s Notes followers, this is a very graphic (no, not that kind of graphic) post, of which will serve no purpose unless you see the pictures I’ve shared.**

If you’ve ever shopped for art, or rather, prints needed to take up wall space in your dwelling (Think Old Time Pottery, Michael’s or Hobby Lobby) I know for a fact you’ve seen this print:

Jack Vettriano "The Singing Butler"

You may have even seen other prints such as this one:

Jack Vettriano

Or even this one.

Jack Vettriano

But did you know he also produced art such as the following, of which I know for a FACT I’ve never seen at the aforementioned retail outlets:

"Night Calls II" Jack Vettriano

Yes, thigh-highs are uncomfortable but I have to admit, they are sexy.

"Along Came a Spider" Jack Vettriano

Same with long satin gloves.  And yes, I’ve worn them before.

"The Embrace of the Spider" Jack Vettriano

Are those suspenders I see?

Pincer Movement by Jack Vettriano

"Pincer Movement" by Jack Vettriano

Nice.

"Dancer for Money" Jack Vettriano

Again, thigh-highs.  And a prominent cigarette.  I don’t think this painting would have been as hot without it.

"Motel Love II" Jack Vettriano

Another cigarette.  Two as a matter of fact.

"Game On" Jack Vettriano

Yeah.  Umm…

***

There you have it.  In addition to giving credit to the artist, I also wanted to share the oh-so smart names of the paintings.  Plus, I’m thinking it hasn’t been since the Virginia Slims lady that smoking has been so sexy.  And did I mention I’m a sucker for suspenders?  I’ll stop while I’m ahead with my own commentary because it seems I’ve gotten a bit carried away.   That is all.

(P.s.  Don’t think I don’t hear the snide comments.)

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