Ms Crafty: where craftiness rules supreme...

Thursday, June 23, 2005

Ah, the joy of co-workers

So I have this co-worker...I mentioned her a while back as a potential work stalker. Anyway, somehow my first week on the job, she thought it perfectly acceptable to go out to lunch with me and talk about her boobs.

Yeah, that's right her boobs. Now I don't know about you, but my really good girlfriends and I don't really talk about our boobs...and we're friends. So, she tells me over lunch (while I am completely losing my appetite of course) that she is down to a size A cup, and by the way what kind of brassiere should she get to wear under her wedding dress.

I'm not quite sure when I become the mammory support expert that apparently I am today, but really how can she be oblivious to the fact that that is not ok!

Lesson learned. I will always avoid her for lunch.

And yet, because this gem is part of my group, I have to interact with her.

Another fact: she fancies herself the boss of me. She isn't, of course. Another point-of-fact: she fancies herself the boss of our group. She is always making these org charts and asking me to illustrate them. In the charts she is second in command. It's pretty befuddling...

Then today, she sees that I am packing up to go home so she waits for myself and another co-worker. We all take the elevator together.

Just as we get into the lobby she asks "Are these fuck me pants?"

I mean, how do you respond to that? She kept yammering on that "all of these guys were staring at my ass this morning...blah blah blah"

I say "What does that mean?"

She says "Are these slut pants?"

I say "you mean red pants?" Because they are perfectly normal red capri pants. Seriously, nothing special. Probably from Old Navy.

She says "Yes. Red is a slut color."

Sigh. She is clearly crazy.

My vacation can't come soon enough...

Aargh matey. I am the infamous pirate statue of Alameda. Be ye warned that I have nary a whit to do with this posting. Aargh.


At 10:40 PM, Blogger KB said...

So, are you saying you don't want me to talk about my boobs anymore? How about my ass?

At 8:48 AM, Blogger Janis said...

OHMYGOD. That pirate is at the end of MY street. He is SO my boyfriend. Shhhh. Don't tell Mr. Yarn!


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