REAL DIAMONDS

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?

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

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

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

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.