Story of M

JEALOUSY

2010-07-22T15:41:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

A strange expression flashes over M.'s face. There is a brief smile at the corner of her mouth and she says with absolute certainty, "I am going to dress like you tomorrow, Jake."

Her name is M. She is a smart, fashion-forward, thin woman with a wicked sense of humor. She wears braces on her teeth. She is in her 40's but could easily pass for a girl in her late 20's. To me, she looks like Marisa Tomei. To one of our co-worker's, she looks like Halle Berry.

I glance down at my simple attire: A short sleeve buttoned-up Hawaiian shirt, blue jean shorts and sneakers. I look across at M.'s high-end designer skirt. It is a one-piece skirt that counts as a top and a bottom. I don't know what it's called, but it is swirled in black and white zebra stripes. You can tell it cost a lot of money. M. resembles a giant piece of expensive salt water taffy.

"You're going to dress like me?" I ask?

She replies, "Yes, Jake. I am coming to work dressed like you tomorrow."

I've learned not to question why M. does anything because when I do, she goes off-topic with all sorts of random abstract imagery about everything and anything. She does it on purpose to annoy me. She's crafty like that.

To be fair, I sometimes insert a paperclip over my lower lip and imitate her. (Remember, she wears braces.) She is also "the first patient to undergo a new orthodontic procedure" involving not only an actual screw, but also a metal spring put into her upper left gum. She loves talking about it.

"Do you know what I'm reminded of when I look at my mouth in the mirror?" She directs the question at me. "Robocop! Don't you think of Robocop when you look at my mouth?"

"No," I reply, "to me, you look more like The Terminator." She recently had two of her wisdom teeth pulled.

"I kid you not," she continues, "there is enough leftover food from yesterday in my gums to make a taco. Jake, there is a taco in my mouth!" Her finger is gouged into the back of her cheek as she says this.

The next day comes and M. is not dressed like me. Instead, she is wearing a feminine black golf shirt with the buttons undone and the collar popped up atop silky black dress pants. Trendy sneakers are fit snugly on her feet.

"I didn't have time this morning," she admits," but wait. Just wait..."

When M. gets bored, she wads up scrap paper from her desk and tries to hit a squishy stress-relieving softball from my cubicle wall. On occasion, she asks me how much I'll "give her" if she makes the shot into my neighbor's trash can. The can is less than 3 yards from where she sits.

"Jake! Jake!" she exclaims, "I have the simple!" (Pronounced 'SEEM-PLAY.') "It's not even noon and I have the simple. I am laughing at everything. Ah-ha-ha-ha."

She puts on her mock professional voice accompanied by extra pursed lips and a sleek sneer. "Hmmmph. Whatisthestockmarkettodayhmmmmmm...?"

"What?" I ask.

"Jake," her demeanor changes instantly into exaggerated snobbery. "You need to read this article." She holds up a Psychology Today magazine with a green-faced woman on the front. JEALOUSY is typed out in big bold words. "You need to read this."

"I already read it," I explain, "I'm the one who gave the magazine to you."

"Jake, no." Her lips quiver and she raises her eyebrows. Imagine Bugs Bunny giving Elmer Fudd the ol' one-two. This is what she's like. In fact, it's easy to imagine M. shoving a carrot into her braces, chewing ferociously and squeaking, "Ehhhh, what's up dock?" while pieces of carrot dangle from her metal.

She quickly changes the subject by asking me if I can wiggle my upper lip like Charlie Chaplin. She does it flawlessly, and I have to admit, it looks cool. M. gulps down some filtered water as I try to do the Charlie Chaplin but I only manage to scrunch up my mouth in a twisted kid-like manner and awkwardly move it slowly from side to side. This causes a riotous uproar from M. and she spits her water all over the floor.

As I type the former paragraph, M. jumps up behind me and yells, "Hai-ya!" She is staunched in a karate pose. "Don't be scared," she says, literally bouncing from one leg to another, changing into a different pose with each landing. "Hai-ya!"

I stare at her, speechless. Again, M. reaches for the Psychology Today magazine and holds it in front of her. "I need to hang this by my desk. I mean, when people are in the presence of greatness, well..." Her lips get all sorts of pursed and she lets her face slide down as if in a celebrity photo shoot. "I can't blame you. I mean, look at me. Look."

M. decides to just wear the magazine. She opens it to the JEALOUSY article and tucks it slightly into her pants so the entire magazine is spread open for everyone to read.

"Let's try it out!" she says and approaches two unsuspecting team mates. From my desk I hear:

M: "What's up, ladies?"

Ladies: "Nothing. What are you doing?"

M: "Oh this? Pffffft."

I think M. truly does have the simple.

CARMEN MIRANDA

2010-07-21T10:02:00.000-06:00

Thursday, July 23, 2009

A few months ago I stumbled across a Carmen Miranda video on YouTube. What can I say? It was love at first sight. I was struck by a passion beyond words for this "Brazilian Bombshell" who died more than 50 years ago. I made the mistake of sharing my admiration with M. and she flipped out.

"Jake," she scowled, "Carmen Miranda looks like a man. Are you gay?"

"What?! No!" I exclaimed in sincere shock.

Perhaps still photographs of Carmen don't portray the raw magnetism, dazzling beauty and natural talent like the movies do, but she is not a man. She is ALL woman. C'mon!

That's when I took my Psychology Today magazine to work and showed it to M. She is obviously green with envy over Carmen Miranda.

"Weekend in Havana," "Greenwich Village," and "Copacabana." These are a few C.M. titles I recommended to M. but she refuses to watch them. When I bring Carmen up, the conversation turns sour:

M: "Do you see what I'm doing, Jake?"

Me: "You're sitting there with a blank expression on your face."

M: "That's right, I'm sitting here with a blank expression on my face because I started to think about something else but then I realized I was being rude, so I tried to listen, but THEN I started to think about how I was thinking about something else earlier and how rude it was so I stopped paying attention. What I'm trying to say is that I am a great multitasker."

Then she adds a P.S.

M: "She's a dead woman, Jake!"

She is so jealous.

Can you blame her?

M. is not in the office today so it's very quiet. The two of us have worked together for many years, but never in such close proximity. I remember when M. first mentioned her dark obsession with gritty foreign film; the grittier the better! Being a movie buff, I asked her to recommend a DVD. She said, without hesitation: "Irreversible," so I rented it.

In summary, "Irreversible" is an edgy French thriller that starts with the End Credits rolling backward and shows every scene in reverse order. There is one scene in particular involving 1 man, 1 woman, and an underground tunnel that is very unsettling. It is a graphic rape scene that goes on for twenty minutes and I'm not convinced they were acting.

"Wow, M.," I told her the next day. "That tunnel scene was gruesome." She giggled in response.

So now, whenever M. recommends a movie, I ask with anticipation if there is a "tunnel scene." Sadly, there usually isn't, but here are some close contenders: "Martyrs" is a French film about the afterlife, and "An American Crime" is a film about the slow-torture-murder of a teenage girl (based on a true story). Yuck!

Perhaps Carmen Miranda's musical comedies from the 1940's are too upbeat for someone of M.'s taste.

ARE YOU OK?

2010-07-20T13:43:00.000-06:00

Monday, July 27, 2009

A lot of people on the team, myself included, like to sing. The problem is we are tone deaf. Whenever a co-worker feels the need to warble a tune, M. reacts with great urgency.

Picture it:

Random girl on the team: "Meee-ee-yow-woo-oooo-oowwoowow!" (The sound of a kitten being slowly strangled to death.)

M: "Are you OK? Who do we need to call? Do you need some water? Don't ask questions, just sign these papers. What is your social security number?"

A co-worker named V. said this when I asked if she was crying: "This isn't American Idol, OK Jake? This is the real world where people sing off key. Don't be hatin!"

On the rare occasion when M.'s cube mate is brave enough to attempt a little song and dance, M. reacts in one of two ways.

1.) She asks for aspirin, Tylenol, Lortab, etc. because her head hurts.

2.) She pretends to hear a blaring alarm indicating a nuclear attack and hides under her desk.

One day, I heard what can only be described as a "chipmunk on meth" interrupted by the loud clanging of M's chair as she pushed it aside to dive under cover. Her head was poking out, braces shining in the florescent light while her arm frantically waved towards her cube mate. "Jake! There it is again!" She said. "The alarm! Quick, get under your desk!"

Don't think M. doesn't sing out of tune. Any mention of the 9-to-5 work shift sends her into a catatonic trance ala Dolly Parton mixed with hot gravy. Words cannot describe what the ears endure. It sounds like a screaming mouse in a blender.

"Niiiiiine to faaave!" Accompanied by jerking shoulders.

I ask M. if she's OK. She replies, "Jake, I'm retired." She says this because a customer once told her the same thing when she asked if he was traveling. It doesn't make sense, but say it out loud the next time you're asked a question and see how effective it is.

M: "Where are you traveling?"

Customer: "I'm retired!"

M: "Oh, sorry."

THE MIRROR OF TRUTH

2010-07-19T13:36:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

As morning clawed its way over the day, M. tilted her head slightly to the right and asked, "Coffee?" Then she cupped her hands over her mouth and replied to herself in a high-pitched cartoon voice, "M!"

She is dressed in American Apparel attire, her hair in a ponytail, looking very sharp in three shades of aqua-blue. She glances my way and exclaims, "I need to go see who's calling my name." Then she skips down to the cafeteria.

Upon her return with a tall cup of Seattle's Best, she grabs my attention.

M: "Jake, do you like yams?"

Me: "I love yams."

M: (Shocked) "You do not like yams!"

Me: "Yes I do."

M: "Nobody like yams. Jake, you do NOT like yams."

I pause a moment before asking, "What's going on?"

M: (condescending) "YOU like yams?"

Me: "Yeah."

M: "How do you like them?"

Me: "Kind of mashed, usually. Or candied if it's Thanksgiving."

M: "Ha! Candied!"

Me: "I usually eat them mashed."

M. stares at me, then gets all serious. "When I was a little girl and I asked my mother what I‘d be. Would I be famous, would I be pretty? She told me to shut up and eat my yams."

Then she sauntered off to clean the department refrigerator.

During lunch, M. sits at her desk eating microwaved yams. She tells the story of a recent purchase involving a mystical 'Mirror of Truth.' According to M., The Mirror of Truth is a small mirror that magnifies the pores in your skin so they appear bigger than both of your fists put together.

M. tells it like this: "I took The Mirror of Truth home and put it over the mirror I already have. I wanted to look at myself, so I did. And what did I see? My pores are this big" (holds up hands to form a giant circle) "There is a party in each pore. There is alcohol and reproduction and bacteria and all sorts of wild things at the party, and bacteria reproduces fast!"

Sometimes for no reason, M. declares she is growing a beard, so I ask how her beard looks in The Mirror of Truth. Her reply: "I saw hairs I wasn't even paying attention to."

She then demonstrates how to use 2 Magnifying Glasses of Truth placed permanently in front of her chest to attract attention from the opposite sex.

For the next three hours, M. points her finger in the air and says aloud to everyone passing by: "The Mirror of Truth!"

Later, free of charge, M. takes out a tiny bottle of Nature Energy Spray and juggles it before our very eyes. Even though it's only 1 bottle, she gyrates her body and keeps the bottle afloat several times before dropping it to the floor. Not one to easily admit defeat, M. gracefully slides her naked toes from their flip-flop holsters and snatches the bottle up with her pigglies.

"Ta-Da!" she shouts.

Ta-Da indeed.

The rest of the afternoon fizzles into a dizzy whirlwind of exaggerated snobbery and wacky quips.

Example: "Mmmmph, you people don't know where I shop!" (Accompanied by extra pursed lips and fluttery eyes.)

Example: "You need to read this article on JEALOUSY."

Example: "There is a wire between my gums and the back of my teeth that is killing me. I have so much food in my mouth!"

NOT A TIME FOR JOKING

2010-07-18T16:11:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

"This is not the time for joking," M. says as she stuffs a finger into her mouth. "You have no idea how much pain I'm in!"

The wire on the end of her braces is poking the back of M.'s gums and it "hurts real bad" so she shoves wax in her gob to make the pain go away.

Me: "Your pants are unzipped."

M: "What?!" M. is wearing a white t-shirt with brown 'Shakira Shakira' kid-sized cargo pants. Zippers are everywhere. The zipper going across one of her legs is widely agape so I notion towards it and M. quickly unzips ALL of the zippers on her legs for spite.

(She's classy.)

M. takes out the Psychology Today magazine and hands it to me. But what is this? What has M. placed atop of the mag for my unsuspecting eyes. Why, it's a shiny gold token worth "3 Payne Points!"

"What are Payne Points?" I ask.

"Don't be jealous," M. winks with an all-knowing smirk. "My orthodontist gives them to me. I get 1 point if I show up on time to an appointment, 1 point if I brush my teeth, and 1 point if I wear his shirt."

"You wear his shirt?!" I ask.

M: "Yeah, it says 'Payne Orthodontists' on the front. It's a blue T-shirt. There is a glass case in his office with all sorts of neat things I can buy with my Paine Points, like an iPod and an iPhone and... you know, all sorts of stuff."

The acronym for Payne Points is P.P.

M. is hoping to soon trade her P.P. for an iTouch.

Wow.

M. loudly chews apart a mini chocolate candy egg while talking. The over-worked, wet smacking sound of her full lips is only outdone by the brutal glimpses of chocolate, metal, and tongue I see in between chomps.

Me: "Are you supposed to be eating chocolate?"

M: "Shhhh! No."

Me: "Is it because of your braces?"

M: "No, it's because it's chocolate."

M. unwraps another mini chocolate egg and plops it into her mouth. "You have no idea how much pain I'm in."

M. is not aware of this blog. It's weird to work with her all day, taking mental notes of conversations on the sly, jotting down little reminders, etc., and then sitting down to put a little blurb together for the internet. There is so much to digest. Case in point, today I made the mistake of asking what kind of pants M. is wearing because for the life of me, I have no idea how to describe them. I mean, are they just pants?

Picture it- M. and her cube mate are huddled around a computer, deep in shoe talk. They are engrossed in fashion, chocolate, and the thrill of free overnight shipping. From the innocent space in my cubicle, I peek my little head out and gently interrupt with a meek query: "What would you call those pants, M?"

M: (snapping her neck to give me the coldest stare in the history of the universe). "What, Jake?"

Cube Mate: "What kind of a question is that, Jake?"

Me: "Well, I mean... are they slacks, or cargo pants, or... what would you call them?"

(Silence and cold, deadly blank stares.)

Me: (looking at Cube Mate.) "Well, you are wearing blue jeans, right? So you would call those blue jeans, but is there a name for what M. is wearing?"

M: "Jake! What!?"

Cube Mate: "They are her Shakira Shakira pants, Jake."

Me: "Shakira Shakira? Like the singer?"

Cube Mate: "Yes, Jake. Like the singer."

Me: "But, are they really called that? Do I have to say Shakira twice?"

There is a brief pause until M. stands up unexpectedly and bursts into song: "Whenever, whatever!" She shakes and jerks with her elbows in the air, that eerie Dolly Parton voice shatters through my skull like an alien tractor going down in flames.

They giggle as if the whole thing is a laugh riot. Cube Mate tells me they are cargo pants. M. adds that she got them from the children's section because she thought they looked cute. She said they were meant to appear baggy on a child, but they fit her perfectly.

That's fair, I guess. Shakira Shakira pants.

TO M. WITH HEART

2010-07-17T21:13:00.000-06:00

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Today M. is grumpy.

I ask what she wants to hear people say about her when she is globally famous.

"I don't give a flying bird what people say about me." she replies. "I don't care."

Perhaps M. is grumpy because I mentioned that men and women generally think differently. M. strongly disagrees. She believes people have different layers, regardless of their sex, and she does not think men and women use their brains to process information differently from one other. She has a valid point.

We let the issue drop.

One of our co-workers was interviewed on the news last night so M. re-classified her as a "famous" person. The co-worker was also an extra in a film.

M: "She is famous, Jake. She was in a movie."

Me: "Does that make you famous for knowing her?"

M: "Yes! I am almost as famous as Paris Hilton's friends." (She smiles really big!)

Me: "Is that how it works?"

M: "Of course that's how it works, Jake. When you go to Vegas and win millions of dollars on Poker, you'll remember me because we're friends. I'll be sitting in my living room like this" (she leans back in her chair and puts her feet on the desk) "because I'm recovering from liposuction, and I'll ask myself, 'What should I do first, watch TV in the bathtub, or sit by the fireplace?' (She snaps her fingers) "'The fireplace!' Of course, I hope it's winter, otherwise I'll be really hot."

M. is so pleased with this thought that she instinctively attempts to give me the Psychology Today magazine. (It never gets old.) "No thank you, M." I tell her. "I would read it, but it smells like it's been down someone's pants."

M. practices signing autographs to herself. She takes a red inked felt tip pen and writes frantically on a small pad of white paper.

M: "I'm going to be original and write, 'To M. with heart,' instead of 'To M. with love."

She scribbles in exaggerated circles for several seconds then finishes with a hard tap of the pen against the pad before showing it to me. Before I see anything, she jerks the pad back and hides it like buried treasure. Then she reads it aloud. "To M. with heart!" She kisses the tip of her finger and touches the paper. "Some famous people kiss the paper, but I am original so I do this." She kisses her finger again and touches the pad. "See?"

She shows me the paper. It is very impressive. M., however, scrutinizes the way she signed her name. "I don't like that signature." She stands up, walks to the paper shredder and disposes of her work. She sits back down and starts afresh.

M: "I need something more... JAKE! How does God sign his name?"

Me: "On TV he signs his name with a lightning bolt."

M: "Haha! Hey... you are onto something!"

She signs her full name with a lightning bolt in place of where the "s" should be. "Yes!" she exclaims. "Check it out. Huh? Huh?"

When I see it, a strange sensation sweeps over me. Typically, I feel one of two things when M. and I goof around like this.

1.) I'm 8 years old.

2.) I'm part of the Carol Burnett Show.

For some reason just then, I felt both.

MOST FASHIONABLE HOMELESS PERSON

2010-07-16T16:45:00.000-06:00

Monday, August 3, 2009

M. has a Mexican shawl wrapped around the lower half of her mouth and upper body. She twirls around and around in her office chair like a whirling dervish and explains, "I am going to be the most fashionable homeless person!"

"How so?" I ask.

"Everything was on sale yesterday, Jake. I bought it all. I won't have enough money to pay the mortgage, but I will look very fashionable not paying it."

Suddenly, M. stops twirling and demands to know why I haven't said anything about her new sandals. Before I answer, she stands up and walks down the aisle. A very long piece of toilet paper trails behind one of her heels. I bust up laughing as do other members on our team. It gets funnier when M. sits down and takes off the piece of Scotch tape she used to manually apply the toilet paper to the bottom of her shoe. Hilarious!

She continues with the homeless talk: "I'll be sitting there, in fashion, on the street corner begging for change. I won't have any money for food, so I won't eat, so I'll be skinny and look even better in my new clothes. Do you see how it all comes together, Jake? It's like taking a jigsaw puzzle and throwing all the pieces in the air then watching them fall to the ground. You record the pieces falling and watch it back in slow-motion to see how everything falls into place."

As always, I'm not sure how to respond, so I sit patiently waiting for M. to finish. She rummages through her giant giraffe-colored bag and produces an enormous pair of MK sunglasses which she adorns. This creates a shocking yet stylish look accompanied by her shawl.

"Guys, I washed my wallet!" M. shouts with glee as she unfolds a giant pink armadillo case, showing off her credit cards, Drivers License, etc. I didn't know you could wash a wallet, but apparently M. did it with spectacular results. Her cube mate is very impressed.

M. asks, "Jake, how much will you give me if I catch this M&M in my mouth?"

I respond, "I dunno... three pennies?"

M. proceeds a circus act of tossing candy into the air and stepping forward to catch it in her mouth. The first one misses and makes a loud clanging noise as it ricochets off her teeth. The next two hit their mark and fall into her shiny mouth. (M. doesn't eat them, of course. She spits them onto the palm of her hand and tosses them in the wastebasket.) By the time she is finished, I owe her 9 cents. Wow! Her cube mate follows suit and tosses the candy into the air, trying to catch it in her mouth. I wonder what a person might think if they walked down our row at that exact moment.

I should mention that M. took the liberty of giving my little plush Ewok his own set of "staple braces" last week. I walked into work this morning to find him standing under my monitor where he always is, smiling at me with a crooked piece of metal over his sewn-on smile.

"How are his braces doing?" I ask M.

"There is a seance in his mouth from all the wax," M. tells me. (He uses the wax in the same way M. does- to keep the wire from poking his gums.)

Before the day is over, I ask M. about her new sandals. She leaves early, trailing a long piece of toilet paper behind as she pursues a new life in homeless fashion.

CHAIR DANCING

2010-07-15T17:14:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

M. brought The Mirror of Truth to work. She waves it in the air like it's a magic orb from another world.

"I don't know if you are ready for this," she tells me.

"I'm not," I say.

M.'s Cube Mate is brave enough to take a look. Lo and behold, The Mirror of Truth must really work because the expression on her face was one of grave concern and absolute concentration as she studied her nose magnified in The Mirror of Truth's reflection.

"Do you see the party happening in your pores?" M. asks. "Tequila!" She kicks her leg out and imitates the Rumba. Without warning, M. nearly falls out of her chair because her foot catches on the seat. Instead of losing her cool, M. acts as though she intended to nearly fall out of her chair. She starts moving from front to back in exaggerated body gestures. "It's my new dance, Jake. What do you think?"

"I dunno," I tell her. "Chair dancing?"

"Don't be so negative." M. grabs a small stuffed bear from her desk and sets him on her knee. "Jake," she explains, "this is my new look for you." She moves the bear's entire body from side to side, making him look like he is shaking his head in disgust. "And if I approve, it looks like this." She tilts the bears head forward two times. "See?"

M. takes the bears small paw and makes him repeat a certain motion near his crotch. "Actually, it would be more like this." She moves her hand faster and busts up laughing.

Of course, the morning would not be complete without M. telling me to read the Psychology Today magazine on JEALOUSY. "You say you've read this, but I don't think so. I don't think so." She stuffs it down her pants again and sits slouched back. Her Cube Mates gives her a weird look.

*A friend of mine read yesterday's entry about M. putting toilet paper on the bottom of her shoe and asked me if I was absolutely positive M. doesn't know about this blog. I understand why the question was asked because it might seem like M. purposely 'hams it up' for her readers, but rest assured, I am capturing the essence of M. in her natural work environment. She has no idea about any of this.

If she did, I have a feeling her antics would include little side notes for me to put into the blog specifically for her readers. As long as I can keep the secret for three more months, I'll have enough entries to give M. her very own diary for Christmas.

PROBLEM AREAS

2010-07-14T15:47:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

M. came in late today. She's wearing a white dress embroidered with sparkles and rows of vertical flowers. Her blouse is also white with short puffy sleeves and her hair is styled in a 1950's ponytail. She is posed and ready to sing "Hopelessly Devoted to You" from the movie, Grease. Native American style earrings dangle to her shoulders a la Pocahontas. (She is ready for a sock hop!)

She curtsey's, sits down in her chair, stands up, curtsey's, sits down, stands up, curtsey's and sits down again.

She talks about her son. This is an exact quote: "If he wasn't my son, I would definitely marry him. Let me add something to that: AND if he were 17 years older." Something about seeing all of her son's paint gun equipment has given rise to romance.

M. demonstrates how she can get a child to do anything. First, she gets all excited and opens her eyes really wide. Then she puts on a huge smile of big metallic shiny braces and says, "Do you want a spanking??" Her tone is all puppy-dog like. "Or," she furrows her brow, scrunches her lips into a hateful wad and seethes with snake-like spittle, "do you want a hundred dollars?"

She concludes, "Ask a child like that and he will choose the spanking."

"Jake!" M. turns the pages of her calendar. "I've scheduled my Liposuction. They can get me in on October 6th. I don't mean to pressure you, but I made the appointment." She is convinced I will be a millionaire by then and pay for her liposuction. She is the last person I would consider for Lipo because she is so thin and fit already, but M. assures me there are 'problem areas.'

A co-worker passes out enormous zucchini from her garden to several gals on the team. The jokes fly aplenty about the "shape" and "size" of the giant plump vegetables. The one M. gets is the length of two bowling pins put together and as wide as a chubby baby boy.

M: (With a huge grin.) "I just might call in sick tomorrow."

MONKEY FRUIT

2010-07-13T02:20:00.000-06:00

Saturday, August 8, 2009

M. is congested. Her voice is scratchy and every few minutes she coughs. "Don't mind me," she says, "I have a small case of the Swine Flu." She sniffles.

I offer her some Cepacol throat lozenges, which she takes and quickly pops one into her mouth. Within seconds, her eyes get all wide and she smacks her lips.

M: "What is that?"

Me: "It numbs your mouth and throat."

M: "My tongue!" (Smacks her lips a few times.) "I don't like it."

M. decides the Cepacol tastes like a banana. "It's cherry flavored," I tell her, but she is not convinced.

M. hates bananas. Sometimes I'll eat one for breakfast and M. reacts as if I'm handling a dead skunk. She plugs her nose and scrunches into a ball, waving one hand in front of her face to escape the smell.

"Bananas are healthy," I protest, but it's no use. M. seizes a tiny perfume bottle from her bag and sprays it all over the room. One whiff of that stuff makes everybody's eyes burn and soon the whole team is coughing and gasping for air.

"What makes you hate bananas so much?" I ask.

M: "Jake, they smell terrible!"

Me: "Is this why you're jealous of Carmen Miranda? Because she wears bananas on her head?"

M: "Carmen Miranda is a man. And she's dead!"

Me: "Look, I'm done eating the banana. I've thrown the peel away so you can relax now."

M: "The peel is what stinks! Throw it away in another room."

Me: "What?! No way."

The Cepacol eases M.'s coughing for the time being, and the morning banana is soon forgotten. M. is a master at changing the subject when a conversation starts to spoil, so after a few minutes of arguing over monkey fruit she spins the discussion into a humor-filled rant about S.T.D. flare up.

The day winds down into a blur of JEALOUSY magazine references, twitchy singing, and M. asking me if I'm OK in between coughs.

Another Thursday in the books.

JUICY

2010-07-12T17:03:00.000-06:00

Monday, August 10, 2009

Last week, a former team mate who is now in another department paid us a visit. She illustrated how a person looks busy just by walking around an office with a piece of paper in their hand, and it's true! Try it the next time you are at work.

Dressed in gray tights with a long top with tri-purple-colored high heels resembling an updated "Flashdance," M. takes it to the next level. She holds in her hands: 3 pieces of paper, a blue accordion file folder, AND a UPS 2nd Day Air envelope. Wow!

I confess to her that I'm biting the bullet and admitting I am in fact very jealous of her importance so I'll do my best this week to be more like her, starting with taking notes of everything she says.

I ask M.'s cube mate for some advice. She shows me an application for her cell phone called "FART ANDROID," which plays a variety of "fart" sound effects such as "juicy," "long," "relief," "messy," and "toot."

Upon hearing the sound effects, M. slants her eyes and leans her head back. "This is how we do it, Jake." She tells me, holding up her iPhone. With sheik, hard fingernails, she presses several random buttons and explains, "I'm checking to see if you have an appointment."

Before my appointment can be confirmed, M's cube mate cries "Ow!" We look over to see her spit out a piece of chewing gum. Cube mate explains that she bent over to spit her gum out and hit her head square on the desk by accident.

M. stands up and walks down the aisle. As she turns the corner, her foot slides out of her heel and back in again, creating a small pocket of air that makes a funny noise.

"Did her shoe just fart?" I ask cube mate.

Cube mate responds, "My phone does."

I sit in front of M. with my pen ready. I ask what I can do to be more like her.

M: "It took me years, 79 of them, to be where I am now."

Me: "Where are you?"

M: "It would take me years to explain, Jake. You wouldn't understand. I'm busy."

(After a pause, she continues.)

M: "I impress myself. Jake, do you want chocolate from my golden tray?"

Me: "No, thanks."

M: "You obviously don't know who I am. This tray is heavy because the chocolates are expensive."

(Time passes and I reluctantly have a chocolate. It's dark and tastes bitter. When I come back from lunch, M. fills me in on the afternoon fun.)

M: "Earlier it was awesome! It was an FF; Festival of Farts. It was like a garlic festival but with farts. I was eating eggs and cube mate had the Fart Android. Between us, it was an awesome FF! You missed it."

M. offers me a Halls cough drop. My voice is scratchy so I accept it, but M. suddenly licks the side of the wrapper and says, "Nope. The milk has leaked. Sorry."

M: "What happens on Fridays stays on Fridays!" she tells me.

Me: "That doesn't seem noteworthy. Should I write it down?"

M: "Jake, everything I say is noteworthy. You should write everything I say down."

(I read that part back to her.)

M: "I did not just say that."

M. offers weight loss advice to a co-worker: "Don't weigh yourself. Measure your inches. Muscle weighs more than fat. Muscle burns fat."

I ask M. if she has any final quotes for the day. She thinks about it momentarily, then blurts out the following:

M: "Jake, I only hope that I am able to inspire greatness. The degree of greatness that I inspire... I've lost my concentration because when you're this great and this important there are several priorities constantly on your mind and they have no order. I have to pee so bad I can taste it."

And she is gone.

REALISTIC

2010-07-11T16:59:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

M. viewed Ingmar Bergman's The Seventh Seal (1957) last night per my recommendation. She said the film was so heavy that she gained weight just watching it.

(SPOILER ALERT - DO NOT READ THE FOLLOWING PARAGRAPH IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE MOVIE 'MARTYRS' YET.)

M: "Tomorrow, I'm getting my face peeled off. It's Martyr's 2! If I were the girl in 'Martyrs,' I would have just looked up after the first beating." (M. looks up and poses like she's in a sunshine kid's commercial.) "I mean, she had a clue before she went in."

(END SPOILER ALERT.)

M. still doesn't know about this blog, but she knows I'm taking notes of everything she says this week, so I read yesterday's notes to her, followed by the preceding two paragraphs from today.

M: "You know, it's different hearing what you said from someone else."

M. talks about how Victoria Secret clothes never look the same when you get them as they do on the internet. "The Victoria Secret models are all up here, and when you get it, it's all down here." She acts as though she's lifting two wiggly babies, then tossing used Kleenex to the floor. "It's like before and after, but in reverse. Before." (Lifting babies.) "After." (Dropping Kleenex.)

M. busts some quick hip-hop lyrics and takes a big sip of coffee. I've been sitting across from here with a blank expression on my face. Suddenly, I reach for my notebook which causes M. to spit coffee all over herself with laughter. She laughs so hard she declares her ab workout is no longer needed for the day.

M: "My mere presence is a gift."

Me: "What are you thankful for?"

M: "There was a sale. Nordstrom Rack, Jake. It was beautiful There were these boots, Jessica Simpson, knee-high, leather, honey-colored, 5 inch heels, brown tip toe, from $450 to $249.99, in my size. Need I say more?"

She continues, "I am also thankful for mirrors. They allow me to see me. In all my glory, Jake."

Me: "Do you consider yourself an egomaniac?"

M: "I consider myself realistic. That's not all, but when it comes down to how I perceive myself, I am realistic. Greatness is greatness, Jake. You don't have to add to it. No need for more. That's why it's great."

Me: "Who inspires you?"

M: "Barack Obama. (Jake, I am officially mentally retarded.) Because he is energetic, a hard worker, positive, he seems to stay cool and calm in spite of problems, he seems very sure of himself. And he wears Armani suits."

I ask M. for any closing statements before she leaves. Her response: "When I leave, the company as a whole will collapse. It's about quality not quantity. I don't repeat greatness."

She adds: "I wouldn't say anything about my abs, Jake. One million abs!

I read all of the notes from today aloud and ask what M. has learned. She says, "Hearing that is almost like leftovers. It's almost better the second time. I'm going to get my nose pierced, Jake, and then I'll be a real Robocop."

REAL DIAMONDS

2010-07-10T13:57:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

M. is dressed as a sailor. Her top is black with 6 huge buttons and a flap. Her pants are white.

"I'm in the Bahamas," she tells me. "This is my bathing suit."

Her purse is a spectacle all on its own. The border is giraffe skin, the middle is a wild zebra print, and there is a big leather Peace sign bejeweled with what M. says are real diamonds. Wow.

M. offers advice on nutrition: "If it's delicious, don't eat it."

She is leaving work early to get her face peeled. Before she heads out, she leans over to her cube mate and says, "My lunchbox smells like fart. Do you want to know why it smells like fart? Because last night I farted in it and zipped it up."

And then she's gone.

NEED I SAY MORE?

2010-07-09T18:55:00.000-06:00

Thursday, August 13, 2009

I was asked to take a photo of M.'s purse from yesterday's blog. Here it is, along with the notorious Psychology Today magazine. Behind it is the Mexican shawl. And behind that... you can see the back tips of M's hair. (Yes, she is a real person.)

I ask M. what her thoughts are as we come to the end of a week of note-taking. She says, "Maybe I should just keep my big mouth shut."

Me: "How has it been?"

M: "Very enlightening, Jake. I had no idea... the things that come out of my mouth."

(She continues.) M: "Now I understand why I can't get a boyfriend, Jake. And when I do, he's crazy. Now I understand.

Me: "Why?"

M: "Have you been listening to me this week? Need I say more?"

The truth is, I've been listening to M. for months and I consider her to be one of the most entertaining, funny, goofy, adorable, talented people I've ever met. Part of her charisma comes from the fact that she doesn't know how great she really is. Sure, she talks herself up all the time, but it's mostly in jest. She laughs at her antics more than she accepts praise, and like a true celebrity, she is not aware of her natural coolness. She makes work fun, and I almost look forward to waking up early everyday to sit across from her.

Of course, that doesn't stop me from mocking the loudness of her purse, which I do every time I see it. That's a lot going on for one accessory.

M: "It's painful to me with you so jealous of the things I own. I feel bad, Jake, after I see how much it affects you. I'd give the purse to you but you're a guy."

Me: "I don't want it."

M: "I went to the spa yesterday to get my face peeled and people were crying when they saw my purse."

Me: "Can you blame them?"

M: "Just please do yourself a favor. You need to read "Feelings Buried Alive Never Die."

Me: "Who is the author?"

M: "The person who wrote the book."

(I looked it up- it's Karol K. Truman.)

There is no definitive moment to sum up this week, but I keep going back to M.'s statement about "Greatness is greatness, Jake. You don't have to add to it. No need for more. That's why it's great."

I think that's why M. is great.

VOODOO

2010-07-08T17:07:00.000-06:00

Monday, August 17, 2009

Today M. sports a boring old purse that is the color of stained furniture. If she needs to clean it for any reason, she can use Pledge.

She has a little voodoo doll that she's using to get a certain "wind bag" on the team to be quiet. Per the instructions, M. 'casts the silent spell ' and lays the doll atop a personal artifact, places 2 pins into the doll's face, twists its head, and says "Hmmmmm." close to the voodoo doll's ear.

It's actually working! The "wind bag" has remained silent for most of the day.

In hopes that the "wind bag" calls in sick tomorrow, M. has the doll wrapped in toilet paper, with the same 2 pins pushed deep into the head.

She then attempts a spell on me by taking the little Ewok with braces from my desk and placing him in her potted plant. She sets an ibuprofen 800 near his mouth, a bottle of water (or as M. calls it, 'Vodka') next to his head, a couple of pennies and a bottle of Kickers 8 hour energy spray under his arm. She leans down and says, "Ahhhhhhhh." This is to send me on a tropical vacation where I can feel high and drunk.

"Jake," she asks, "are you feeling energized, drunk, high, relaxed, and rich?"

Me: "Sure."

DTS

2010-07-07T19:00:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

This week I am taking notes of what M.'s cube mate says. Not to publish them here, but just to see M's reaction.

"You know I am hungry for attention, Jake." M. tells me. "You already know this."

It's true, I do. M. needs a lot of attention and she is usually pretty good at getting it.

Today, for example, she 'sang backup' for her cube mate while I tried to take notes. It distracted me so I asked her to stop (several times).

M: "I believe I can fly. I believe I can touch the sky!"

No.

M. discovered my obsession with dts-hd master audio. I made the mistake of revealing my love for dts sound by admitting previous purchases of dts merchandise. Such as a coffee mug, an ink pen, a decorative pin, etc.

M. couldn't resist. I stopped paying attention to her for awhile until I heard her say in an exaggerated voice, "Guess I'll just pour some water now."

I turned around and watched M. pour water from a large jug into a smaller water bottle. On the jug, she had taped a piece of notebook paper where the label would go with a fake "DTS" logo she wrote by hand.

It was hilarious! Not only that, but she picked up a pair of scissors and started cutting paper. "Oh, I just need to cut this paper here," she said. Hanging off one of the scissor blades was a square piece of paper with another hand-written "DTS" logo.

I told her they were cheap knock-off's because dts isn't capitalized, but she wouldn't hear it. Instead, she picked up the receiver of her telephone and said, "Hello? Oh wow! Where are you calling me from? Your voice is so clear. Oh wait, it's because of my phone." Hanging off the receiver was yet another hand-written fake "DTS" paper logo.

You have to admit, M. is a master at getting attention.

SOCCER LID

2010-07-06T08:05:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, August 20, 2009

M. crawls under her desk. I watch her for several minutes sprawled on the floor, going deep to the back of her cubicle wall. After awhile, her head pokes out and notices me watching her. She fakes an embarrassed expression like she's been caught doing something naughty and waits for me to say something.

Me: "What are you doing?"

M: "I'm looking for my extension cord thingy. And I dropped the lid to my water bottle."

Later in the day, our team eats sandwiches from a local grocery store. I accidentally drop the lid to the jar of pickles on the floor. Before I can pick it up, M. jumps to her feet and kicks it down the aisle, Pele-style. Her fancy footwork is impressive as she bobs and weaves in front of me, criss-crossing her legs, daring me to make a move.

I simply wait for her to finish.

She scuttles the lid down the aisle. "I don't think you want to put this back on the jar," she says, ricocheting the lid off the floor and drop-kicking it in my direction. "There you go."

I pick the lid off the floor, replace it on top of the empty pickle jar toss it in the trash.

"Nice moves," I say.

In response, M. scrunches up her lips and makes a noise like she is constipated. "Mmmmmmmh!"

Classy.

AUTOGRAPH

2010-07-05T16:53:00.000-06:00

Thursday, August 20, 2009

I ask M. if she'll sign an autograph for me using her famous "lightning bolt" in place of the letter "S."

She refuses on the grounds that I might sell her signature on eBay for profit.

M: "Jake, how do I know that you won't post my signature on the internet and get millions of dollars for it?"

Me: "I won't."

Instead of signing her name, M. decides instead to draw a picture of herself. She narrates as she draws.

M: "I have big beautiful eyes with really long eyelashes, so let's do this... And I'm totally ripped so let's make my midsection tiny and muscular... And then I need liposuction here so let's give me a big one of these... There."

Me: "Is that your ass? What about your chest?"

M: "My chest? Let's do this... and this... and make my feet like this..."

Me: "What is that big red outline around your mouth? Is that a rash?"

M: "Jake, those are my lips."

Me: "What about your arms?"

M: "My arms are like this... and don't forget my naturally beautiful nails..."

Me: "You're making yourself look like Wolverine."

M: "And let's make my butt bigger... like this because I got back."

Me: "You look like the mutated spawn of a Mermaid and Mer-Man. And you have two left feet!"

M: "My feet? Oh, I wear Gucci sandals that are really cute so we have to draw those..."

Me: "What are you drawing now? Is that your Zebra Bag?"

M: "Jake, It's bright and shiny so it sparkles. So do my cute sandals... And the glasses are D&C... and this is Victoria Secret..."

Me: "You've made yourself into a monster. I'm going to have nightmares."

M: "Jake, just because you weren't born with my artistic ability. This is art. I am going to be the next Picasso, or Picassa really. Don't be jealous."

Me: "I'm not. Is this really how you see yourself?"

M: "Jake, this is art, OK? This is a one of a kind that is worth millions."

Me: "Well then you have to sign it. You know, that cool way with the lightning bolt instead of an 'S'?"

M: "OK, but don't let me see this on eBay. I know you're going to forge my signature and create fake documents or sell my autograph."

Me: "You can't even read your name! Why did you change your signature?"

M: "Because I went home and thought about my life and I've made changes, Jake. Just because you can't draw as good as me. Don't be hat'n!'"

M. looks nothing like the drawing she made, nor does her real signature resemble the scribblings on the paper. But the lightning bolt is kinda cool.

I think I'll hang this in my cubicle for awhile and see what kind of attention it brings.

HEATH LEDGER

2010-07-04T18:16:00.000-06:00

Friday, August 21, 2009

The following is a text conversation that occurred between M. and myself a few minutes ago. (I have decided to start using the initial "J." for myself. It should make conversations in the blog easier to read.)

M. (5:42 PM): "Have you seen the movie 'CANDY?'"

J. (5:58 PM): "The one with Heath Ledger? No, I haven't."

M. (6:00 PM): "Yes! I'm going to marry him one day. Watch it."

J. (6:03 PM) "Ummm... I don't know how to tell you this, M. But he's dead."

M. (6:07 PM): "NO ONE IS PERFECT, JAKE!"

J. (6:09 PM): "You can't marry a dead person. It's illegal and well, kinda gross."

She didn't respond.

OCTAVIO

2010-07-03T11:51:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

M. is dressed in two shades of grey with her hair in a ponytail.

"Jake," she says, "I see that you like your desk in the same way you like your purses- BLAND."

J: "What?"

M: "I have this bejeweling kit. Jake. We can put pink sparkles all around your monitor!"

J: "No."

M: "Jake, when I look at your desk, I want to fall asleep. I'm like this: 'Oh, what a nice desk. Oh ::yawn:: what time is it? I am falling asleep.' So I got you this plant. His name is Octavio!"

J: "Thanks, M! I don't have much of a green thumb."

M: "Don't touch it, Jake. Don't water it, don't look at it, and don't touch it. DON'T LOOK AT IT! Just leave it alone and let it sit there on your desk. See? Ahhhhh. Don't look at it! I will give it plant food."

OHIOPYLE

2010-07-02T16:57:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

M. has The Simple before noon today. She is laughing at everything, even if it's not funny.

"Jake, it's not just The Simple, it's... it's..." She pantomime's like she's squeezing a bouncy ball with both of her palms. "It's like this, Jake. It's Simple Pulp. I'm gonna take the pulp and I'm gonna throw it at you. You're gonna get pulp."

Today at work I received correspondence from Ohiopyle State Park in Pennsylvania. The correspondence contained a neatly typed letter and a small envelope that looked as though ducks had pooped all over it. Ducks, or buffalo.

M: "Ew! It looks like it's been dropped in the sewer."

J: "I'll give you $5 if you lick it from top to bottom."

M: "You will not give me $5."

J: "Yes I will. You won't do it. Gross!"

M: "Give me the envelope."

I handed it to her. Not only did M. lick the crusty disgusting envelope up and down, but after I complained that I couldn't see her tongue touch the poopy paper from where I sat, she did it again!

J: "I'm going to be sick."

M. sang "Old MacDonald Had a Farm" but replaced each animal with a strange accented name. Instead of 'duck,' she said 'duke.' Instead of 'cow,' she said, 'coo." She held her elbows out and her fists in front of her did a little farmer dance while she sang.

As the day progressed and people started going home, M. rearranged the little voodoo doll on her desk. She wrapped scotch tape all around the little woman's face and shoved push pins deep into the top of its head, then she whispered in it's ear, "Shut the f@&# up!" and hung the doll upside down from a plant vine on her desk.

The "Wind Bag" is in for a sucky night.

*On a side note, my cube mate saw the self-portrait M. drew hanging from my wall. She asked what it was. "I dunno," I told her. "What does it look like?"

Cube Mate: "From where I sit, the drawing looks like a horse going into a cave."

Classic!

25 WINDOWS

2010-07-01T18:23:00.000-06:00

Thursday, August 27, 2009

M. did not come in to work today, nor was she here on Monday (hence no blog post), however we had a brief text conversation earlier:

M: "25 Windows, Jake! Don't be jealous."

(M. told us yesterday that she had to clean 25 windows and blinds last night. She is a self-proclaimed "clean-freak" but she hates cleaning windows.)

J: "How many did you get done?"

M: "5."

J: "Ha ha."

(It took me an hour and a half to respond to her last text so I offered an explanation.)

J: "Sorry for the delay. It's busy here at work where some of are SCHEDULED TO BE WORKING."

M: "What is this word? Ww ww work?"

J: "It's what you didn't do to 20 of the windows."

M: "Don't judge me, Jahke Cordovinski!"

J: "I never judge you, M.-insky-Squeaks. It's sexual tension."

M: "Ha ha. Take some fish pills."

(M. takes handfuls of vitamins everyday, yet for the life of her she cannot fathom why I take Omega-3 Fish Oil Pills. Actually, they are very healthy.)

J: "You spicy tramp!"

I miss M. when she's not here. Mostly because I can't see her cute Charlie Chaplain wiggle face. And also because nobody else laughs so loud at my jokes.

I'LL EAT POO ANYDAY

2010-06-30T17:13:00.000-06:00

Monday, August 31, 2009

I am at my desk, working, when I hear really loud hammering. I turn around and watch M. slam her rock-hard fingernails down on her keyboard over and over again. She is typing a reply to an email.

Is she angry? Upset? Frustrated? I don't say a word.

M. sits on her chair in normal "M." fashion, which means her feet are bare and she has at least one foot folded under her bottom. Suddenly, her foot clenches. Then it relaxes and clenches again, as the hammering on the keyboard continues.

Eventually, she stops banging the keys and hits the send button.

"Are you OK?" I ask, genuinely concerned.

"Yeah." she replies, casually. Apparently, she just types really loud.

I explain, "Well, I'd hate to be the recipient of that email you just sent." I pantomime like I'm typing and get a really pissed-off look on my face. I say very loudly, "THANK YOU FOR YOUR EMAIL!"

M. laughs, which makes me laugh, and I inadvertently cough up a little bit of phlegm on my hand. (I know it's gross but I was laughing really hard.) I show it to M. and ask how much it will cost for her to lick it up.

She is severely disgusted at the idea.

"But," I remind her, "last week you licked a crusty ol' poo envelope- poo from a duck or a buffalo from Ohiopyle State Park for $5. NOW you're telling me you won't even consider doing the same to this fresh little bit of human phlegm?."

Her response: "I think I'll eat poo anyday, but stuff like that- no."

Let me repeat that: "I think I'll eat poo anyday, but stuff like that- no."

I am so impressed with this quote that I write it down on a piece of paper and ask M. to sign it. I notate the time and date below her signature and hang it on the wall next to her self portrait.

I really and truly don't know what to make of this woman. She is a riot!

SEPARATION ANXIETY

2010-06-29T19:24:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

This morning, I start a conversation with M.

J: "I left my book at work. See? Here it is sitting on my desk. I usually read a few chapters when I go to bed except last night I wasn't able to. I had separation anxiety!"

M: "One time, a friend told me there was a shoe sale at the mall. I went to the mall but there was no sale. I too felt separation anxiety."

J: "Oh God..."

M: "Another time, I was in New York City, and I tried to catch the last Metro, but I was late. So there I was waiting on the platform, and there was the Metro down the track. We were separated by the tracks so I felt separation anxiety."

J: "New York? Do you mean the subway?"

M: "The Metro."

J: "Of course."

M: "One time I was married and my husband and I decided to get a divorce. So we split up and I felt separation anxiety."

J: "Alright, enough already!"

After several hours of random "separation anxiety" stories, M. goes back to destroying every key on her keyboard with those long sturdy fingernails of hers.

M: "Why can't you ever be serious, Jake?"

J: [blank stare.]

Today she is adorned with a dark purple necktie hung loosely around her neck. It matches her "Come-Bang-Me" high-heeled hooker shoes. The rest of her outfit looks super fashionable. (Picture a very sexy business woman.)

Throughout the day, M. straightens her necktie a la Rodney Dangerfield. When she walks away from her desk, she says, "One time..." and I groan.

No respect.

BIG BUTT

2010-06-28T21:41:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

There are two compliments M. welcomes with open arms:

#1.) You are skinny.

#2) Your butt is big.

After she's had her hair done, she will accept:

#3.) Your hair looks good

But on an ordinary day, she'll throw it back in your face.

M: "Do men think women WANT to hear compliments from them?"

(There is no correct answer to that question. Believe me, I've tried.)

For the past three days, M.'s butt has looked genuinely bigger due to her choices in wardrobe. I mention how budalicious her rear looks every chance I get. After awhile, M. tells me to stop. She knows I'm only telling her what she wants to hear and doesn't believe for a second that I really mean what I'm saying. But I do, her butt looks amazing, especially today.

To emphasize the point, M. stuffs her shall underneath the back of her jeans and says, "Oh, I need to fill out the time sheet." She gets up and does a funky ass walk down the row. She looks like a really weird version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. To me, she looks like she soiled herself, and that's what I tell her.

M: "Jake, don't even read the magazine because it won't do you any good."

J: "I've already read it, M! Have you?"

She goes into a separation anxiety story and it's all I can do to stay in my seat. Yes, M. looks amazing, but more and more, I'm wondering if she secretly enjoys pushing my buttons.

Time will tell...

CHIHUAHUA BUTT

2010-06-27T20:58:00.000-06:00

Friday, September 4, 2009

The voodoo doll works! The "wind bag" will soon move to a different team. Ha ha! This is cause for celebration.

M: "Not only did it work, but it also killed my plant."

Octavio is doing well. M. picks him up and waters him in front of me. She takes him to her cubicle and sets him down next to the plant on her desk with the voodoo doll entangled in it.

M: "They are playing." (She makes Octavio lean towards her plant and bounces him up and down.) "Play, play, play."

M. describes how her pet chihuahua likes to play with her cat.

M: "He growls and gets in her face. Then he shakes his butt at her like this."

(M. imitates her dog bouncing towards her cat, butt-first.)

M: "It's so cute!"

Later in the day, she tells me how I remind her of her parakeet.

J: "How many pets do you have?"

M: "A lot."

J: "Why do I remind you of your parakeet?"

M: "You know how birds have eyes on the sides of their head? When I put food in my parakeet's cage, he leans sideways like this" (she imitates the motion) "and looks down at his food. You reminded me of that just now when you tilted your head."

She imitates the bird's movement a few more times, then she acts like her dog and barks while bouncing her butt in the air.

M. really needs her own TV show.

PRISON

2010-06-26T23:54:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

M. contemplates what life in a women's prison is like.

M: "I could tan in the yard so my pale skin won't clash with the orange prison outfit. I could work out and get buff. YES! Jake, after 12 years, when I'm 95 years old and I get out of prison, I'll have perfect teeth and I'll be buff!"

J: "Who wants an old buff woman with orange leathery skin?"

M: "Who doesn't?"

Sometimes M. and I argue like a married couple. More specifically, we argue like we're a married couple who should have gotten divorced two years ago, but we stay in the marriage for the arguments.

M: "We all need someone to argue with, Jake. Who am I going to argue with when you're not here? Our customers? Yeah right. I'd be all 'you're an idiot' and they'd be all 'why are you arguing with me?' and I'd have one phrase for them, one word, one name, and do you know what that name is? JAKE. And they'd say, 'Jake?' and I'd say 'yeah, Jake.'"

This is one of the many times during the day when I wish I could pull a magic wall over my cubicle opening. M. laughs as I pantomime pulling the side of my cubicle closed to block her out. Sometimes when she goes off like this I give her a blank stare. Then, after a few seconds, I frantically, yet subtly, look around for something, anything, to give my attention to.

M: "As long as I can take my shoes, I think I'm going to prison."

SNEAK HOLE

2010-06-25T15:33:00.000-06:00

Thursday, September 10, 2009

M. takes her shawl and drapes it across her cubicle. She is mostly hidden from me except for the hole that goes over a person's head.

M: "We are getting a divorce," she says.

J: "Is this a trial separation?"

M: "Yes."

The divorce has come about from me wielding a giant black and yellow umbrella in M.'s direction. I do this to block her unwavering need for attention, and it works!

M: "Jake, I can see you." (M. looks at me through the head hole of her shawl. Her fingers are wrapped snugly through the hole, giving her the impression of a small child spying on her parents.)

M: "Can you see me looking at you, Jake?"

I take the umbrella and pretend to poke M. in the face with it, through her little sneak hole. She retreats. After awhile, she says, "Jake, let's make up."

J: "OK."

We go back to our normal work relationship, which again, is like a married couple who should really be divorced.

Just like any married couple, we fight over money. I try to give M. the $5 I owe her for licking a poo envelope the other day. I include an additional $2 for the coffee M. has bought for me every morning for the past two weeks. M. refuses to accept it.

I leave the money on her desk. A few minutes later, she tosses it back at me. I walk over to her and place the cash next to her keyboard. "Will you please just accept this?" I ask. "You worked really hard for this $5. You licked poo!"

M: "OK, I'll take it."

I walk back to my desk.

M: "Jake, have you seen my airplanes?"

J: "What?"

M: "My paper airplanes. Watch."

M. fold the cash into a simple paper plane. She attaches a paperclip to the tip of it and sets a penny in the cockpit. Then she chucks the airplane at my desk.

I unfold it and hand it back to her.

J: "This is your money. You earned it fair and square."

M: "OK, but have you seen my cranes, Jake?" (Getting all hoity-toity.) "I don't know if you know how great my Papier-Machet is, but mmmmmmmmmff... I took a class from a master hhhhhaaaarrrrr... when I was in Japan. Mmnnmmph."

After several back and forths, I see two dollar bills laying on my desk. M. holds the $5 bill in her hand.

J: "Is this a compromise?"

M: "I realize I earned this $5, Jake. But think of the coffee as a gift, OK? Yes, it's a compromise."

J: "OK."

And we live happily ever after (in our separate cubicles at work).

A LITTLE DOWN

2010-06-24T22:52:00.000-06:00

Monday, September 14, 2009

M. is dressed in a black and turquoise Puma athletic outfit. Her hair is in a ponytail.

M: "Do you know I have braces, Jake?"

J: "That's what I hear."

M. is acting different than her usual snarky self. Her wit is softer, and so is the look in here eyes. She seems withdrawn, inner-focused, maybe a little sad.

J: "Are you OK, M?"

M: "I've realized there are some things I need to change, Jake. Like my underwear. I haven't changed them since... I don't know when."

The tone of her joke misses the mark. Although we both laugh out loud, I express my concern.

J: "You seem... different today. Are you sure everything is alright?"

M: "Oh this? I'm just a little down right now, but I'll be back to my normal self soon."

M. talks about a blind internet date that didn't go well over the weekend. Apparently, nothing clicked for her. She also befriended a homeless college student online asking her for money, or a place to stay for a few nights, or a date.

J: "That's cool, because if you're homeless with your shoes and your HDTV, you'll have someone to keep you company."

M: "Yeah!"

As soon as I got to work, I placed a special blank piece of paper on my desk. With a pen at the ready, I was prepared to take notes. Unlike most days, today the notes were few and far between. Usually, it's all I can do to keep up with M.'s quick banter and fresh quips, but she is somewhat withdrawn and quiet.

J: "It's OK, M. Today doesn't count. Just take it easy and relax. Decompress. Regain your strength and start afresh tomorrow. OK? Today doesn't count."

M: "Wouldn't it be great if you could do that for the entire year? Just go back to the beginning and start again? I would really like that."

Today doesn't count.

SCAMPER

2010-06-23T15:42:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

M. is back to her normal self again!

M: "You're just jealous because your coffee isn't as cool as mine." Using a ball point pen, she writes something on the brown paper cup holder and places it on her cubicle wall.

It reads: "This coffee is better than Jake's."

I stand up to read it, but everytime I try to read it out loud, M. cuts me off.

J: "This-

M: "Uhh!"

J: "coff-"

M: "No."

J: "is better than-"

M: "Uh huh."

J: "Ja-"

M: "Jake!"

Later, I hear a soft noise behind me. The smell of fresh banana wafts into my senses. I turn in my chair to find M. holding a trash can up to my face. There is a banana peel sitting at the bottom.

J: "Ahhh, smells good!"

M: "Gross, Jake."

She is amped up to 11. It's a night and day difference from yesterday and it's all I can do not to open the umbrella between us.

M: "Jake, you're wearing pants!"

J: "Yeah..."

M: "Why are you wearing pants?"

J: "Do you want me to take them off?"

M: "No."

I tell M. about the Kanye West incident on the MTV movie awards. She knows nothing of it so she searches Google for the scoop. Before long, M. discovers video footage of Madonna speaking about Michael Jackson.

M: "I love you, Madonna!" (She wraps her arms around the monitor and presses the side of her face to the monitor.) "Are you talking to me? Of course you are..."

She finds a spot in the video where the crowd erupts into cheers and enthusiastic applause.

M: "Jake! This is it. Instead of bugging you, I will play this after everything I say. Check it out!" (She mocks herself talking about her dog.)

M: "So, the other day my dog peed on the carpet..." (She presses play and the crowd stands up and cheers.) "Yes! Isn't it great?" Her face turns bright red and her braces take on a gleaming shine as she busts up laughing.

J: "Do you ever worry about being too full of yourself?"

M: "Jake, when you're born into luxury, like me, and people ask where you live, and you tell them, and they say, 'Where is that?' you flick them away. Scamper. Go. They smell kinda funny. They're just... right there. And you flick, flick."

After lunch, I head to the purified water basin to refill my 16oz bottle of water. As I reach the basin I hear loud footsteps rush towards me and soon M. leaps in between me and the water basin. She meticulously fills up her giant water bottle with cold and hot water, taking great care to smear the mouth of the bottle all over the spout.

M: "Oh Jake, were you trying to get water?"

J: "No problem. I can wait."

M: "Good." (She goes back and forth with hot water, then cold, then hot, taking way too much time filling her container to the brim.)

J: "You don't want to leave any bubbles." (I point to an area of air pressed against the top of the container.)

M: "No, I don't."

I go back to my desk and see M. tossing wads of rolled up paper at my keyboard.

M: "Jake, how much will you give me if I can type my name from here?"

I look at the computer screen and see M.'s first name typed out in lower case. She obviously did it by hand when I wasn't looking and now she's trying to make it seem as though she can type by chucking wads of paper randomly at a keyboard.

Not bad.

WOULD YOU FEEL AT HOME

2010-06-22T19:46:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

M: "If you were Middle Eastern and were meeting me on a date for the first time and I came in like this," (she shakes her hips in a twitchy impression of her dog's ass dance and bounces up and down), "would you feel at home?"

J: "I might leave the restaurant."

M. is giving blind internet dating another try. She has a date with a guy who is tall, good looking, and is employed in 'maintenance.'

M: "That's gotta be a joke. He's probably a millionaire. Jake, what if I was covered in one of their dresses and moved my eyes side to side like a belly dancer?" (She twitches her eyes and looks as though she's playing the piano and then washing her hands really fast.)

J: "I would think you are epileptic."

M: "People want to see what I look like on the dating website. What type of outfit should I wear in my picture, Jake? I don't want to seem too desperate, but I don't want to seem too forward either. How about this?" (She pulls up an image of a leopard print skirt with the mid-section and a lot of cleavage showing.) "This isn't too desperate, is it?"

She finds another outfit. It is a bright red leather shiny one-piece with matching purse.

M: "Oh, what about this one? Is it too forward"

I turn around and pretend to work. What else could I do?

The day was cut short by our department picnic away from work. M. played croquet while I played volleyball, thus separating us for the remainder of the afternoon. I'm sure she entertained fellow players with her wild and crazy quotes, but unfortunately I did not hear any of them.

Until tomorrow.

BALONEY FLASHDANCE

2010-06-21T16:42:00.000-06:00

Thursday, September 17, 2009

M. purses her lips and leans back in her chair. She makes her "I'm so important" noise which sounds like constipation and informs us that she is going to dinner and a movie this Friday night with some of her girlfriends.

I imitate her. My tongue sticks out of my mouth and my upper lip is curled to emphasize the effect. I sound constipated.

J: "Mmmmmmmphf, do you know where I live? Hurry up and take me there because I have to take a duuuuump! Hhhhmmmmmpf."

The impression stops and I lean back in my chair to sip my coffee.

M: "Look at you, Jake. You sip your coffee like you're so content."

This makes me laugh really hard for several minutes. Eventually, I lean over and spit the coffee out of my mouth to stop from choking.

Later, I jot down notes for today's blog when I hear a heavy sigh followed by a loud snore from where M. sits. I turn to see her sitting in her chair like the woman in Flashdance.

J: "What are you doing?"

M: "Chair Yoga, Jake." (She gets up.) "Does anybody need anything from the ladies room?"

She comes back with a damp paper towel and drops it in a wad on my desk.

M: "This is all I could find."

After lunch, I notice the plant she gave me, which she named Octavio, is flourishing.

J: "Octavio is growing!"

M. stares at me coldly so I reach out and slap the plant leaves. It makes an audible sound, very similar to multiple high-fives.

M: "Jake, what are you doing?"

J: [Slap! Slap!]

M: "Jake! Don't touch him."

J: [Slap!]

M: "Don't look at him!"

J: [Slap! Slap!]

Eventually, M. finds herself compelled to walk over and steal Octavio from my desk. She places him with her other plants so they can play. I'm left giggling alone at my desk.

Throughout the day, I ask M. a series of questions in the style of her belly dancing question from yesterday. Here are three examples:

#1.) "M., if you were from Russia and you didn't know me and you were waiting for me in a restaurant and I came in like this," (I do a weird Russian dance by folding my arms and kicking out one leg at a time,) "would you feel at home?"

#2.) "If you were from the circus and you didn't know me and you were waiting for me in a restaurant and I came in like this," (I act like I'm riding a unicycle and juggling several balls,) "would you feel a good connection?"

#3.) "M., if you were from the marsh and you didn't know me and you were waiting for me in a restaurant and I came in like this," (I flap my elbows and quack like a duck,) "would you feel like you were home?"

Number 3 takes me several different tries to get through. For some reason, each time I get to the part where I'm supposed to make the duck noise, I bust up laughing. I laugh so hard I almost pass out, which makes M. crack up too. After several minutes, we are both crying from laughter and our faces are cherry red. My ears burn.

M. fires back with a series of "I'm so important noises" accompanied by wildly pursed and ever-twitching lips. These go on for most of the afternoon until she attempts to demonstrate an excuse for getting out of 2nd dates:

M: "It's not going to work because... (dramatic pause for pursed lips and twitches.)

I interrupt.

J: "It's not going to work because your face turns into Oscar Mayer baloney."

More laughter, more red faces, more tears, and more spitting out of liquids. All in all, it's a terrific end to a pretty good week!

WHITE BIRTHMARK

2010-06-20T21:46:00.000-06:00

Monday, September 21, 2009

M. reorganized my desk before I came into work. She added a little shelf for Octavio, placed the photos of Carmen Miranda where she can't see them (but I can), and hung my calendar upside down. My computer monitor is also turned backwards. It's a very nice surprise first thing Monday morning.

M. tells us about a dream she had.

M: "I was in this big field and there was a cage, and inside of the cage was an enormous black bull with big horns! And he was pissed! I was looking for a place to park when I got scared because the bull was bigger than my car I thought the bull would crush my Mini!

J: "Do you think your dream is symbolic of your upcoming date with The Cowboy?

M: "Giddyap!"

I asked M. how her belly dancing date went. I thought it would make for an incredible story, but it turns out she stood the guy up.

M: "He called me 'Baby,' Jake. C'mon!"

J: "The wretch!"

A co-worker named C., who we've known for years from another team, pays me a visit. I notice a small dark blotch on her forearm.

C: "It's a birthmark."

J: "Really? It looks like you just wrote on yourself with an ink pen."

C: "I know, but I promise it's a birthmark."

M. listens to every word of the conversation, becoming more jealous by the second. She hates not being the center of attention. Thinking quickly, M. holds up her arm and asks:

M: "Oh, did you see my birthmark?"

With a black ink pen, she has drawn a little blurb of a birthmark on her forearm, just like C.'s.

After a good laugh, I mention how I was born with a weird reverse-style birthmark on the underside of my forearm. It's a white blotchy splatter that is lighter than the rest of my skin.

M. goes about her business for a few minutes, then asks:

M: "Jake, did you say you have a white birthmark?"

J: "Yeah, it's right here-"

M: "Did you see my white birthmark?"

She rolls back in her chair to reveal a hastily plastered patch of White-Out on the calf of her leg. Hilarious!

J: "You really know how to get attention, don't you?"

M: "What are you talking about? You know I've had this birthmark all my life. I'm very self-conscious about it, and here you go copying me saying you've got a white birthmark. Jake... no."

M. then illustrates her ever-impressive origami skills by making several large paper airplanes and chucking them at me while I'm busy working. For some reason, they fly in every direction but straight. The first one does an instant nose dive. The next one veers to the left and whirls three feet down the aisle to the floor.

Before she leaves, M. pulls up the Victoria Secret website to shop for panties.

M: "5 for $25! What a great buy!"

I take notice of some of the underwear models and stand up to get a closer look.

M: "Jake, go away."

J: "Wow, look at her. Mmmm..."

M: "Ew! Look at all her fat. Ew! She's gross. Ew! What's wrong with her face? Ewww"

J: "Nothing."

M: "NuthING! I knew it. Men."

It's a rare occasion to see M. so jealous, but it happens. I look around for the Psychology Today magazine, but I can't find it.

M: "Jake, I'm not jealous. OK, maybe a little bit, but not that much. I'm trying to order underwear and you're pissing me off."

J: "Maybe there is a reason why you shouldn't look at underwear models on the internet at work."

M: "Jake!" (She takes her shawl and drapes it over the computer monitor and her head, blocking the screen from view.)

She really needs to read that article on jealousy.

IMPRESSION OF FLIGHT

2010-06-19T17:17:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

It took me a day to realize it, but M. took down the self-portrait of herself I had hanging in my cubicle along with the quote about her eating poo anyday. She did it when she reorganized my desk, thinking I wouldn't notice. But I did.

M: "I wouldn't be surprised to see it up for auction on eBay. Wait! What am I saying? Not eBay... Christie's! Check with Christie's, Jake."

J: "It's not on eBay or on Christie's, M. Did you throw it away? Just tell me if you did so I'll stop asking you about it."

M: "I tore it up into little pieces and threw it away, Jake."

J: "Noo!"

For some reason I feel empty inside, crushed, lost. I have plans for that artwork.

#1.) Place the original pieces in the "Story of M." book I'm giving to M. this Christmas.

#2.) Give away the original one-of-a-kind masterpieces to fans of the blog through some sort of contest. Does anyone want them? I know I would, but I'm bias.

M. is wearing a black shirt with sparkly wing designs on each sleeve. I make a comment and she immediately flaps her arms like a chicken and stands up slowly on one leg to give the impression of flight.

After being privileged to her chicken flapping technique a few more times, I too make a little show of flying. I open the black and yellow umbrella and say, "Mary Poppins!" as I stand up slowly on one leg and pretend to float away.

It's hit and miss. M. is grumpy today and she ferociously admits it. I ask if there is anything I can do to help but she tells me she just wants to be grumpy.

J: "You didn't really throw away your artwork, did you?"

M: "Jake!"

Finally, after hours of pestering and inquiries, M. opens one of her file cabinet drawers to reveal the original self-portrait along with the autographed poo quote.

YES!! I am so happy they aren't destroyed it's all I can do to contain myself. Even though M. is grumpy, I am as excited as a schoolboy on Christmas. And there's nothing anyone can do about it.

So there.

APPLAUSE IN MY CLOSET

2010-06-18T18:18:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

People in the department cheer and clap. They're applauding for the head of our company who's paying us a visit today. As the applause dies down, M. walks to her desk. She hold out her hands and says:

M: "Thank you. Oh, thank you. Yes, I am here. It's true. Here I am. Please stop, thank you."

J: "Were all those people clapping for you?"

M: "Didn't you hear?"

J: "Yes, in fact I heard the applause and instantly thought, M. must be here!' Did you give them all high-fives as you walked in?"

M: "I did. All these guys were lined up in the hall. I said, Hey guys, are you here for me? Nooo..."

She closes her eyes, leans her head back, and twirls around in her chair with her shoulders all scrunched up.

Last night a friend asked me if M. is really as crazy as she sounds. The truth is, she is EVEN MORE crazy in real life. I have a hard time keeping up with her, she's always got something funny to say, or a weird voice to use, or some hilarious dance, stance, or facial expression. Most of M.'s humor is physical so it doesn't translate well into writing. She should really be on TV.

For lunch, M. walks over to where I'm seated. I turn in my chair to face her. In one hand, she holds a Chinese takeaway container. In the other, she scoops and re-scoops a plastic spoon into the food.

M: "Can you smell it? Doesn't it smell good? Mmmm..."

J: "What is it?"

She takes out a spoonful of food and puts it uncomfortably close to my face.

M: "Smell it!"

Before I can do anything, pieces of hot Indian food fall onto my chest and to the floor in front of me.

J: "Ahh! Did that really just happen?"

M: "Jakey!"

J: "You spilled on me."

M: "Oh, Jakey!"

There is a little brown stain on my shirt for the rest of the day. For some reason, M. decides to show her braces off by smiling in all sorts of goofy ways. I am interrupted several times in the afternoon by M. giggling directly behind me. She sneaks up while I'm working and stares over my shoulder until she can't take it anymore and has to laugh.

She says I'm grumpy and calls me Grumpy like it's my name about a hundred times. Even on the way out she says, "Goodbye, Grumpy. Don't be so grumpy tomorrow, OK?"

Boy, I'll sure try.

She also keeps singing "There's a Werewolf in My Closet" by Shakira Shakira. I tell her that's not a werewolf. She better shave.

Shakira - She Wolf official video music
by andrexfriends

Talk to you tomorrow,
Grumpy.

GUM

2010-06-17T21:53:00.000-06:00

Thursday, September 24, 2009

M: "Jake, do you want some gum? Jake? Gum? Would you like a piece of gum? Have some gum? Jake? Gum? Jake!"

J: "No thanks."

M: "What? You don't want any gum?"

J: "Not really, but thank you."

M: "Jake! Have some gum."

She tosses a square pack of Doublemint at me. It lands on the floor. I lean down and pick it up and realize the pack is empty. Plus, it's taped closed with Scotch Tape.

J: "There's no gum in here."

M: "Yes there is."

I toss the pack back to her.

J: "No there isn't. Why did you tape it closed?"

M: "Fine. You don't want a piece of gum? I don't care."

She drops the box into her desk drawer.

M: "It doesn't matter to me if you want gum or not."

J: "Why did you tape it closed?"

M: "I didn't."

J: "Yes you did. There's not any gum in there anyway."

M: "Jake, I don't want it to be so easy for you. The gum is more rewarding if you have to work for it. There is one piece of gum in there. Open the box."

She throws it at me.

J: "Why did you tape the box shut?"

M: "I didn't tape it shut."

I chuck the box in her direction. It falls on the floor and M.'s cube mate picks it up. She examines the box closely, then smiles.

Cube Mate: "M., you can see the tape."

J: "Ah-ha!"

M: "It's more rewarding if it's not easy."

J: "You just say that because you're a girl."

M. checks the messages she's received from a dating website. One message reads: "I hope you're not pissed because I've been deployed to Iraq." It's the first message M. has received from this guy, and she responds, "Of course I am pissed!"

M: "I don't know anything about him, but yeah, I'm really pissed that he's been deployed. I am so pissed off. What the hell?" (She laughs.)

Another message reads: "I've been staring at your picture for hours and I finally got the nerve to write. I joined this website just to send you this message. You look really cute and I'd like to get to know you better."

M. doesn't have a photo uploaded on her profile.

She responds to his message, "Don't send me any counterfeit checks. I'm not interested."

M: "Those crazy Nigerian scam artists. JAKE! How do I get messenger?"

She burps. It doesn't sound much like a burp. It sounds more like a very small exhaled breath with a little morsel of noise behind it. She looks at me and smiles.

J: "That was the weakest burp I've ever heard in my life."

M: "I know, but it wasn't a burp." (She moves her hand down by her butt and fans it really fast. She busts up laughing.)

J: "Classy."

M: "Do you want some gum now?"

J: "Fine, I'll have a piece of gum."

She chucks the box at me and I tear it open.

J: "It's empty."

M: "No, look inside."

There is one piece of gum in the box, but it feels very light.

J: "Oh, there IS a piece of gum in here."

M: "See? I told you so."

J: "I'll eat it later."

When M. leaves, I pick the piece of gum up and examine it. I slowly peel back the foil to reveal what looks like a stick of pink bubblegum. Then I realize it's a sticky-note M. has folded in disguise. On it, she's written by hand, "No, really. This is gum."

Curses!

JUICY COUTURE

2010-06-16T17:24:00.000-06:00

Monday, September 28, 2009

M. is not at work today so I shall retell the story of her juicy air freshener.

A couple of years ago, M. and I were partnered up to deliver Meals on Wheels to the elderly. The first time we ventured out, she drove. As soon as I sat in her Mini Cooper and closed the door, I noticed a pleasant aroma.

J: "Your car smells good."

M: "Oh, it's the air freshener."

J: (Looking at the air freshener dangling from the rear view mirror.) "Schnauzers?"

M: "Juicy Couture."

J: "Oh... Is that a perfume for dogs?"

M: "No, it's for people."

J: "Oh, OK. I was gonna say, that's quite the design for a dog cologne."

M: "Ha ha, yeah. A few years back I was at the perfume counter at Nordstrom when this guy walked up. The woman behind the counter asked how she could help, and he said he was there to pick up an order for his girlfriend... Juicy Cooter."

J: "Hahahaha!"

M: (Imitating the guy.) 'Can you give me some Juicy Cooter, please?' Hahahaha!"

J: "Ooh God... Well, your Juicy Cooter smells good, M."

M: "Ooh, thank you."

COME BACK AS A WASP

2010-06-15T23:31:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

M. brings in a 12" statue of Buddha. It is made of a clear, see-through glass tinted a beautiful emerald green. The head is tinted yellow.

J: "Your Buddha looks like Jolly Rancher candy!"

M: "No he doesn't."

J: "What does he taste like?"

M: "Jake, stay away from my Buddha!"

I can't help myself. Something about the way he looks forces me to run my fingers all over his little bumpy head.

M: "Jake, what are you doing? Stop it! Do you want to be reincarnated as a wasp?"

I go back to my desk, giggling in fits of laughter.

M: "Jake, you are a conversation. I am a press conference."

J: "What?"

M: "You heard me. You are a trash can and I am the city dump."

J: "Did you get that from a rap song?"

M: "Jake, two things. Number one- don't touch my Buddha! Number two-"

As soon as she says 'Buddha,' I am out of my chair in a mad dash to touch the Buddha head again. It's hypnotic.

M: "Jake! What are you doing? You're so bad. Stop it! You're going to come back in another life as a wasp. Is that what you want?"

J: "I bet he tastes like watermelon."

M: "Stop it. I'm going to spray perfume all over him so you won't touch him anymore."

J: "Don't do that. I can't help it. Have you felt his bumpy little head? Where did you get him?"

M. purses her lips and lets out a long, overly important constipated noise. She leans back in her chair and slants her eyes.

M: "One of my many trips to Thailand, gaaaaaahhhhh..."

Later on, she tells me to hurry and earn more money playing online poker so she can get liposuction. I remind her that the chips I win have no real value and cannot be turned in for cash. That makes no difference. Her plan is for me to do so well on internet poker that I am confident enough to play in Las Vegas and win her some real money.

J: "I never agreed to pay for your liposuction. You don't need it, M. You are the last person in the world who needs liposuction."

M: "You did too agree with it. I told you about my plan and you agreed."

J: "I did not. You know, some people who get liposuction and don't need it turn out worse."

M: "How so?"

J: "Like, their skin gets wrinkly and they get all wobbly."

M: "Like this?" (She holds her arms out like a zombie and starts wobbling all over.) "Oh, let me get the phone." (She wobbles and walks forward, turning her head to say:) "Oh, I'm all wobbly from liposuction. He said it would make me like this."

I really crack up. For some reason, it's a lot funnier than it should be and for several minutes, I can't stop laughing.

After lunch I overhear M. talking to her cube mate. I didn't catch the entire conversation, but I saw M. move her shoulder in a seductive way and tell her cube mate it was code for *wink wink* "Hey!"

I don't understand what it means.

Towards the end of the afternoon, M. and I are talking about bad movies, or more specifically, stories that don't allow the audience to feel sympathy for the main characters.

J: "A lot of new writers make the mistake of writing about people they hate. I guess it's a way for them to vent. But, who wants to read about some jerk? You have to genuinely love people to be a good writer, or at least show sympathy for the characters you write about. Otherwise, nobody will want to read it."

I heard that from Stephen King.

I say this to create an idea in M.'s mind. I don't know if she'll remember it come December, but I want to see her reaction. I really don't want M. to think I'm making fun of her when she finds out about the blog because I have a lot of genuine respect for her and I'd like her to look fondly on these daily excerpts.

J: "It's kind of like The Ernie Blog. I was really sad when I was asked to stop writing it because the blog came from a place of kindness. I never meant it to cause grief."

M.'s cube mate shoots me a wide-eyed stare. She is the only one on the team who knows about M's blog, and she isn't sure where I'm going with the conversation.

M. doesn't seem to feel strongly about it one way or the other, which is a relief. I hope she keeps the same lightheartedness over time.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Afterall, I don't want to come back in the next life as a wasp. Yikes!

HALLMARK CATALOG

2010-06-14T21:33:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

M: "I want a Hallmark. What's it called Jake? The donut?"

J: "Do you mean a Bismark?"

M: "Yes, I want a Bis-Mark-E Donut with cream filling."

M. complains about eating too much this week. She insists she eaten more than her limit of junk food, including several Hallmark (Bismark) Donuts. She's not eating lunch because she had peanut butter and jam toast for breakfast so she'll just wait and eat dinner.

J: "That doesn't sound healthy."

M: "Jake, I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to my water, OK?" (She's holding a water bottle.)

J: "Do you want some homemade spaghetti and meatballs? I brought extra. It's really good."

M. "No, because it will make me hungry and I'll eat more."

J: "So, you should eat."

M: "Jake, the shoes I want from this Victoria Secret catalog are back-ordered until December. How is that possible? They just sent me their catalog yesterday. How can the shoes featured on the front cover not be available?"

J: "Now who are you talking to?"

M: "My iTouch."

J: "Jake, find these shoes for me. Will you see if they have them on Amazon? I can't do it, I'm too upset. You should write a letter to Victoria Secret for me and tell them I'm going to sue the pants off of them!"

She tells me how the models for Victoria Secret mislead all of the merchandise because none of the clothes look as good when she buys them as they do on the models in the catalog. She hands me the catalog to look through and I focus on the center spread with 4 half naked beautiful women.

J: "Can I order all 4 of these?"

M: "Jake! Why are you so disgusting? Oh, nevermind."

To make up for being a man, I sit down a type out a letter to Victoria Secret on behalf of M. I make sure to bring up all of her grievances.

Here is the letter in its entirety:

S.M. Lightning Bolt
PO Box 571423
Magnay UT 84157-1423

Victoria Secret
North American Office
P.O. Box 16589
Columbus, Ohio 43216-6589

30 September 2009

Dear Victoria Secret:

I am writing in regards to the recent catalog I discovered in my mailbox. It is fab-trance-tastic! Thank you for sending it to me. I love every page.

Problem- the shoes on the front cover are backordered through the end of the year. Are you cereal? I want to wear them when I make my famous Cantaloupe Soup in three and ½ weeks. Can you do me a special and ship a pair of 6’s out early because you’re super-awesome, pretty please with powdered sugar on top, and stuff? Thanks!!!

If you can’t, I’m suing the pants off of you. That’s right, your pants on the floor. That’s all you’ll have. You heard me! Your models do not correctly represent your product. They look too good. Not everyone was born with a silver spoon in their mouth, OK? Some of us live in Magnay.

Eagerly anticipating your cute reply,

S.M. Lightning Bolt

P.S. You know a mullet when you see it, right? What fashion accessories do you have for a mullet? I needs them real bad!!

I hand the letter to M. and ask her to read it out loud to see how it sounds. She doesn't make it past the first sentence before she's hysterical with laughter. Half way through, she stands up, tears running down her face, and tells me she has to pee. When she comes back, she finishes the letter, laughs even harder and uses her famous lightning bolt signature to sign it.

M: "Are you really sending that?"

J: "Yep."

M: "Ha ha! What if they send you a pair of shoes? I'm going to be so mad!"

J: "I'll give them to you. Why would I want shoes from Victoria Secret?"

RED FIRE SMOKING ANTS

2010-06-13T16:51:00.000-06:00

Thursday, October 1, 2009

J: "Why are you looking so sad, M?"

M: "My cockatiel died. Rocky... He was 12 years old."

J: "Oh no. I'm sorry to hear that. Are you OK?"

M: "The house is so quiet. Now who's gonna whistle when I walk through the door?"

J: "What do you think Rocky would have rated himself on a scale of 1-10?"

M: "12."

J: "What about your chihuahua?"

M: "15."

J: "15?"

M: "Oh yeah. He'd be all, '1-10 isn't enough.'"

J: "Based on that... how would you rate yourself?"

M: "3."

J: "No... What do you really rate yourself?"

M: "3."

J: "Why a 3?"

M: "Why, Jake? Where do I start?" (Long pause with a cold stare.) "Do you really want me to sit here and answer that?"

J: (Thinking about it for a minute.) "No."

M: "Didn't think so."

M.'s birthday is next Tuesday so she's taking the entire week off. Today is the last day we'll see each other until October 12th. I didn't even bring in her present.

M: "Do you want some advice, Jake?"

J: "Don't sniff red fire ants?"

M: "Oh, OK... So no matter what I do, do not sniff red ants."

J: "Red fire ants."

M: "Will it kill me?"

J: "It will hurt really bad. Wait! It will kill you. I saw the re-enactment on "1,000 Ways to Die."

M: "You're just saying that because you snort flies."

Not really. I was sitting at my desk yesterday when I saw a fly twirl just under my nose. It flew up into my nostril, into my mouth and down the back of my throat. I coughed a few times but nothing came out. I didn't want to snort the fly, it just happened. And it was a very unpleasant experience.

J: "That isn't the same-"

M: "Picture me sitting here smoking a cigarette. Would I have any right to tell you not to smoke?"

J: "You don't smoke."

M: "Pretend that I do. Imagine me sitting here right now smoking. Does that give me any right to tell you not to smoke?"

J: "That's irrelevant."

M: "Oh, it's relevant."

J: "That's like me saying if I fell down and smashed my face on the pavement would I have any right to get up and tell you not to fall down and smash your face?"

M: "Jake, that doesn't make any sense. You're comparing smashing your face on the pavement to smoking a cigarette?"

J: "No, I'm asking you what cigarettes have to do with red fire ants?"

M: "If you throw your cigarette butt on the ground, ants come and carry it into their home. That's how it relates."

J: "What does that have to do with snorting fire ants?"

M: "I have aunts who smoke. I don't know why you can't see the relevance. Just because you snort flies, Jake. Not everybody snorts flies."

J: "M., we only have 1 hour left before I leave and I won't see you at all next week, not even for your birthday. Is this really how you want to spend the afternoon? Arguing about ants?"

M: "I want a Hallmark."

SCRUBS

2010-06-12T00:01:00.001-06:00

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

M. is off all week. I sent her a text today that reads, " Where are you?? Work sucks without you!" It's the truth. The day is so quiet and peaceful when she's gone.

She replied, "I'm scrubbing basement floors. Poo and pee from a 1930 house."

Yucka!

If it's not 25 windows, it's old lady feces. The things we do for a little extra cash.

I flipped my wall calendar over to October last week. I noticed some writing on the 13th square that reads: "M.'s liposuction! :) "

Keep dreaming.

Tomorrow is your birthday!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ELISABETH SHUE

2010-06-11T08:56:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Today is M.'s birthday. Today is also Elisabeth Shue's birthday. M. isn't here so I'll write about Elisabeth Shue.

Remember the opening scene from Adventures in Babysitting where E. dances in her bedroom and lip syncs in a hella sexy rock 'n roll style? I do. I think every teenage boy (and a few girls) who saw that movie fell in love with E., with her sexy fluffy hair falling all over her face like Christmas. Hot!

She went on to co-star with Tom Cruise in Cocktail, followed by a small role as Marty's McFly's girlfriend in Back to the Future Part 2 and 3, looking lively and spunky as ever. Mmmm...

Fast forward a few years and several leading roles later to find ourselves drunk and thoroughly aroused in the 1995 film, Leaving Las Vegas. Yes! Now this is the Elisabeth Shue we've been waiting for.

What's that? You wonder if E. has ever been in a film noir? Here is the answer: "YES!" E. co-stars with Woody Harrelson in the steamy hot film, Palmetto circa 1998. She embodies the hot, lurid sexuality of a scorching summer down south. Whoa, Nellie!

I wonder if E. entertains her co-stars with the same witty banter and charisma as M. Imagine E. telling Woody about her "festival of farts." No?

Molly, Hollow Man, and Hamlet 2 are a few other movies featuring the sex-symbol from the late 80's. Like M., E. somehow looks younger and more energetic over time. How do they do it? What is it about these two that makes them so alluring? I'm not sure, but I know both of them are always good to be around, if only on the silver screen or only across the aisle at work.

Happy Birthday, E!

Happy Birthday, M!

You are two shining stars in the Hollywood firmament.

It says so...

Right there...

WORK TEXT

2010-06-10T16:48:00.002-06:00

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

The following text conversation happened moments ago. The name of the company and our CEO has been changed for the sake of anonymity.

J: " :( "

M: "Why are you sad, Jakeypoo?"

J: "Because you're not here. It's soooooo quiet."

M: "KARMA !!! For leaving me every Friday!"

M: "EVERY FRIDAY !!!!"

M: "Wait... is it good or bad that it's so quiet?"

J: "It's kind of nice but kind of boring. I just miss you, M. Are you coming in tomorrow?"

M: "Si."

J: "Yay!"

M: "Yeah, H.H. asked me to please go in tomorrow because USA Corporation has noticed some decline in stock value since I've been gone."

M: "I said, 'OK if I have to.'"

M: "...but just because you asked nicely."

M: "...and you said please."

M: "...and you are crying."

M: "...and you're on your knees."

M: "Then I said, 'get up H.H. What are people going to think when they see the V.P. of USA Corporation in this state? KEEP IT TOGETHER, MAN!'"

M: "Then I slapped him!"

M: "...and he started crying again! He said I reminded him of his mother just then!"

M: "I said- 'But H.H., I'm not a Head Honcho-' (you have to be politically correct around H.H.)"

M: "He replied, 'no you're not.'"

M: "We both hugged and cried. I pinched his right butt cheek."

M: "He said, 'Why did you do that?' I said, 'I don't know.'"

M: "He said I reminded him of his father just then."

M: "Then he asked me NEVER to speak of this to ANYONE! I assured him no one would EVER know."

M: "...then he said he loved me."

M: "I asked him if he bowls and if he knew how to make cantaloupe soup. He said he bowls with cantaloupes!"

M: "I said, 'How eccentric of you!' He said, 'I didn't know you knew such big words.'"

M: "I said, 'Don't let the mullet fool you.'"

M: "He said, 'I like mullets! I almost have one.' I said, 'I've noticed!' and added 'Is that kind of ironic? A Head Honcho with a mullet?' He said, 'What does ironic mean?'"

M: "To answer your question, Jakeypoo... I am coming to work tomorrow."

J: " :-O "

M. FOUND OUT

2010-06-09T13:45:00.003-06:00

Thursday, October 8, 2009

M. signed up for Facebook over the weekend. I had no choice but to tell her about the blog before she stumbled across it herself...

She is reading it now.

Leave lots of comments here so M. feels your love!

M. REACTS TO THE BLOG

2010-06-08T20:38:00.000-06:00

Saturday, October 10, 2009

M. came to work late on Thursday. Her desk was semi-decorated with a colorful "Happy Birthday" banner, a gift bag from Starbucks, a card, and a Bismark donut on a paper plate with a sucker stuck into it.

After everyone had a chance to smother M. with fond wishes, she turned to me with a shocking announcement.

M: "Jake! I signed up for a Facebook account!"

J: "You did?"

M: "Yes! I signed up for one so I could see my friend's photos."

J: "Oh... So, will you continue using Facebook or was it just a one time thing?"

M: "Will I use it? Will I use it? Pffft! Now I have time to use it."

While M. Was on a phone call, I spoke to her cube mate. Her cube mate is the only person on the team who knows about this blog.

J: "I wasn't expecting this."

Cube Mate: "I know."

J: "If she looks at my Facebook page, she'll see all of the blog posts."

Cube Mate: "I was thinking the same thing."

J: "I should tell her about it before she finds out on her own, huh?"

Cube Mate: (Nodding her head.) Yes, definitely."

J: "That means I have to tell her, like... today."

Cube Mate: "Yeah."

J: "Oh man."

I wasn't prepared. I didn't expect to tell M. about the blog for another 2 months, but now I didn't have a choice. My Facebook page is unprotected so anyone can view it. I keep it this way to network with my former podcast listeners, and to advertise The Story of M. I had no other option than to tell her. Right now...

J: "I need to tell you something, M."

M: "You do?"

J: "Yes."

M: "Jake! Why are you so serious?"

J: "It's nothing bad. I just have to talk with you about something. Can we go for a walk?"

M: "Oh my God, you want me to go on a walk with you? Are you going to kill me?"

J: "Ha ha. No."

M: "OK... let me just sign in so there is evidence I was here." (She signs in using the time sheet.) "If I'm not back in 5 minutes, come looking for me. Jake is asking me to walk with him."

J: "You'll be back."

On our way out, M. informs everybody we pass, whether we know them or not, that she is going out in the hallway for a walk with me. I laugh and tell her to stop it. We walk out of the department into the quiet hallway. We turn the corner and stop alongside the wall. M. freezes in a kung-fu pose, changes her stance into another pose, freezes, and repeats it again one more time.

J: "You aren't making this easy for me. Will you just be normal for a minute so I can talk to you?"

M: "What did I do?"

J: "You didn't do anything, it's something I did."

M: "Oh, it's something you did. Oh God, what did you do, Jake?"

I stood there looking at M. for several seconds. All of the various approaches for this conversation rushed through my head, but I knew I wouldn't use any of them. Instead, I decided to be as honest and upfront as I could be.

J: "You read the birthday card I gave you, right? So you know I think very highly of you."

M. "Yes, I read it."

J: "You know I would never say anything to degrade you or to put you down. Right?"

M: "Mmm... yeah..."

J: "You have a very entertaining personality, M. How would you feel if your amazing personality had a strong but small cult following?"

Her expression didn't change. She just stared at me.

J: "You know The Ernie Blog I wrote?"

M: "Yes, but I didn't read it."

J: "OK, well... Let's go back to July. I sent you a text message one day, that I'm sure you don't remember."

M: "Jake, I don't remember what happened yesterday."

J: "Ha ha, fair enough. Well, in July I sent you a text message that said I would love to write a book about your life. Do you remember?"

M: "You did? No, I don't remember that."

J: "At the time, you brushed it off like you didn't think I was serious. But... M... I've been writing about you since July. I've written a blog for almost everyday we've worked together. When you told me you set-up a Facebook account, I was worried you might see my page on Facebook and discover the blog. I wanted to tell you about it before that happened. You are very entertaining, and so many readers love reading about you. People email me if I don't publish a blog on time, and everyone who knows me in person tells me how hilarious the blog is. They love it! They love you. If you want me to stop, I will, but I really want to continue writing about you because you are so fun to write about. I can't keep up with you sometimes. So... what do you think of that?"

M: "Ok, well... it's fine. But I can't access Facebook at work."

J: "That's OK, the blog isn't on Facebook. Let's go back to your desk and I'll show you the URL so you can read it. I'll give you some time to go through it, then you can sleep on it and see how you feel about it tomorrow. Just remember, it's completely anonymous so nobody knows who you really are, except for a few people. Your cube mate knows because she saw it on Facebook, but I swore her to secrecy. And you have a lot of really cool fans who love reading about you. You are a star, M!"

We went back to her desk. Before I could show M. the website, a colleague interrupted us and demanded M.'s immediate attention. I went to my desk and wrote down the URL on a sticky note, then I left it on M.'s desk. When she was free a minute or so later, she started typing in the address.

M: "Tunnel Scene, Jake? Ha ha!"

J: "Yeah." (I smile.)

I showed her how to start at the beginning and navigate forward so she could read them in chronological order. I saw at my desk and breathed. At least the secret was out. I didn't feel nervous about it anymore. Now I just had to wait and see how she responds.

M. started at the beginning. She laughed from the onset, sometimes so hard that tears sprung from her eyes. Her cube mate and I both looked over her shoulder and followed along with the text. Neither of us had read some of the entries since they were published, and some of them brought back happy memories. Soon, we were all laughing. We couldn't help it.

I had a meeting with a manager from another team so I had to steel away from M. for an hour, but even sitting several rows away, M.'s laughter was all we could hear. I took it as a good sign.

When she was done, her cube mate asked her if she was mad.

M: "No, I'm not mad at all. I think it's funny because I'm me and I know what happened before and after, but I'm not sure anyone else would see the humor."

J: "Don't worry, M. People love it! They love reading about you."

M: "It's so random."

The next day, I sent M. a text to see how she was feeling. Out of all the things I expected, I didn't expect this:

M: "You are a very good writer, Jake. I think you could follow a feather around and make it sound exciting and entertaining to everone who reads it. I am flattered that you're writing about me."

It's one of the best text messages I've ever received. Thank you, M! :) The truth is, I simply write down what M. says and does. She's very easy to write about.

We'll work together again this Monday, and I have no idea what to expect. Things might be slightly awkward between us for the first few days, because M. is aware of the blog, and she knows I'm writing about her. I question whether I'll continue takings notes in secret or whether I'll openly show M. the pad of paper and pen as I jot down her quotes.

But so far, so good. Don't you think?

CLUMP OF SHAWL

2010-06-07T17:15:00.000-06:00

Monday, October 12, 2009

M. has her shawl wrapped around her when a big clump of it falls to the floor in front of her. We all stare at it before M. picks it up and places it on her forehead.

M: "These are my bangs."

J: "You look like the Statue of Liberty."

M. holds her arm up like she's holding a torch. Then she moves the clump of shawl to her chin, like it's a beard.

M: "This is how I wake up everyday. This is what happens if I don't shave."

She places the clump of shawl in in her ear, at the edge of her sleeve, then below her skirt, then around her ankle.

M: "This is what happens when I don't shave here, here, here, or there."

Eventually, M. wraps the mini shawl around her Buddha and leaves it alone.

Things are different today. M. insists she just feels tired, but I think her awareness of the blog is affecting her natural personality. Every so often, she'll start a funny pose, or begin going off about something random, only to cut it short with a knowing glance in my direction.

Hopefully, everything will go back to normal soon.

M. finds out I am buying a new car. Her response:

M: "Jake, who drives a silver car?"

J: "You do."

M: "My car is black."

J: "Oh? Did you have it painted?"

M: "Well, it was silver yesterday. Today it's black.

J: "Right."

I rush to her desk and rub her little Buddha head.

M: "Jake!"

WHEN YOU WEREN'T LOOKING I DID SOMETHING

2010-06-06T20:06:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

J: "When you weren't looking, I did something."

M: "Oh really, Jake? When you weren't looking, I did something."

J: "What did you do?"

M: "Wouldn't you like to know?"

J: "Yeah."

M: "You want to rub the Buddha head, Jake? Go ahead and rub the Buddha head."

J: "OK." (I rub the head.) "Ahhh! You put lotion on your Buddha!"

M: "Ha ha ha! It's not lotion, it's conditioner."

The team celebrates M.'s birthday as well as another team mate's birthday with a quiet song. We sing, in very low tones and volume, "Happy Birthday to you." We keep it quiet because M.'s cube mate is on the phone with a customer. It sounds depressing, terribly sad, and somehow hilarious.

M. tries to hide, but she is surrounded.

Everyone on the team brought something in. We had chili, cake, salad, drinks, etc.

M: "I can't wait to eat some chilicake."

Later, M.'s "famous" friend comes over and shows us some wild Samba dance moves. To the untrained eye, it appears the famous friend is attacking somebody with weird crane kicks, karate hands, and aggressive huffs.

M: "Are you sure this is a dance class and not a self-defense class? Those moves are really ballsy, if you know what I mean."

Famous friend: "Wha??"

M. hands her iTouch to me and tells me to watch an uncensored music video. It's a song called "Addicted" by Saving Abel. Normally, I like this kind of filth, but I'm at work... It's very uncomfortable, but still very cool.

Check it out:

Saving Abel - Addicted (UNCENSORED)
by CodeElipse

SPANDEX

2010-06-05T14:17:00.000-06:00

Thursday, October 15, 2009

M: "I have one word for you, Jake, and here it is."

M. places a very small typed word on my desk. the word is "spandex." M. has clipped it from a magazine.

J: "What is this?"

M: "It's a word, Jake."

J: "Spandex? Why?"

M: "Why, Jake?"

J: "Oh God..."

Later in the day, I ask M. who she thinks the most clever person in the world.

M: "I think it's a tie between Paris Hilton and... what's her name? She's a singer, kind of like Christina Aguilera... not Britney Spears- she'd come in 2nd.... MARIAH CAREY! Have you heard her song lyrics, Jake? I have to grab a dictionary to figure out what she is saying. 'I see right through you like you're bathing in Windex.'"

J: "I would think the most clever person in the world is probably someone like Stephen Hawking-"

M: "Jake, did you hear the song lyrics? Stevie Hockey can't write lyrics like that."

J: "Stevie Hockey?"

M: "Stevie H!"

Earlier, M. asked me a question with a look of sadness in her eyes.

M: "What did the little boy with no arms or legs get for Christmas?"

J: "I dunno. What?"

M: "Cancer." :(

HOUSE FLY

2010-06-04T19:52:00.000-06:00

Sunday, October 18, 2009

This brief but stirring text conversation took place earlier this afternoon...

M: "Soooo I killed a fly and tried to convince myself he was being a pain. But the reality of it all is I killed him because I could."

M: "...it was easy."

M: "He was just sitting there eating tanning lotion and I killed him."

M: "That's just how I roll."

J: "Hardcore."

M: "...just eating tanning lotion minding his own business..."

NAME DROPPING

2010-06-03T22:23:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

M. drops a pile of multi-colored post-it notes on my desk. Each one has a hand-written name on it.

J: "What is this?"

M: "I'm name dropping, Jake." (She giggles.)

J: "But these aren't names of celebrities."

M: "Jake! What are you doing here. You should be home resting."

I had some minor surgery yesterday on the pit of my left elbow. There is a white bandage taped to my arm. Not to be outdone, M. takes a small white towel and attaches it around her arm.

M: "Sure, Jake. Just because I had major surgery yesterday you had to go out and copy me." (She leaves the towel wrapped around her arm through lunch.)

J: "We've never had a serious conversation, M. It's like a switch is always turned on in your head. Why can't we just talk?"

M: "What? Why can't you be serious, Jake. You are impossible to talk to!"

I run over and rub her Buddha's little head.

J: "Do you want to write today's blog?"

M: "What?"

J: "That would be hilarious if you wrote a blog about today."

M: "What are you talking about, Jake? What blog?"

J: "Never mind."

ASK M.

2010-06-02T08:46:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Have you ever wanted to ask M. a question? Here is your opportunity!

I need your questions for an up-coming interview with M. Post them here as a comment. The questions will be randomly selected and answered in an upcoming blog, or maybe even an audio clip!

(All comments are moderated.)

ARROWHEAD FOUNTAIN

2010-06-01T18:18:00.000-06:00

Thursday, October 22, 2009

M: "Wanna see my impression of a fountain?"

J: "Sure."

M. takes a swig of water from her bottle, swishes it around in her mouth and laughs.

M: "Hold on."

She takes another swig, swishes it some more and laughs again, causing water to spill down her chin.

J: "Was that it?"

M: "No, wait!"

She takes a big swig of water, swishes it around in her mouth and tilts her head back. A small spurt of water squirts from her mouth onto the floor in front of her.

M: "Ta-da!"

J: "I was expecting the water to come out of your mouth and go back in."

M: "What kind of a fountain does that?"

J: "I dunno, but I thought that's what you meant."

M: "That would be cool. I used to be able to do a better fountain but because of my braces, the water separates before it comes out."

J: "So, you basically spit water onto the floor in front of you and call it a fountain?"

M: "Yeah, it gets on my clothes too."

M. wipes herself off. She has dribble marks all down the front of her shirt.

There is an Arrowhead water bottle label wrapped around M.'s wrist. I inquire about it.

M: "Jake, don't be jealous. Not everybody can have an Arrowhead wrapper on their wrist, OK? You don't have to be so jealous of everything I do."

I ask if I can bring in my voice recorder and conduct an interview with M.

M: "Why on earth would you want to do that?"

J: "Because you are entertaining."

She changes the subject, asking me why I haven't eaten more than a granola bar for breakfast.

J: "Because that's all I was hungry for."

M: "You look pale. Now you look green. You've gone from pale to green, and all you've had to eat is a granola bar and coffee. What is wrong with you?"

J: "I don't know."

Lint Roller M.

2010-05-30T21:25:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Questions and Answers by M.

This blog is presented in mp3 audio format. To listen or download, click the following link:

http://tinyurl.com/LintRollerM

PEOPLE YOU WORK WITH

2010-05-29T00:38:00.000-06:00

Sunday, November 1, 2009

I haven't written much about M. the past two weeks which is terrible because it's the last two weeks of the book, "The Story of M" out just in time for Christmas.

Personal health reasons are to blame. I haven't been in the best frame of mind to focus on the daily jest of M. though she has been as wonderful and as hilarious as always. She's really gone out of her way to make me laugh and feel comfortable, especially the week gone by. Just listen to the recently uploaded interview. She is absolutely on top of her game.

It was M.'s birthday a few weeks ago, so I bought her a card and a coffee cup to celebrate. In the card, I wrote the following quote which I stole from the BBC version of "The Office." I stole it because it perfectly sums out how I feel about M., and how much she adds to my day at work. She found out I cheated and pointed out how terrible it was that I used another person's voice to express myself. To make up for it, I gave her a poorly crafted homemade card with my own words written inside.

Here are the copied words that I felt originally hit the mark:

“The people you work with are people you were just thrown together with. You don’t know them, it wasn’t your choice. And yet you spend more time with them than you do your friends or your family, but probably all you’ve got in common is the fact that you walk around on the same bit of carpet for eight hours a day. And so, obviously, when someone comes in who you have a connection with- yeah... you are a ray of sunshine in my life..."

Happy Birthday, M.
Thank you for being you.

- Jake =)

QUESTIONABLE TUNA

2010-05-28T16:01:00.000-06:00

Monday, November 2, 2009

M. cracks open a tupperware bowl of leftover tuna fish mix.

M: "I am so hungry. Why am I so hungry?"

She stirs the mixture around.

M: "Is this still good? It's been in my fridge for four days. I am eating questionable tuna."

When she's finished eating, M. announces that she smells like fish.

Our "famous" co-worker drops by and asks what that smell is.

M: "Don't be rude! It's me."

J: "What smells like road kill?"

I walk to M.'s cubicle and the smell intensifies. "It's your lunch bag!"

M: "No it isn't. It's me."

M.'s energy level is low.

M: "I'm so tired, if I blink I will fall asleep."

I show M. some notes I've jotted down for today's blog.

J: "Is there anything I should change?"

M: "I dunno, Jake, I can't read Chinese."

M. has a new "I don't care" dance. It's more of a weird shoulder twitch than a dance.

M: "Ask me a question, Jake. Anything. I don't care. See?"

Her shoulders gyrate up and down and tweak in fast, violent waves.

J: "Stop it!"

To make it worse, M. exaggerates chewing a piece of gum by sticking her tongue out of her mouth in between chomps.

M: "I scared some kid on Halloween."

J: "Chewing your gum like that or dressed as a lint roller?"

M: "I didn't dress as a lint roller. I had the costume together but I couldn't move around in it, so I dressed as a witch instead. Before I left, this little boy came to the door. He's standing there with his bag out expecting candy. I have an orange wig on and my black dress and my face is almost black. He says, 'Trick or treat,' then he looks up at me and starts crying."

J: "Can you blame him? He could probably smell you."

HOT DATE

2010-05-27T15:36:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

M. searches a list of up-coming concerts on the internet.

M: "Oooh, Rob Zombie is coming on November 5th! Is that a Thursday?"

She looks at the homemade printed calendar tacked to her cubicle wall.

M: "I made up my own days for November so I don't know if it's right."

She flips through a pre-printed desk calendar until she lands on November 5th.

M: "Oh yes, it's right. November 5th is a Thursday!"

J: "Do you know what concert I want to see?"

M: "Pimpernelli?"

J: "No- what?"

M: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-"

J: "What is Pimpernelli? I don't get it."

M: "Hahahahahahaha... Ahhhh, ahhh..." (Wipes tears from her eyes.) "I have to pee."

She leaves, then comes back, still laughing.

M: "I have to go not tanning tonight."

J: "Not tanning?"

M: "Oooh! DJ Tiesto is playing on the 20th, which is a Friday! Sounds like I have a hot date with my son."

NATURAL TALENT

2010-05-26T13:27:00.000-06:00

Thursday, November 5, 2009

M. spins around in a full 360 degree circle in her chair.

M: "Did you see how smooth that was? Jake! Listen to me! If you had a newly discovered natural talent I would listen to you. See?"

She spins around again and almost crashes into the cubicle wall.

J: "Smooth."

THURSDAY NIGHT ON TRAX

2010-05-25T20:27:00.000-06:00

Saturday, November 7, 2009

I relayed the following true story to M. via text message:

Last night I took Trax from the Sandy end of the line. Keep in mind, I was alone and I'm a guy- so I have no purse or bag with anything in it. The goal was to meet my friend, Bart, downtown for a movie screening of "Gentlemen Broncos."

As soon as the Trax starts going, I get this massive nose bleed. It doesn't stop. I use my fingers to pinch the flow but I get blood all over my digits and my face. Then, at the Murray Central stop, I realize I left the movie tickets in my car!! By now, the bleeding has stopped but the blood is dried and brown all over my hands.

I get off Trax and wait for another train to come and take me back to Sandy. The car is full of people coming home from work. I look like shit. I'm getting looks. A guy sitting in front of me actually stands up and moves to another seat. Finally, I make it back to my automobile, wipe myself off with an eyeglass cleaner pad and decide to just drive downtown.

The moral of the story- Sometimes you can't help looking like a drug-addicted serial killer.

On top of that, my bottle of Lortab fell out of my pocket onto the parking lot. Fuuuuu*k!! It's gone. Lost. Who knows who has it now.

M.'s response:

That's happened to me before, but I wasn't bleeding from my nose.

YEE YEE YEE YEE

2010-05-24T16:54:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

M. is at work today! She's been out the past 2 days with swine flu-like symptoms.

M: "It's not swine flu. I tested negative."

She is wearing black pants and a yellow hoody.

J: "You look like you're from Star Trek."

I tell M. about my recent re-discovery of The Beatles. What other group has come close to the level of perfection as The Fab Four?

M: "What about Madonna?"

J: "Mmmm..."

M: "What do you have against Madonna?"

J: "She's not the Beatles."

M: "We need to detox, Jake. And, no I don't mean a colonoscopy."

J: "How do we detox?"

M: "By eating special foods. Apples, Jake. You eat nothing but apples for three days. Then on the third day you wake up and go yee-yee-yee-yee."

J: "..."

M: "That was my impression of a horse. When you do that, you know you're cured and you want to eat hay."

M: "Jake, why can't you take anything seriously?"

ARE YOU EATING YAMS?

2010-05-23T13:31:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

J: "Are you eating yams?"

M: (Scooping a big spoonful of yams into her mouth.) "No."

J: "Yes, you are."

M: "Prove it!" (She chews ferociously on the yams stuffed in her cheeks.)

J: "The proof is in your mouth."

M: "You can't prove a thing!"

J: "There are yams in your braces."

M: "Those could be from a week ago, Jake. It proves nothing."

J: "You're sitting there eating yams. Why do you deny it?"

M: "No, I'm not. What is your problem?"

J: "Obviously, I'm retarded."

Later in the day, I get M. good.

J: "You've just been OYCED, FACED, and BURNED all in one fell swoop."

I lick my finger and press it to my butt. I make a hissing noise.

J: "Burned! Oyced! Faced!"

I move the palm of my hand up and down in front of my face.

J: Yeah, do you remember 1987? I do. It was the year of the OYCE!"

M. tosses a wheat protein berry shake packet at me and leaves.

PLEASE DON'T

2010-05-22T15:06:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

M. tosses a Sweet N Crunchy Planters Peanut at me. I throw some back at her until she threatens to impail me with a spoonful of rice.

J: "Please don't," I beg.

M: "What did you say?"

J: "Don't."

M: "Before that?"

J: "Please?"

M: "Oh, you said please. How cuuute!"

She doesn't throw rice, but soon afterward she pretends to chuck a large apple at my face. I flinch in terror.

M: "Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!! The look on your face was priceless! Once in a lifetime, Jake. Hahahahahaha..."

J: "You don't have to be a jerk, M."

She wads up scrap pieces of paper and throws them over the newspaper I'm trying to read. Apparently, M. needs constant attention.

I throw the wads back at her. She sticks them underneath her shirt so they sit below each of her breasts. She resembles some sort of human-animal hybrid.

M: "Look at me. What am I? I need two more pieces of paper."

J: "I really wish I had not seen that."

I shiver.

BI-LATERAL VERBAL CONTRACT

2010-05-21T15:21:00.000-06:00

Thursday, November 19, 2009

M: "I have this tea and when I drink it, it makes part of my mouth dry so I talk like this... So the odder day I was wocking... Ha ha ha! Have you noticed?"

M. criticizes everything I eat, whether it's a PB&J sandwich for breakfast, a salad with ranch dressing for lunch, or a small crispy apple in between.

J: "Why does it matter to you what I eat? YOU eat PB&J's for breakfast too."

M: "It doesn't make it healthy."

She derives a brilliant plan:

M: "You're going to love this. Jake, for every bad thing you eat, you ow me $1.00"

J: "I don't agree to that."

M: "And based on what you've had today, you owe me $5.00 already."

J: "What??"

Later in the day, M. asks if I want some M&M's.

J: "No thanks."

M: "No?? You owe me another $1.00!"

J: "I don't owe you anything. You're living in some strange imaginary bubble, M. I live in reality. Why do you even care what I eat??"

M: "We have a bi-lateral verbal contract, Jake. Bi-lateral! And you agreed to it. Bi-lateral means there is a ladder between us. See?"

J: "You live in a bubble."

TRUE LOVE

2010-05-19T00:54:00.000-06:00

Monday, November 23, 2009

The following text conversation happened early this afternoon...

M: "I've found the love of my life!"

J: "Heath?"

M: "Bruno. It's true love!"

J: "Oh Jesus. He's gay. And he's also a fictional character."

M: "No one if perfect, Jake!"

J: "Ha ha. You goof." :)

TEN THOUSAND STEPS

2010-05-18T17:14:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

M. bought a pedometer to measure the amount of steps she takes on a daily basis. Without warning, she lifts up her shirt and places her hand near the rim of her pants. My eyes go wide because it appears she's going to strip, but she only flashes me her pedometer.

M: "10,000 steps, Jake. How many have I done? 748. I need to walk more."

J: "Does it count if you just sit down and move your legs?"

M: "That's cheating!"

J: "Does it work?"

She tries it.

M: "It doesn't work. You can't cheat, Jake. You have to actually walk 10,000 steps. I don't know how I'm going to do it."

A few minutes later, M. derives at a brilliant conclusion.

M: "You are so jealous of my meter, Jake. Why are you so jealous? Admit it! You can just go by one, anyone can. There's no reason to be jealous of me."

J: "I'm not jealous."

M: "Yes you are, I saw your eyes go wide when I first showed it to you."

J: "That's because I thought you were showing me something else."

M: "I see you sitting there now when the thought of my pedometer comes to your brain and your eyes flicker and then you try to play it cool by acting like you don't care, but you DO care. You are jealous! Jake, don't be jealous."

J: "Oh, God."

Later, M. tosses a scrunched up piece of paper at me. I wasn't expecting it so I flinch, which causes an eruption of laughter from M.

M: "Nice catch, Jake. Here, throw the paper back to me and I'll show you what you look like."

I toss the paper wad at her. M. flails her arms and legs about like a crazed loony bird and lets the paper hit her in the face.

M: "That's Jake."

J: "I don't have braces."

M: "I know, and I need glasses too but just use your imagination... that's hard for you, I know, but just try. WAIT! I've got it."

A few minutes later, M. turns around to reveal orange paper eyeglasses, moustache, and goatee cut from construction paper and sloppily taped to her face. She looks like Robin from Batman and Robin. Or an insect. Or a freaky Dr. Freud.

M: "I'm you!"

M. LIBS #1 THE DASTARDLY SLAP

2010-05-17T15:27:00.000-06:00

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Welcome to the first installment of M. LIBS! Write down the words in the blanks below and then read the hilarious true story aloud to your friends. HOURS OF FUN!!

WORDS:

#1.) Type of bird __________
#2.) Piece of office furniture __________
#3.) Type of animal __________
#4.) Female body part __________
#5.) Female body part __________
#6.) Female body part __________
#7.) Female body part __________
#8.) Female body part __________
#9.) Fast Food Restaurant __________
#10.) Emotion/Sensation __________
#11.) Female body part __________
#12.) Adjective __________
#13.) Piece of office furniture __________

STORY:

Today, M. sits at her desk, not unlike a ____#1____ sits at it's ____#2____. Suddenly, a ____#3____ walks by and slaps M. in the ____#4____ so hard, she falls onto her ____#5____, then hits her ____#6____ on the ____#7____, and lands face-down on the ____#8____.

"Eek!" a co-worker shouts, "Somebody call ____#9____!"

In the end, M. is ____#10____, and only her ____#11____ is ____#12____.

J: "Keep your private life out of it, and get off of that ____#13____."

THE END.

THAT SILENT NERD

2010-05-16T16:19:00.000-06:00

Thursday, December 10, 2009

M: "I don't talk much, but when I do, it's fact, accurate... I'm like that silent nerd."

M: "Sushi wasn't invented in Japan, Jake. That's a myth. Sushi was invented here in the USA in Texas. It's just like you think Mexico has tacos. There are no tacos in Mexico. It's a myth."

M: "Jake, have you seen Dancing with the Blue Iguana?"

J: "No."

M: "Yes you have! You've seen it, Jake."

J: "OK."

M: "Jake, it's not dancing with the Blue Iguana, it's dancing at the Blue Iguana, and I'm not even sure it's an iguana. Concentrate, yo!

ROCKY III

2010-05-15T17:18:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

M.'s purse/bag is decorated with red and white vertical stripes. Hanging from the top is a gold chain.

J: "Your bag looks like Rocky III. It's the color of Rocky's shorts and has Mr. T's gold chains."

M: "Where's the Blue?"

M. tosses a wad of paper at me so I stand up and drop-knee kick it back. The paper flies flawlessly into M. and she is very impressed.

M: "Wow! I want to do that."

She stands up, chucks the wad of paper in the air and attempts what can only be described as a coke-addicted ballerina stopping herself from falling over backward. She misses the paper a few times, and by the next try I'm worried M. is going to kick me in the goonies. Finally, the paper riccochets off her knee down the aisle sideways.

Later, I headbutt a wad of paper at M.

M: "Do the kick again!" she scrambles for her iPhone to record it.

J: "No way."

M: "Oh, you're worried that I'm going to study your technique and master it and then come to work and kick two papers in the air at the same time and have them come together and crash! Then fall to the floor right before your very eyes, aren't you? Aren't you?"

J: "Not really, but that would be cool to see."

STORY OF MOO

2010-05-14T16:44:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Today our team went out for lunch in celebration of the holidays. The following happened before we left work:

M: "It's all your fault, Jake."

J: "What? I haven't even taken my coat off yet. What did I do?"

M: "You know what you did."

J: "Good morning."

M: "I only have half of your Christmas present with me because the other half hasn't arrived yet. Now nobody gets their presents today because of you and now you all have to wait until Monday. Way to go, Jake!"

J: "Wow." (I walk to M.'s desk and place a gift quietly on her desk.) "Merry Christmas."

M: "Oh, thank you!"

She tears open the glittery dark purple packaging when our "famous" friend approaches.

FF: "Does anyone have paper? I need paper."

M: "Toilet paper?"

FF: "No, wrapping paper. Ooh, I like that."

M: "Do you want this? You can have it when I'm done."

FF: "Yeah."

M. carefully unwraps the rest of the paper. She is careful not to disturb the red bow stuck near the top. When all of the paper is finally removed, M. is left holding her brand new hardback copy of "Story of M." the novelization of this very blog, created on LuLu.com

FF: "Story of Moo? what is that?"

M: "Story of M."

FF: "What does the M. Stand for? Does it mean Story of Me?"

J: "No."

My Cube Mate: "Is that the Ernie book, Jake?"

J: "It's Story of M. You know, like Story of O, but more sexual."

My Cube Mate: "Oh."

J: "Although I kind of like Story of Moo. Should I change the title?"

M: "Ha ha ha. No."

On the inside cover, written in pen is the following:

I was downtown and saw this weird little book in an old porn shop.

"Wow! That sounds just like M!," I thought. So you get it for Christmas.

I hope you love it. It made me laugh so hard my eyeballs burped.

XOXOXO,
- Jake =)

Buy the hardback book here:

Download the PDF file here: (FOR FREE) http://www.lulu.com/items/volume_66/7858000/7858304/1/print/Story_of_M_final2.pdf

CUBA

2010-05-13T13:27:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

The following text message happened hours ago...

J: "WHERE ARE YOU?? I just had the weirdest dream about body painting in high school. WTF?!"

M: "Where am I?? I think the question here is WHERE ARE YOU???"

J: "I am painting with my entire body."

J: "AND I'm eating Fruity Pebbles."

M: "Aha..."

J: "...?"

M: "No comment."

M: "On the Fruity Pebbles."

J: "Where are you?"

M: "I'm having breakfast on the beach in Cuba."

J: "What??"

M: "Yeah. Don't be jealous, Jake. You're not brave like me. You might worry about all that sanctioned country B.S."

M: "I might bring you back a cigar IF I decide to come back."

M: "It's 84 degrees out here, Jake. And the Mojitos are to die for."

J: "I don't smoke."

M: "You don't have to."

DRAMATIC LIGHTING

2010-05-12T16:03:00.000-06:00

Saturday, January 2, 2010

Before I left for the holidays, all of our cubicles were decorated with long streams of garland, mini Christmas trees, and tiny snowman pins. Atop my cubicle someone placed a shiny silver cut-out star. It was kind of big and depending on where you sat (and what time of day it was), you could get a blinding flash to the face.

M: "It looks like someone threw up Christmas in here."

I turned around and saw the light from the aforementioned star shining perfectly across M.'s eyes. She looked like a film actress from the 1940's.

M: "Who did all of this, Jakeypoo? Was it you?"

I paused to note the dramatic effect of the lighting. She noticed and used it to her advantage by glancing sleekly from side to side and pursing her lips out, baloney style.

J: "Are you sitting right there on purpose?"

M: "Jake, what are you talking about?"

She smiled, bearing every piece of her braces. The glare that burst from her mouth was like silver fire engulfing my face. For a moment, I was blind.

J: "Ahhh! Your braces!"

M: "Jakeypoo!"

She laughed and after awhile the sun moved, causing the streak of light to crawl away from her face.

M: "I hate Christmas."

YOU ARE A TREE TODAY

2010-05-11T10:18:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

M: "Jake, you are a tree today. Ha ha ha. What kind of tree are you? You're a confused tree because you're green when you should be all brown. It's winter, Jake."

I am wearing a green corduroy, long sleeve shirt with brown pants.

M: "You don't want to be a shrub. Do you want to be a shrub? 'Shrub Cordova?' No."

I ask M. who she thinks would win in a fight between Punky Brewster and Arnold from 'Diff'rent Strokes.'

M: "I don't know who that is."

J: "Arnold? He's that 30 year-old man who played a 12 year-old kid on a TV show from the 80's."

M: "I didn't watch that. I also didn't watch 'Punky Brewster.' How can you watch TV when you're a tree, Jake?"

UP DOG IN HERE

2010-05-10T14:39:00.000-06:00

Thursday, January 7, 2010

M: "It smells like up dog in here."

J: (Blank stare.)

M: "I have a GPS if you need help finding my humor."

I decide to ask M. some questions.

J: "What is your favorite beach in the world?"

M: "Let me answer this questions as short as I can. In order for me to tell you what is my favorite beach in the world, I would have to know each beach in the world. Let's go with Cancun."

J: "What's the next country you want to visit?

M: "China."

J: "What one thing are you craving today?"

M: "Chocolate."

J: "What CDs are in your car or home stereo right now?"

M: "The one you gave me yesterday (in my car)."

J: "What are three of your guilty pleasures?"

M: "Shopping. Eating. Watching movies."

J: "What was the last book you read? Did you enjoy it?"

M: "Um... oh my gosh, this is horrible. 'The Story of O.' My God, that is the last book I read? What if I died today?? People are going to think I'm horrible. Yes, of course I enjoyed it."

J: "What is must-see TV for you?"

M: "The Office... Arrested Development... The What's it Called Theory... I dunno."

J: "If you met the right person, how many children would you have?"

M: "Zero."

CLEAN MY HOUSE DO MY LAUNDRY

2010-05-09T14:56:00.000-06:00

Saturday, January 23, 2010

M: "I'm very lady-like in my gum chewing abilities."

M: "Don't write that."

I ask M. more random quirky questions:

J: "If you had your own factory, what would it make?"

M: "Shoes."

J: "If you could eat only one kind of food for the rest of your life, what would it be?"

M: "Italian."

J: "If you could build your own robot, what would it do?"

M: "Clean my house, do my laundry."

J: "If you had to design a postage stamp, what would you put on it?"

M: "A picture of Buddha."

J: "If you were a superhero, what would your superpower be?"

M: "Invisible."

J: "If you had a shrinking device, what's the first thing in your house you'd miniaturize?"

M: "Memo." (Her pet Chihuahua.)

J: "If you could invite one special guest of honor to your birthday party, who would it be?"

M: "Rock N Rolla."

J: "If you could have any kind of animal for a pet, what would it be?"

M: "Horse."

J: "If you could jump into a swimming pool full of any type of food, what would you choose?"

M: "Smooth peanut butter."

J: "If you had to smell like one thing for the rest of your life, what would you choose?"

M: "Patchouli."

J: "Instead of leaves (or money), what do you wish would grow on trees?"

M: "Clouds. Imagine it! Little clouds, big clouds, all types of clouds growing on a tree."

J: "What's one thing you could do every day without getting bored of it?"

M: "Sleep."

NUN YA

2010-05-08T13:32:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

M: "So, I know the solution to all of my problems, Jake. Are you ready? I'm going to marry God."

M: "In other words, I'll become a nun. I mean, I'm already almost there personality-wise, the way I dress, etc. I'm almost there. I just need to buy a nun outfit and then my problems will be 'POOF!'"

J: "Can a nun wear fashionable shoes?"

M: "Crap! I'm going to have to do some research."

J: "I've never seen a nun with a purse like yours, or wearing as much perfume."

M: "It's not perfume."

J: "What about Heath Ledger? Rock N Rolla? Citizen Cope? Just this morning you were talking about marrying Citizen Cope when he comes in concert."

M: "See? All of those are problems. That's why I'm becoming a nun."

M: "By the way, I know what you mean about foods tasting like elephant because sometimes I've been eating food, like pork, where you can smell where the pig has been sitting there in the hot sun and you can taste it in the food. So I know what you mean, the smell, the taste. It might not be not elephant, it's pig, but I understand."

COPE

2010-05-07T14:36:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

M. is dressed all in black from head to toe. She looks good. The top of her hair sticks up like a cockatiel and her braces gleam against her tan complexion.

J: "Have you given more thought to your nun fashionry?"

M: "I'm practically falling into it... the habit. That's why I'm dressed like this today. I also changed the screen saver on my phone. See?"

J: "The Virgin Mary? You used to have a picture of Buddha on your phone."

M: "I can't marry God and have a screen saver of Buddha. Conflict of interest, is what that's called. I don't think God would like it."

J: "What about Citizen Cope?"

M: "He's too complicated, Jake. He doesn't even know I exist."

J: "Why don't you talk to him, introduce yourself."

M: "OK, pretend you're Cope."

J: "Sure. Like this?"

(I let my mouth hang open and droop my eyes, doing my best to look stoned.)

M: "Cope, you don't know me but you've been writing songs about me for years. I think we should talk."

J: "I have? Cool! Let's go."

M: "...and when you come in concert next March I want you to announce to the crowd that you love me, M. Lightning Bolt! I'll be standing in the front row in my wedding dress ready to marry you."

J: "What? No, no, no! Don't do that. You'll scare him away."

M: "See? That's why I'm marrying God. He's less complicated."

J: "How are your braces?"

M: "My braces are doing good but because my tooth is moving, my gums are wrinkled. Don'twritethat!"

J: "What do you do for wrinkled gums"?

M: "There's a cream."

J: "Really?"

M: "No, Jake! Don't write that either. There isn't a cream. I'm beginning to think that when I say don'twritethat it means it's going in the blog."

J: What is Citizen Cope going to say when he kisses you and feels your wrinkled gums?"

M: (All sorts of excited.) "He's going to kiss me?!?"

J: "Doesn't that go without saying? I mean, if you end up marrying him instead of God or Heath Ledger."

M: (Sticking her finger in her mouth and rubbing her gums.) "I don't think he'll feel the wrinkles, but if he does I'll tell him there's always a first time."

J: "Then what?"

M: "Then he tells me I taste like elephant. And I say, 'How do you know about that, Cope? Don't let these gums fool you. You've been singing about me for five years!' (Especially the song, Sideways.) That's the one he sings by himself, but you should hear him play it with Santana. It sounds amazing."

M: "This has been the longest day for some reason. I think it was the sandwiches. Bye!"

CORDUROY PILLOWS

2010-05-06T14:46:00.000-06:00

Thursday, January 28, 2010

J: "Have you heard about the new corduroy pillows? They're making headlines."

M: "Hahaha! I'm going to text that to my kids. How do you spell corduroy?"

(A few minutes later.)

M: "So I asked my daughter if she's heard of corduroy pillows and this is her response: 'Mom, are you drunk? Is that a band?' My son replied, 'Is that a band? Is it a movie? Mom, what is it?'"

J: "But you didn't send the punch line."

M: "I know, I'm waiting for them to say, 'No, I haven't heard of corduroy pillows.' but instead I get, 'Mom, are you drunk?' When am I ever drunk?? I'm at work."

It's all in the delivery.

FINGER TALK WITH CRACKERS

2010-05-05T16:34:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

M: "Have you ever had a finger talk to you?"

J: "No..?"

M: "Well, this will be the first time then."

She walks to my desk with her hand in a fist and puts it in front of my face. She slowly moves her fingernail over her thumb and says the following in a high, squeaky voice:

M: "Hello, Jake! How are you?"

I look at her face. She whispers for me to answer the finger. I look back at her finger.

J: "I'm fine. How are you?"

M: "Jake! Are you really talking to a finger? Ha ha ha!"

M: "Is it disgusting to have egg stuck in your braces, or no, is that not disgusting at all? Don't write that! Jake, I'm going to take your pen away and your paper!"
M: "Ew! I just burped and it was gross."

M: "Jake, I'm open to intelligent conversation, ya know, but hearing you talk about your I.G.A. generic crackers... I get bored. Your crackers aren't as cool as mine. See? Zesta! They don't even compare."

J: "Mine are also Zesta."

M: "Jake, no. Your generic crackers are boring."

BATS

2010-05-04T22:00:00.000-06:00

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Today I admitted to M. how I sometimes have a tendency to exaggerate. In response, M. jotted down a note on her wall calendar and read it aloud.

M: "February 11, 2010 - Jake exaggerates for the first time. Jake, this is historic!"

Later, after M. pretends to toss her chair at me for being 'feisty,' I stick a bent paperclip out of my mouth and mock her calendar entry from earlier.

J: "Feb. 11 - M. tries to throw an office chair at my face!"

M: "Jake, what is that? Nobody in their right mind would think that paperclip is braces. Oh, so you're at home playing charades and you put a paperclip in your mouth. What am I?"

She takes a paperclip and lets it hang from her lower lip like a single Count Dracula fang.

M: "Nobody is going to guess it's braces."

J: "You look like a vampire."

M: "Do you know what you are, Jake? You are bats! That's right. You're bats. You don't have rabies, but you spread it around everywhere you go! Just like bats."

Just then, M.'s Famous Friend walks over and announces that she's adopted some kittens and has to get one of the males neutered tomorrow, so she'll be running late. She thinks he's 'spraying' in the house.

F.F: "Sometimes I smell when I walk into my bathroom at home. Like, I smell something bad coming from the kitty room next store. Do you think the smell is coming from my cat? What is so funny?"

M.'s Cube Mate: "I never get mentioned in the blog anymore." :(

YOU ARE CRAZY PAISLEYS

2010-05-03T14:31:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

M: "Oh, I just licked my fork and then I smelled it and it was gross!"

M.'s Cube Mate is wearing new boot-leg jeans with a paisley pattern on the back pockets. I mistakenly called the paisleys 'wings' instead of referring to them in the proper. Big mistake.

M: "Those aren't wings, Jake! Those are PAISLEYS!!!"

She sends me an email with a picture of a paisley design compared to a picture of a wing design.

J: "I know they are paisleys but they are in the shape of wings, right? The paisley design you emailed looks like a whale."

Cube Mate: "They aren't wings, Jake."

Later, M. turns slowly around in her chair. She's holding a hand-made sign that reads, "YOU ARE CRAZY!" written in strawberry marker.

M: "Oh!" (Pressing her nose to the paper.) That smells good!"

Towards the end of the day, I get up from my chair and notice the note taped to M.'s purse, which by the way is of the black shiny variety.

Apparently, I am crazy.

YERBA MATEY WIZARD OF OZ IDIOT

2010-05-02T15:42:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Today M. is dressed very fashionably in a Christian Dior halter top (with plaid ruffles down the front), cuffed dark dress pants, and shiny red Wizard of Oz high heels. (M. strongly disagrees with me referring to her shoes as 'Wizard of Oz.' She's right, they look nothing like the ones pictured here, but they are red, so...)

Out of nowhere, M. states the following in a very aggressive tone:

M: "Do you want some Yerba Matey Tea, Jake? IT'S NOT YERBA MATEY! IT'S YERBA mah-tay, OK? GET IT RIGHT! LOOK IT UP ON THE INTERNET. DON'T BE SUCH A CHICKEN!! Bock! Bock! Bock!"

J: "Are you OK? You just had an entire conversation by yourself. I was just sitting here.

M: "Grow up!"

In response, I chuck some leftover water bottle caps at her.

M: "Bottle caps?? Jake, where are you getting these? From your drawer??"

I throw more at her, hitting her on the back of her head.

She groups all of the bottle caps together and hurls them in my general direction all at once. They fall all around me. Immediately after, a wad of paper hits me on the forehead. (Nice shot!)

When M. isn't looking, I shoot a rubber band at the back of her shoulder. She picks it off her desk and aims it at me. Instinctively, I cover my face with my hand and start moving from side to side in my chair.

J: "Not the face!"

This causes terrific laughter from M. She finds it amusing that I am so afraid of her hitting me with a rubber band in the face. It's mostly my eyes I'm worried about, really.

I show her the notes for today's blog. As soon as she reads the part about her shoes being like Dorothy's Ruby Red Slippers, she gets all in a huff.

M: "Wizard of Oz shoes, Jake? What are you talking about? My shoes look NOTHING like the Wizard of Oz shoes." (She pulls up Google Images and types in 'Wizard of Oz shoes.' She takes off one shoe and holds it up next to her monitor.) See? How does THAT look like THIS? They are nothing alike."

J: "Can I take a photo of your shoes? For the blog?"

M: "No. Jake!" (She sniffs the inside of her shoe and makes a bad smell face.) "What?"

J: "Yeah, so the readers can see your shoes."

M: "OK."

She poses her feet and I aim my cell phone camera at her shoes. I don't take a photo because as I'm looking at the screen I realize they don't look anything like Wizard of Oz shoes.

J: "Actually... I'm not taking a photo."

M: "Why not?"

J: "Because if you just look at your shoes alone, they don't look like Wizard of Oz slippers. But, in the bigger picture, they kind of do. But not really. Anyway, if I posted the photo and called them Wizard of Oz shoes in the blog, I would look like an idiot."

M: "Write that down!"

SHOELESS RAGE AND ANGER

2010-05-01T11:20:00.000-06:00

Thursday, February 18, 2010

If we look back to the very first entry of this blog, there is a quote from M. that states: "Jake, I am coming to work dressed like you. Just wait!" (Summarized.)

7 months later- it happens!

Today, I arrive at the office dressed in blue jeans, a black hoody, and gray and black New Balance sneakers. Shortly afterwards, M. walks in with her hair pulled back in a ponytail wearing blue jeans, a black hoody and gray and black Puma sneakers.

J: "A-ha! You finally did it."

M: "Rage and anger, Jake! Rage and Anger! Give me a reason, just give me one reason!"

J: "What happened? You finally dressed like me."

M: "What? No I didn't. Don't be ridiculous! What does it say on your shirt? 'FEARLESS?' That is like me wearing a shirt that says 'SHOELESS!' I am not dressed like you."

J: "Shoeless?? But you have a million shoes... Wait... Just what are you implying?"

A few minutes later, M. turns around in her seat to reveal a hand made design taped to her hoody. Of course, it reads 'SHOELESS!'

She tries so hard.

M: "Rage and anger!"

J: "Rage and anger about what? Why do you keep saying that?"

M: "There doesn't have to be a reason, Jake. Can't a person wake up in the morning feeling rage and anger for no reason?"

J: "It's like you're talking to a mirror!" (I imitate her every move.) "See? Anything you say to me, you're really just saying to yourself. Oh!" (I grab a paperclip and stick it to my lower lip.) "There we go. See? You are trying to be me. And you feel comfortable because you're talking to yourself."

M. stands up, picks up her chair with both hands, and throws it at me. Or, at least, she tries to throw it at me, but because I copy her every move, I also pick up my chair and throw it at her in exact unison. Our two chairs clash in the middle of our aisle. Sparks fly! Dust falls from spinning wheels, and we laugh! (Our team leader is away in a meeting.)

Several other people on the team are also wearing black hoodies and blue jeans. Nobody planned it- it just happened.

Welcome to the Chinese Year of the Tiger!

YOU CAN READ ANYONE

2010-04-30T16:57:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

I brought a book to work this morning called, "You Can Read Anyone." It gives some good insights into anyone's personality and provides the necessary tools to read a person's motives.

One chapter describes the general characteristics of a person with "Low Self-Esteem, Arrogance," or "LE-A" for short.

I read the following aloud to M. (Does this sound like anyone you know?)

LE-A Arrogant: This person needs to be the center of attention and is often loud, easily frustrated, and a big complainer. She seeks constant reinforcement and adulation from others, and will become angry when these are not received in sufficient and continual quantities. She usually doesn't mind offending or insulting someone if it will make her look better or smarter in others' eyes.

Signs of LE-A:

She's easily frustrated, angry and controlling, feeds off attention and can often be seen as aggressive, not only with people, but with her environment as well.
She's often bragging and boasting when she's achieved a minor success.
She's consumed by material possessions, seeking to fortify her sense of importance, no matter what the conversation, she tries to impress the other with her knowledge and is bent on steering the focus back to her.

M: "Don't put people in boxes!"

J: "Don't let a book tell you who you are. You are M! The greatest person who ever lived!"

M: "Is it 4:00 yet?"

ERASED

2010-04-29T15:05:00.002-06:00

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Each time a blog entry is prepared for publishing, there are several comments, paragraphs, and even complete sections of dialogue that get erased from the final draft for various reasons.

Today, instead of leaving the erased moments out, they are the focal point. We are left with an amusing grab bag of random segments.

Please read with caution, and enjoy!

M: "Wouldn't it be awesome if we could say, 'I'm erasing that from my mind!' and it was gone- POOF! Just like that. Wouldn't that be awesome?"

J: "What would you erase?"

M: "I don't have a fridge, Jake. OK?"

J: "Because you erased it?"

M: "Well, I would start with erasing whatever you're writing down because it's all lies! It never happened!"

J: "The part about you not having a fridge?

M: "Yeah, because I never said that. I don't have a fridge and I don't have liposuction. It's called priorities, Jake. OK?"

J: "You are nuts!"

M: "Maybe I should start wearing a diaper."

J: "Out of every person who fainted in a public place in 2009, how many do you think vomited on the way down? I don't know the answer, I'm just curious about what you think."

M: "Well, Jake, in 2009 exactly 4,289 people fainted in public. Of those people, 22 threw-up on the way down. Exactly 22. No more, no less."

J: "You called me Panzon, I don't get it. My pants are off!"

M: "Do you know what that movie, 'The Fly,' taught me? And I think movies never teach me anything. I follow it to this day. NEVER GET INTO STRANGE MACHINES WITH INSECTS! I even check when I go tanning. Do flies tan? Jake, what is your problem? No-no... nooo... They do! Remember that fly I killed? He was eating tanning lotion. FLIES DO TAN!!

J: "If you had the choice of eating yellow or white dog poo, which would you choose?"

M:" Yellow OR white?"

J: "Yes. You can choose either yellow dog poo or white dog poo. Whatever one you want to eat."

M: "I would choose white because that means he ate marshmallows. Yellow would mean he ate some kind of curry, so... yuck!"

M: "The other day, I was eating my fingers in the kitchen and my daughter said to me, 'Mom! Stop eating your fingers. Do you know eating your fingers is compared to people who eat their own hair?' Jake, do you know there are people who eat their own hair?"

J: "Yes. You didn't know that?"

M: "No."

J: "Everyone knows that. Stop chewing on your digits."

M: "Here, Jake. Smell this."

J: "What is it?"

M: "Just smell it. Doesn't that smell good?"

J: "It smells like chloroform. Did you already wipe yourself with this or do you need it back?"

M: "Nah, just throw it away."

J: "Thank you for asking me to smell your trash."

M: "Ha ha ha!"

TIME OUT

2010-04-28T07:37:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

M: “You know how in video games they have a SAFE ROOM where no one can hurt you? You can’t get shot. You are safe from harm.”

J: “Yeah.”

M: “We need something like that, like a sign that means no more joking.”

J: “You do realize we had a conversation five minutes ago where I asked you why you felt the need to argue with everything I say. And I asked you, ‘What is the worst that could happen if you allowed yourself to agree with me on anything?’ Right? Your response was, ‘I don’t argue with you, Jake.’ An argument! Do you remember?”

M: “We need a sign! What is the sign, Jake?”

J: “For what?”

M: “For the safe room. What should we use? This?” (She makes the universal symbol for TIME OUT with her hands.)

J: “How about this?” (I flip her the bird.)

M: “So if we’re joking around and it needs to stop, I do this.” (She flips me off with both hands.) “And that means we stop? There has to be a level of trust here. We both have to agree to take it seriously.”

J: “You’ll abuse it.”

She laughs. For the next several minutes M. uses the TIME OUT sign and flips me the bird after everything I say. Eventually, I pull out our old friend the black and yellow DIVORCE UMBRELLA and open it up between us.

M: “Oh, the DIVORCE UMBRELLA? Ha! That’s no match for the WALL OF DIVORCE SHAWL!” (She tapes her shawl across her cubicle. It’s a ratty mess with two very large holes across the center and various messed up sections. I toss wads of paper over the top of it. They land on M.’s head. She peeks through one of the holes and laughs. Then she puts her hands through and does the TIME OUT sign.)

J: “You really need to burn that thing.” (Referring to the shawl.)

M: “Yeah, it smells really bad. Ew, it does! Here, Jake. Smell it.”

J: “No! I believe you! You’ve been sitting on it.”

M. wads up the old tan shawl and tosses it in a small garbage can.

J: “Just like that, huh?”

M: “That’s how I roll.”

J: “You need to set it on fire.”

After M. leaves for the day, I wait a few minutes and call her.

M: “Hello?”

J: “Hey, in your rush to leave you left something on your desk.”

M: “What did I leave?”

J: “Your cell phone.”

There is a pause.

M: “If I left my cell phone at work how am I talking on it right now?”

J: “I don’t know how you bend the laws of physics, M! I just know your cell phone is sitting here on your desk. Ha ha ha!”

I almost fooled her. She’s just too clever for me.

On my way out of the building, I put my hand in my coat pocket in search of my badge. I discover several wads of paper and a coffee cup lid stuffed inside. Damn you, M! TIME OUT!!

Story of M Tunnel Scene Ad Banners FOR YOU!

2010-04-27T14:19:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Help promote the blog with these banners! Holy awesome!!

PAVLOVS GAY DOG WITHOUT A JACKET

2010-04-26T17:23:00.000-06:00

Thursday, March 4, 2010

M: "Give me back my jacket!"

She crumples up paper, I turn around in my chair. M. laughs but doesn't throw the paper at me like she normally does. Instead, she sits in her chair crinkling the paper and giggling. She delights in the effect her crunching a piece of paper has on me. She thinks she is super cool and important.

J: "Yeah, you can call me Pavlov's Dog."

M: "Am I Pavlov?"

J: "...yes."

She turns around and looks up Pavlov's Dog on the internet.

J: "You've never heard of Pavlov's Dog?"

She's too busy reading articles to respond.

Later,

M: "GIVE ME BACK MY JACKET!!!"

J: "What are you talking about? I don't have your jacket."

M: "What did you do with it?"

J: "You are retarded! You didn't come into work with your jacket today which means you probably left it at home."

M: "YOU'RE GAY!"

Even later,

M: "What is this?"

She walks to my desk holding a giant empty water drum from the department filtered water supply. She points to a couple of spots on the outside of the drum that appear to be smudged with something brown or rusty or dead.

M: "How much will you give me if I lick this?"

J: "$1.00"

M: "$1.00?!"

J: "You licked poo for $5.00, I don't think this is poo."

M: "Look at it!"

J: "OK, $2.50, but that's my final offer."

M: "No."

Almost quitting time,

M: "Let's play fountains! Jake, you run around back and forth and you won't know when it's going to happen and then I'll spit water out of my mouth on you and get you wet."

J: "I don't want to play fountains."

M: "Why not?"

J: "I don't want you to spit in my face. No."

M: "Jakeypoo!" (Jumping up and down.) Let's play fountains!!"

J: "How old are you in your head? Like, how old do you think you really are in your mind?"

M: "What?! How old are YOU in YOUR head?"

J: "You're four years old. Isn't that the age when kids say YOU ARE! all the time?"

M: "Ha ha ha. YOU'RE GAY!"

CENSORED AND UNCENSORED

2010-04-25T22:47:00.000-06:00

Friday, March 5, 2010

M: "Howcome some days it's so easy to peel my eggs and some days it isn't? I just want to know. Jake, why is it so difficult to have an honest conversation with you. 'Difficult?' - Impossible is more like it."

Later,

M: "So guess what I'm going to do today."

J: "What?"

M: "I'm not going to tell you."

J: "Why not?"

M: "Because you'll write it down."

J: "I won't put it in the blog if you don't want me to."

She tells me.

J: "Really? You don't want me to put that in! It's hilarious!"

M: "No."

J: "Ok... but it would have been funny."

Even later,

M: "I have egg in my teeth, OK. Boiled egg. Would you like to see?"

J: "Gross."

M: "Did you see what happened? Did you notice what just happened?? Hsssssssss!! So my upper lip was dry and when I went like this and tried to smile normal again, my lip got stuck. Didn't you see it?"

J: "No."

M. dances like a ballerina while sitting in her chair. She moves her feet really fast and hold her arms out while scooting herself close to my cubicle. She throws wads of paper at me, DOUBLED UP WADS OF PAPER, and tries to throw it in my cake. M.'s cube mate recorded 1 minute of the action. If you dare, listen to it here: http://media.libsyn.com/media/jakespage/SOM_1min_05MAR2010.mp3 (The sound quality is not the best, but it's an uncensored glimpse into real-life communication between M. and I.)

FOOT CANCER KARATE CHOP EFT

2010-04-24T17:13:00.000-06:00

Monday, March 8, 2010

M: "Look at this!" (She points down to the back of her shoe.) I have CANCER on my ankle!"

She drags her foot across the floor as though it's lifeless.

M: "It's getting worse by the second which means it's 60 times worse by the minute!"

She sits in her chair and twirls in a slow, painful circle, dragging her foot on its side. I laugh hysterically.

J: "Be careful, M. We read what's going to happen in your horoscope..."

M: "What?"

J: "After noon, you're going to get Oyced, Faced, and Moted no matter what you say."

After noon,

M: "Jake... here." (She places something in the palm of my hand.)

J: "What is this?"

M: "Skin from my finger. HA HA HA!"

It's true. She placed a tiny peeling from the edge of her index finger onto my unsuspecting hand. I look at it for a few seconds, somewhat disgusted. It's a tough-looking inch of her skin. As I sit there gazing over her epidermis, hearing her laughter echo down our aisle, I knew I couldn't let her have the last laugh...

So I moved my hand slowly up to my mouth and placed the tough piece of skin between my teeth and chewed on it. I really did. Then I swallowed it.

M.'s Cube Mate: "Ewwwwwww! I'm going to be sick. JAKE, TURN AROUND AND DO SOMETHING!"

Later,

M: "I am going to karate chop your chair in half, Jake!"

J: "I'd like to see you try." (I roll my chair toward her cubicle and await her reaction.)

M: "OK." (She hesitates.) Well, I would karate chop your chair, but it's against the company policy so I can't do it."

J: "If you karate chop my chair in half I will take full responsibility."

M: "No you won't!"

J: "Yes, I will."

M: "Give it to me in writing, sign and date it."

J: "OK." (Picking up a post it note.) "What do you want it to say?"

M: "I, Jake Cordova, take full responsibility if M. karate chops my office chair in half. Sign it and date it."

I follow her instructions and hand the paper to her.

J: "There you go. Now let's see this happen!"

M: (Hesitating.) "OK, you want me to do this? OK... I need a running start."

She runs down the aisle and pumps out her fists and legs as though she's getting ready for boxing. Suddenly, she runs really fast down the aisle towards my chair and stops just before reaching it.

M: "That was just a practice run. Now I'll do it for reals."

J: "OK."

She walks back down the aisle, pumping her arms and revving herself up.

M: "Are you ready?"

J: "Yeah. Let's see it."

She runs really fast up to the chair again and stops. Laughing, she sits down in her seat and looks up at me.

M: "Jake, what if I really can't karate chop your chair in half?"

J: "Write it down."

M: "What?"

J: "I want it in writing. I, M., cannot karate chop Jake's chair in half. Sign it and date it."

She reluctantly does.

M: "What would you have done if I really did karate chop your chair?"

J: "I would have been like, WOW, M! You are superhuman! OMG!! I was wrong and you were right. You really COULD do it. WOW!! I am so impressed."

She beams.

M: "I'm going to look up how to karate chop a chair in half online and learn how to do it."

J: "OK."

In her search for a karate chopping lesson, M. stumbles upon a strange website devoted to overcoming anxiety attacks my poking yourself with your finger all over your face, chest, and fingertips known as 'EFT.' She tries the technique by chanting a mantra aloud and poking herself all over her face, chest and armpit.

M: "What a bunch of crap."

I give it a try.

J: "Wow! I feel energized!! Do you know why? Because I feel like someone has been poking me with their finger and it's got me all riled up! I'm not going to stand for that. I'm empowered! I want a raise!!"

M: "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU???"

MOUSE FOOT

2010-04-23T22:49:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

M: "Oh my God, you guys! So I get home tomorrow and... Ha ha ha. Sorry, sorry. Scratch that. I meant I got home YESTERDAY. Ha ha. Anyway, I got home yesterday and I thought my dogs had chewed up the carpet because there were these furry bits all over the floor, but when I bent down to get a closer look, I realize that my dogs had caught a mouse or a rat and chewed it apart! And when I found my chihuahua, he smelled like he had been rolling in it so I had to give him a bath. Aaaargh!!"

M: "I didn't find the head or the tail, but I gathered up the remaining bits and flushed them down the toilet."

M: "My daughter was freaking out! She can't handle anything dirty."

M: "Have you seen me text with my feet? It's awesome!" (She places her phone on the floor and proceeds to dance on it with the tip of her sneaker. The phone flashes and runs various programs from the tapping of her shoe.)

HOT LADY COUPLE

2010-04-22T16:41:00.000-06:00

Thursday, March 11, 2010

I was talking to a friend on Facebook the other day. We'll call her "S." Our conversation went like this...

S: "So tell me about this M. person. I started reading the blog and she sounds, well... interesting."

J: "What do you want to know?"

S: "Well, I mean is she just a character you made up or is she real? How tall is she, how much does she weigh, how does she dress, is she married, does she have kids, what is her ethnicity, etc."

J: "Ha ha. She is very real. Do you want to see a photo of her?"

S: "OK."

I send her the links to a couple of photos from a few months ago.

J: "She's making faces in both of the photos and she's hiding her braces, but there she is."

S: "Oh, wow! She's really pretty... And she dresses nice. WOW!! For some reason I was expecting a black woman with crazy frizzy hair and big, colorful clothes and bright colorful purses."

J: "Ha ha ha! M. always dresses well. She looks good no matter what. She's divorced, she has adult children, and she's half-French."

S: "That explains it! Many of the French women I saw when I lived near the embassy wore amazing outfits. I don't know how they afford it."

Truth be told, M. acts like a goof but she always looks like a million dollars. She doesn't take compliments very well so I try not to overdo it. But yeah, she's hot.

Her braces will be removed in 4 months. I asked M. to have her daughter take a photo of her with a really big bracey smile before the metal is gone. She hates being photographed, and she hates people looking at photos of her, so don't ask to see the ones I showed to S. That was a one time good friend peek.

M. will remain anonymous. (Until she changes her mind and wants the world to see her.)

Today she handed me a sheet of paper from the photocopy machine. It was folded in half and on the front, in purple marker, was: "Wedding Invitation." I opened it up to see a photocopy of her ticket to CITIZEN COPE on April 14th at The Depot in Salt Lake City.

J: "Oh yeah, do you have your wedding dressed all picked out and everything?"

M: "Yep!"

Above the ticket, also in hand-written purple marker, read: "You are cordially invited to the wedding of M. and Citizen Cope-M."

J: "I didn't know marriage was legal between two women in the state of Utah, but you and she will make a beautiful lady couple."

M: "What are you talking about? At least my man is alive! Your man (Carmen Miranda) is dead!"

J: "She's still jealous of Carmen."

DEAD MOUSE DIARRHEA

2010-04-21T18:28:00.000-06:00

Friday, March 12, 2010

M: "Did you know if you're a dog and you eat a mouse that has been dead for awhile, you can get diarrhea?"

J: "Ha ha ha!"

M: "My entire house smells like diarrhea."

MY HOUSE COLLAPSED

2010-04-20T09:46:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

M.'s Cube Mate: "This tissue tastes salty."

M: "What? Why are you eating tissue?"

Cube Mate: "I put the tip of my tongue on it and it tastes salty."

M: "Oh! I bet you were trying to clean your face with your saliva, weren't you? Are you one of those mom's who cleans dirt off their kids face with your saliva?"

Cube Mate: "I am. Ha ha ha."

M: "My mom used to do that to me all the time and I hated it. She's wipe my entire face with her saliva. Gross!"

J: "Why would they make a Kleenex salty?"

Our Team Leader: "They DO taste like salt! I just licked one and it's true!"

J: "Everyone is suddenly eating Kleenex. You guys are weird."

M: "Jakeypoo! My house collapsed."

J: "What?! What happened?"

M: "MY HOUSE COLLAPSED!"

J: "HOW!?"

M: "Jake, don't worry. My house collapsed but was able to put it back together with my own two hands so it's OK. There's nothing to worry about."

J: "OK..."

M. wads up many pieces of paper. She gathers them in a pile on her desk. Randomly, she scoops all of them up and launches them at my face. They scatter like fireworks and fall to the floor around me. One by one, I pick them up and chuck them at M.'s head. She gathers them in a pile on her desk again.

M: "I am like the USA. Look at all my weapons! You'll see what it's like to mess with The United States!"

She throws all of the paper at my face. They fall to the floor and make a big mess.

J: "Are you going to clean up your papers?"

M: "Probably, since I am representing the USA, because that's what the USA does. It launches weapons on a country and then sends troops in to clean it up. So yes, I probably will clean it up."

She comes over and picks all of the papers off the floor and puts them back in a pile on her desk. Before sitting down, she twirls around and does some fancy karate stances mixed with quick leaps into the air like a ballerina.

M: "You wanna mess with me, Jake? Let's go! I'm the United States!"

She jumps into the air and pauses when she touches the ground.

M: "Oh... wouldn't that be bad if I farted just then? Yeah, that would be bad."

She sits down.

J: "Did you just fart?"

M: "Jake, MY HOUSE COLLAPSED!"

J: "Why do you keep saying that? Your house didn't collapse."

M: "No, but it's a good way to change the conversation."

BLACK PLAGUE

2010-04-19T15:26:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

M. has been out sick for the past few days. If you recall from previous blog posts, her dog chewed up a mouse and ate it, then had diarrhea. The following is a brief text conversation with M. from earlier today.

M: "I think I got sick because I french kissed my dog."

J: "Well, a girl's got to get it somehow. Now you have the Black Plague!"

M: "I'm on my death bed. I just want to sleep."

J: "Can you get up and see a doctor?"

M: "Yes."

J: "Well get up, Corey Haim! It's 2:10PM."

M: "My house collapsed."

J: "Bull$#!t. Go see a doctor and feel better so you can come back to work. I miss you."

M: "Ok."

SINUS INFECTION FREEWAY

2010-04-18T16:40:00.000-06:00

Monday, March 22, 2010

M. is back to work! She is getting over a severe sinus infection with coughs and sniffles scattered throughout her sentences.

M: "You step on it because it's greasy... and then... *cough! cough!* Ha ha ha. WOW! Listen to me! I sound just like my mom. *cough! cough!* All raspy. Ha ha ha!"

M.'s Cube Mate: "Jake, I hate you!"

J: "What did I do?"

M: "You exist. Isn't that enough?"

Cube Mate: "Yeah, Jake."

J: "I didn't do anything."

M: "We should beat you all over with a baseball bat."

J: "I'm not talking to you right now, M., I'm talking to your cube mate."

M: "You ARE talking to me because I am in the direct pathway when you talk to her. See? If this is a freeway and you are driving a car, I am right here in your direct path when you try to drive up to my cube mate. Are you trying to tell me you're driving by yourself when there are other cars on the road?"

J: "I'm not driving anywhere, I'm sitting here in my chair."

M.'s Cube Mate: "I don't hate you, Jake. I'm just upset and I take it out on you."

J: "I see... Are you OK with M. butting into our conversation?"

M: "I'M RIGHT HERE!! I'm INVOLVED with what's going on!" (Waving her arms wildly in the air.)

M.'s Cube Mate: "It's OK. I'm used to it."

J: "I know what you mean."

I'm glad M. is back! =)