Receptionist Pet Peeve of the Day: That Guy Who Insists on Asking Me How I Am

Guys, do not be That Guy:

*ring ring*

Me: [Place that I work], how may I direct your call?

That Guy: How are you today?

(Pause while he waits for me to fucking tell him my feelings before he lets me do my job and then quickly get off the phone and go back to Twitter.)

Me: (sighing) Fine.

(Brief pause while I pointedly don't ask him back because I do not give a fuck and want this interaction to be over.)

Dude on phone: Great! [Continues to tell me why he actually called.]

Stop it. Do not ask me how I am. I do not know you and we will probably never meet or even speak again. You don't really care about my answer, and I don't want you to know how I'm doing, anyway. It's like the over-the-phone version of a stranger telling me to smile. Stop it. Stick to business, That Guy.

I'd just like to reiterate:

This is of course from the greatest episode of all time, which I rewatched for about the 209873589th time last night.

I have opinions

Guys, do you ever read things and then feel feelings and think thoughts about them? I do sometimes, but usually I just click the next post button on my Google Reader and hope a cute kitty will show up. However, I  had vaguely complex responses to MULTIPLE THINGS I saw on the webernets, so I'm going to go all op-ed on your asses and share.

Captain Awkward hits a (my) nerve while taking a physical boundaries/personal space question: "Do we hug? Because my feeling is that no, we don't." Are you my husband? Are you one of my stuffed animals? Are you my sister or parents (but not either of my brothers, because ew) when I haven't seen you/am not going to see you for like a year? Have we ever been roommates? Am I drunk and already your good friend? If you cannot answer yes to any of these questions then you will never, ever be invited to touch me. Deal. A ROUND OF FIRM HANDSHAKES FOR EVERYBODY! I was just saying to my sister that I also find small talk invasive, so basically I just hate people, is what I'm saying.

Over at Jezebezzle (that's what I'm calling it now because why not this is MAH BLOG), we hear about a nice girl named Kendra who goes to D.C.'s American University. She is recovering from an eating disorder. One day she was at the student gym and some frat douche was there wearing a "Please Don't Feed the Sorority Girls/Campus Beautification" t-shirt. So she was like, "This is horrible and reminds me of why I was anorexic," so she wrote an op-ed in the student paper about how that shirt was douchey and sends a bad message and how it was triggering for her. She wasn't like, "Ban all t-shirts" or "All men are the devil" or, as I would suggest, "Ban Greek life from campus and while we're at it, let's dismantle the patriarchy." But anyway, lots of assholes are calling her oversensitive/acting like she's some kind of attention whore for writing about her experience. She said that shirt was offensive and pointed out that lots of people (mostly ladies) have issues with eating disorders, so maybe campus-sponsored groups shouldn't be making shirts that encourage disordered eating or posit thinness and hotness as the one and only purpose for lady college students. People are assholes. Criticism is not censorship, it's just pointing out that you're using your free speech to be a dick.

WTF, Evolution? is cracking my shit up.

There's probably other shit I have feelings about, but this is enough for now. HELLO WEEKEND, I WILL BE DRUNKING YOU SOON.

Energy Drink Review: Xyience Xenergy Mango Guava

This is what it looks like.

Many moons ago, I reviewed some other Xyience Xenergy beverage and found it quite to my liking. I was at Kowalski's the other day and saw that unlike everything else in that store, the Xyience drinks were on sale for quite a good price and I bought a couple because I have my comprehensive exams/have to go to work this week and I have a caffeine problem. "Mango guava" sounded delicious, so I'm starting with that flavor. Important to note that Xyience is apparently the Official Energy Drink of the UFC, which is kind of funny since I always considered Xyience one of the less blatantly-soaked-in-testosterone energy brands.* This was an erroneous conclusion on my part. Clearly.

Flavor: Delicious! Mango and guava are definitely a marked difference over all the Red Bull clones out there (which, as I frequently mention, I do actually like). Not too sweet, though. Apparently this drink also has zero calories and is sugar free.

Effectiveness: Because 2093875897 people called today and at least 1/3 of them were irate, I have been very busy and my drink lasted longer than usual because of doing stuff. It was effective and delicious to the last drop. Because I drank it over about three hours, no crazy high, but definite alertness. But it has been a terrible day at God's Work and all y'all should just remember that a receptionist is just a receptionist who cannot force people to answer their extensions or listen to their voicemail or return your calls. Or you could just get pissed off at the one person who has to answer the phone every time. That's cool. /Passive-aggressive receptionist rant

This sexy punchy Xyience/MMA lady demonstrates how irate callers make me feel. Minus the sexy.

OVERALL: RECOMMENDED. Now go be nice to somebody who works at a front desk. They have probably been yelled at recently.

*Its former CEO has some exciting legal problems!

Other bloggers also concerned about booze and boozing

Much to my dismay, marketing executives seem to believe that if they do not blatantly direct their advertising towards, say, women, women will never realize that they want, nay, NEED this product and buy lots and lots of it, mostly in pink. Or like, it has to be covered with naked ladies playing football while eating bacon on top of a car in order for something to appeal to men. This is because said executives think people are stupid. They also think that commercials are good for anything besides elevating brand name recognition. Seriously, if it were up to me, most TV ads would be like:

• "McDonald's. Just reminding you that we're still cheap." (instead of that ridiculous new campaign to make them appear "hip" "diverse" and "urban" or whatever the hell is going on)
• "Clothes. Here are pictures of some of the new ones we have at Old Navy." (without those stupid mannequins making borderline offensive really clever quips)
• "Axe. Smelly shit for sexist assholes."
• "Apple. Our products are color-coordinated." (stop trying to convince us that John Hodgman is not way awesomer than that smug sweatshirted dude who is or isn't still dating Drew Barrymore)
• "Detergent. You, gender neutral person who washes his or her own clothes like any regular grownup rather than treating a romantic partner like a servant, need it."
• "All products from the beauty-industrial complex. Ladies: we've already convinced you you're inadequate, fat, ugly, and unlovable the way you are, so we'd appreciate it if you'd keep buying our stuff, and we'll stop making insulting ads."
• "Beer. Wait, why do we even bother advertising beer? You're going to buy it anyway."

Just a sampling of my own advertising genius. BTW, Madison Avenue, I'm taking calls. My new favorite blogger Sady at Tiger Beatdown takes apart Ketel One's "Remember when men could dress up in formalwear and play cards and drink vodka together? Oh, wait. They still can? Whatever, Ketel One is for dudez" ad. I am far more unsurprised than disappointed, despite my long-established love for Ketel One, esp. Citroen AKA CANDYJESUSORGASMMAGICSAUCE. Sady proves the commercial right by drinking some Ketel One and turning into the hottest piece of hairy-chested, mustachioed, short-shorted manmeat ever to grace '80s prime time television. Also, currently on the Retro Network every night at nine. Check out the funny: Calling the Ketel WHACK. (Tiger Beatdown) Also, the Apostate has captured quite accurately my inner response to non-drinkers (who aren't Mormon or anything obvious like that): "WTF? Don't you like fun and also delicious beverages?!" Choice Apostate quote: "[A]s we all know, it’s shared dysfunctionality that creates loving bonds between misanthropes." So true. Go readz it: You don't drink?!!. (The Apostate)

I had fake work today!

So I had a work conference today that involved sitting through various seminar-lecture-y things, which was boring except for that I knew I didn't really need to pay attention because of that whole "I'm quitting this job in two months for awesome, awesome grad school" thing. And then we did some mini-golf. And then there was free booze. And then my kind, kind coworker gave me a ride home so I didn't have to ride up a steep, steep hill in my tipsy state. You know what happens when you talk to you people? You make friends. Perhaps my previous commitment to misanthropy was slightly misguided. Or maybe I'm just a lot less depressed now, so I'm open to being sociable and meeting people. But I just feel like I've recently discovered a lot of cool people out there: not people that I previously thought were lame or anything, but just people I'd never paid much attention to or randomly met because we were both at a concert and I was alone. Alcohol facilitates this bonding, I must say. But talking to strangers/vague acquaintances can be fun. This gives me confidence for the upcoming move. Which is a good thing, especially as someone has a history of tragically (almost comically, considering how awesome I actually am) low self-esteem. But I'm not at work, so I really have no patience for sitting here and doing a real post. This is just an "I'm aware it's Monday and I should be posting" post. But work + alcohol = wish I could do it during the day every day. It would make my life so much better. Except in that whole "wow, when did I become an actual alcoholic?" sort of way. I'll be out of conferencing tomorrow afternoon with a post of more substance (hopefully). I hope everyone had a fine weekend. I actually did a large amount of sleeping, which means hooray! the Prozac is working. One of these days, I will make videos of my songs (as per Neely and Matty's suggestion/request), including my awesome (if I do say so myself) love song to my anti-depressants. Happy Monday evening, dear readers!

Squirrels are just rats with bushy tales

I hope those nuts were delicious, Fluffy, because you're being deported!
This image was actually taken from the Washington Dept. of Fish and Wildlife website.

I have this middle-aged coworker who we will call "Debbie." Debbie is a nice but lonely lady who loves animals. Debbie has taken it upon herself to look after all the squirrels on campus. Squirrels do not need looking after. They are not endangered in anyway, and yet every day, Debbie goes and feeds them on her lunch break. She names some of them. Apparently it's possible to tell them apart. One day last week, while I was reading in my cube during my extended lunch break,* I heard Debbie emerge from the stairs, breathing very heavily. She proceeded to inform another of our coworkers that there was a SQUIRREL WITH A BROKEN LEG and she needed to find a box so she could scoop it up and take it to the animal rehabilitation center. And if she didn't hurry, a dog might get it.

Ahem.

SQUIRRELS ARE JUST RATS WITH BUSHY TALES. They need no extra protection. You'd probably be doing the neighborhood habitat a favor by allowing a few of the bastards to get picked off by canine predators.

Now, I'm not really an "animal" person, so I kind of don't really get people who are really into them. I mean, I'm not down with raping the environment or abusing animals or anything, but I eat meat, I don't plan on ever owning pets, and acting as the main food supplier for a college campus' squirrel population strikes me as SAD AND PATHETIC. I learned to hate squirrels the old-fashioned way: I was taught to by my mother. My mother fucking hates squirrels more than anything else that lives on this earth.** As I've mentioned, my family's Mormon, and they're on the "grow your own food" and "have two years' food storage" train. Well, they try anyway. But so we always had a vegetable garden growing up. Blech to: weeding, picking raspberries, and snapping beans. We lived in a neighborhood with many tall old pine trees (Washington, used to be a forest, etc.) that were filled with a booming squirrel population. At some point they got out of control and started pulling the corn stalk sprouts completely out of the ground, stealing veggies before they were ripe, destroying flowerbeds, and just generally causing garden shenanigans. My mother snapped.

She tried little fences, they dug them up. She tried rat poison, they ignored it. She told my brothers she'd pay them $5 a head to kill them with their BB guns, and the BBs just bounced off their little skulls. So she got a trap. A HUMANE trap, calm down. She'd put in some delicious nuts or a morsel of corn to entice them, and then SNAP! they'd be trapped. Then she'd take them in the little trap across at least one freeway and preferably also a body of water so they couldn't find their way home, and then release them. There was a least one tragic death while my family went on vacation, but left the trap set up. My oldest brother, who was staying at home and having parties that my mother had advised the neighbors to call the police on, neglected to release the trapped squirrel and it died. We found the trap in the woodpile in our backyard. I felt pretty bad about that. My brother should have felt worse. Anyway, we caught and deported over 90 squirrels that first summer. Out of control. My parents continue to trap a few dozen every year. And if you ever happen to be at their house when my mom catches a squirrel climbing on one of her bird feeders, don't think she won't open the window and scream at it. I believe it is far more terrifying for bystanders than it is for the actual squirrel, because it doesn't usually work.



*By extended I mean, "I take however the hell long I want to before I go back to working."

**Except for maybe people who let their children dress poorly.

I'm not really sure how I have friends sometimes: OR Sarcasm as an Emotional Shield, Part 1

SYLLABICATION: a·loof
ADJECTIVE: Distant physically or emotionally; reserved and remote.

Is it any wonder she's totally my new hero?

I've gotten that one. Also, "snobby." Something must be working. Besides the fact that a shield of aloofness can protect one from many (though never all) of the friendly characters/sexual predators one runs into while riding public transportation, it also functions to keep me from making an ass of myself. Or so I like to believe. (The aloofness does tend to fall away after a couple drinks. But I suppose that's also kind of the point.) By "ass" I mean someone who reveals their true desires, lets people get emotionally close to them, and can consequently be hurt by those they choose to trust. You may say, Lauren, without emotional intimacy, isn't your life a lonely, empty shell of selfishness? Depends on what you mean by "empty." I manage to fill mine with plenty of alcohol and television.

Now, don't get me wrong, I can certainly enjoy the company and emotional support of others. A select few (who make up probably 93% of this blog's readership), anyway. But appearing aloof allows me to take my time in choosing friends.* Because once I decide to trust somebody a little bit to like me the way I like them, we will still probably never talk about our feelings (soberly). Unless something particularly shitty is going on with me, my main approach to emotional relationships is "deflect all pain inwardly with sarcasm until something really bothers me and/or I become convinced I can trust this person." Laying bare real, vulnerable feelings is TERRIFYING. (Reason number 1 why therapy is not fun.) And my usual crushingly low self-esteem keeps me from believing that most people even give a fuck about how I feel. But in the form of bitter jokes, I get to express myself indirectly, and my friends are allowed to laugh in solidarity and no one has to cry or hug each other.

So, my ode to sarcasm: Thank you, dear, non-literal speech, for allowing me to express feelings in a way that creates emotional distance. And thank you, dear sarcastic friends, for exchanging insults in place of sincere tokens of affection. Let us all continue to vent our joys and frustrations through verbal irony, because as long as we're laughing, we're not crying. And if I accidentally express an earnest sentiment in your direction, just blame it on the booze.



*And even if we are friends, I probably won't ever touch you voluntarily. That's another story, however.

It's like a plot straight out of "Are You Afraid of the Dark?"

Via Wonkette, I came upon this awesome story of a creepy, sideways-walking "gnome" that's been scaring local townsfolk in Argentina (complete with video footage!). Although I have to say I was a little disturbed that they called him/her a "midget" and a "creature" (that's little person-phobic!), the video is quite creepy/hilarious. It would be so great if we found out that it was some misanthropic little person who acquired a pointy hat and started shuffling around town at night just to fuck with people's heads.

This photo comes from a sweet website I found during a Google image search for gnomes. "Gnomes Without Homes" is all about stolen lawn gnomes, their travels, and their owner's attempts to get them back. OMG. But so about lawn gnomes: I totally stole one with some friends in high school and was wracked with guilt about it for a very brief period of time. I think it's probably still gathering mold in my friend's garage back in the 'Couv.

Is it the depression, or am I just a bitch?

Because sometimes it's hard to tell, to separate my own natural anti-social tendencies from a chemical imbalance. I try to make myself interact with other people sometimes even when I don't feel like it, because I usually eventually enjoy myself. Especially if there's alcohol involved. (But lets gloss over that issue for the time being.) It's so bizarre how one minute I can be fine, and the next totally agitated. (Obviously, I realize this happens to non-depressed people too to varying degrees.) And it can be difficult to say whether I'm actually upset about something, or if the dysfunctional part of my brain is like, "THIS IS A BIG DEAL," when it really shouldn't be. I really try not to take it out on other people, but I still worry about being thought of as moody and unpleasant. Because I don't really like very many people, and it would do me well to not alienate the few I do. So... perhaps what I'm saying is that I AM kind of a bitch, and also mentally ill. Perfect combination.

So sorry to get all introspective, my dear five or six (possible) readers, but all I could think to blog about today is what a foul mood I find myself in. That whole "Monday morning" thing sure isn't helping. I'll try and keep the depression blogging to a minimum in the future. It's kind of, like, DEPRESSING.

Pieter Bruegel the Elder. The Misanthrope.
I know, WTF, right? But as Veronica Mars* says near the beginning of season 2:
"I'm remembering why I'm a misanthrope."

NOTE: People who are my ex-boyfriend are not invited to comment on this post.

ALSO: Al Franken/caucus blogging coming soon. Get excited!




*Yeah, I'm quoting Veronica Mars. Deal.