Today was a very weird day at work. I had a number of things happen that just made me wonder if I'm the only sane person here.

First, I had a coworker ask me if I had stolen her water.

Her water.

First of all, as my wife can tell you, I rarely drink water. I also rarely steal. And considering we have free water at work – not just the drinking fountains, but also a fresh water dispenser with our fresh ice dispenser in our break room – there's no reason for anyone to steal water.

This coworker even called her husband to complain that someone had stolen her water.

NOBODY IS STEALING WATER. THIS ISN'T "CHINATOWN".

However, I am going to start referring to her as "Jake" for purposes of this post.

Later, I overheard two managers nearly get into a shouting match because one department had a "jeans week" for an accomplishment, but the other didn't (as a completely different department, the accomplishment had nothing to do with their jobs), and apparently this is a double standard the likes of which hasn't been seen since ESPN delayed reporting the sexual assault complaints against Ben Roethlisberger.

Later (you're going to see that word a lot in this post), another coworker -- I'll call her "Oscar" -- spent half an hour bitching at every customer who called her. If I had been her customer, I would have asked for a manager and possibly the manager's manager. Her attitude is completely, one hundred percent unacceptable. When I quietly asked "Jake" if "Oscar" was always like that, "Jake" laughed and said, "Yeah, she keeps us pretty entertained."

Later, "Jake" was visited by a friend. She described the recent changes our department had gone through, and as part of it she said, "And David got screwed." Then, laughing, she added, "Just ask him – he'll tell you."

I thought this was particularly odd because I have made a point of being a team player and not complaining. She had said to me a couple weeks ago, "Boy, you got screwed," and my response was, "A bit, but at least they didn't just let me go."

I kind of resented the implication that I was loudly complaining about my situation. "Just ask him – he'll tell you." Especially since her friend immediately responded disdainfully, "No, thank you. I don't need to hear it."

Later in the day, I was finally set to receive one claim (after a few weeks of training and busywork). Instead, I received four. Only one of them was assigned correctly, and that one turned out to have been assigned correctly on accident.

I went to a team meeting where two of my coworkers (one of whom was "Oscar") complained that when we got a free lunch it was never anything "good" or "worth having." These same two complain when they have to spend a dollar. When our one "remote" worker Kim was mentioned, another coworker said -- out loud so that Kim heard it over the speakerphone, "Kim?!? Who's Kim?"

Yet another friend of "Jake" came to say hello to her today. I didn't hear exactly what they were talking about, but at one point "Jake" said, "And David was all, like, 'Whatever, bitch.' He thought I was crazy. 'Whatever, bitch!'"

I assumed she was talking about a different David.

Then she said, "Right? You totally were like, 'Whatever, bitch.'" And she laughed as if recalling a fond memory. "Oh... maybe he doesn't hear me."

That's when I realized she meant me.

While I was turning around to gawk at her in astonishment, her friend said acidly, "He shouldn't say that."

"I don't mind," "Jake" said. "I'm a big girl."

"I mind," I said. "I never called you or anyone else here that."

"You could," she said. "I don't mind. I'm a big girl."

"I wouldn't, because it's unprofessional."

"We're all unprofessional around here!" she said cheerily. "I say 'bitch' all the time!"

"Look, my problem isn't with hearing the swearing. It takes a lot to offend me with simple swearing. My problem is that you're telling other people that I swore at you."

"You did."

"When?" I demanded. "When did I swear at you?"

"When I asked if you liked coffee."

"...What? When did you ask me if I liked coffee?!"

"This morning. And you totally ignored me."

"If I ignored you, then I didn't hear you... and I didn't swear at you."

"No, it was the way you ignored me. You were like, 'Whatever, bitch!'"

I paused. "Listen. If you want to tell people that you think I think you're crazy, I'll be happy to back it up by telling them about this conversation right here. If you want to tell people that I scowled at you when you swore, I'll back that up too, even if it makes me look like a prissy punk. But if you're going to put words in somebody's mouth, then keep my name out of your mouth. I have a good reputation, and you're damaging it with stuff you're making up."

She closed her mouth tight, and a few minutes later she walked away from her desk. Ten minutes later she was back and acting like none of our conversation had ever happened.

Just before I left, she said to me -- in a very friendly way -- "You never answered my question."

I had to think for a moment. "Yes, I like coffee. Why?"

"I noticed you were drinking it."

I left.

As a sort of postscript, the barista at my favorite coffee place looked dismayed that I have a "groupon"-style gift certificate for this place; apparently the company tried to buy them all before customers could because they didn't like the deal they had agreed to, but they have to honor them. And now the lady sitting at the next table is playing lots of streaming media at full volume on her laptop. Who does that at a coffeehouse?

Weird, weird day.

Today, people at work happened to make joking comments about:

1) The first name of a client, which also happens to be the first name of a relative of mine. Admittedly, it's an odd name, but it still kinda bugged me.

2) Adoption.

3) Skin cancer.

4) OCD.

I know that anything can be funny, but I'm a little sensitive about some of those items right now. So I was glad when there were other work conversations, such as:


I think God looked down on Guy Pearce and said, "Wow.... wow, I'm really sorry. Your parents named you 'Guy Pearce,' thinking it would be kinda badass but it's actually very NOT badass. Tell you what. You're going to have to be in a movie called 'Priscilla, Queen of the Desert,' but after that you get to do some really cool shit. Deal?"


"Whoops. The note in this file says, 'SANDY IS DEATH FATHER WILL TRANSLATE.' Maybe deaf?"
"No, she has a job as the Grim Reaper. Who, if you recall, is silent. She is still using sign language; she just has to be careful not to point at her father so he doesn't translate it as, 'She says she was driving down the road, a deer jumped out at her, and AAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHhhhhh....' ...thud."

Once again, it has been a long time since I have posted. I'm not sure how much I have to say that I haven't said many times before.

Some things are good. Some things are bad.

I'm staying as active in as many things as possible so that I don't sequester myself and disappear from everyone else like I tend to do in the fall/winter.

I had one of my favorite moments EVER EVER EVER at ComedySportz on Saturday. We were playing Da Doo Run Rap.

If you're unfamiliar, I'm sure you know the old song by the Crystals -- well, we use that rhythm but we rap improvised lyrics as a rhyming game. Fail to rhyme, repeat a rhyme, ruin the meter, you're eliminated. Last player standing wins points for their team.

A typical round, if the suggested word is "Phil."

Red 1: I'll meet him next Friday and his name will be Phil.
All: Da doo run rap rap, da doo run rap.
Blue 1: He's only 28, he's not over the hill.
All: Da doo run rap rap, da doo run rap.... Yo!
Red 2: He wrote a legal bill.
All: Yo!
Red 2: He used an ostrich quill.
All: Yo!
Red 2: His voice is kind of shrill.
All: Da doo run rap rap, da doo run rap.
Blue 2: He grew a plant that didn't need chlorophyll.
All: Da doo run rap rap, da doo run rap.
Red 3: Alanis Morrisette recorded "Jagged Little Pill."
All: Da doo run rap rap, da doo run rap.... Yo!
Blue 3: He has a license to kill.
All: Yo!
Blue 3: His favorite pickle is dill.
All: Yo!
Blue 3: He has a brother named Bill.
Ref: **blows whistle** No! "Bill" has already been said. You're out!

So we got the word "run." I don't remember exactly what the other players said, but here's how it went...

Brent: I'm putting on my shoes, gonna go and run.
All: Da doo run rap rap, da doo run rap.
Mookie: I made myself a hamburger and put it on a bun.
All: Da doo run rap rap, da doo run rap.... Yo!
Me: **sings** Carry on my wayward son...
All: Yo!
Me: **sings** There'll be peace when you are done...
All: Yo!
Me: **sings** Lay your weary head to rest... don't you cry no more...
Ref: **blows whistle**
Me: **rocks out on air guitar while singing the instrumental part**

The next few weeks feel rather intimidating.

Wed 9/8 -- start of some meetings at work that will certainly last for a couple of weeks; running ComedySportz practice

Thu 9/9 -- make sure I'm home so Ann can get my car to a meeting so she can be home in time for kickoff of the FOOTBALL SEASON!!!

Fri 9/10 -- ComedySportz

Sat 9/11 -- possible lunch get-together out of town, ComedySportz

Sun 9/12 -- first COLTS football game of the season

Mon 9/13 -- between now and Thursday 9/30, complete a series of eight meetings that could take anywhere from two to eight hours each

Wed 9/15 -- running ComedySportz practice

Thu 9/16 thru Sat 9/18 -- possible ComedySportz

Sun 9/19 -- attending a wedding

Mon 9/20 thru Thu 9/30 -- probably some ComedySportz, continuing those meetings, football football football, ???

...and somewhere in there, I had PLANNED to do a lot of editing.

I can't seem to get myself started on that.

=(

Step One: go to http://football.fantasysports.yahoo.com/survival
Step Two: click "Join a Group."
Step Three: Input group # 14941 and password thatsstrange.
Step Four: Select one NFL team that will win each week.


You can never pick a team more than once, and if you're wrong, you're out. Who can survive the longest?

I really need to learn to let go of things that make me angry, and stop letting them interfere with good times.

Dear Lord,

Don't let me burn bridges. Don't let me ruin things out of spite. Don't let a flash of emotion get in the way of weeks of planning.

But if I have to choke somebody unconscious, be ready to forgive me because imma enjoy the eff out of it.

Amen.

I understand myself pretty well most of the time. Years of introspection will do that to you.

But I have one aspect that I just don't get, and that is my intense need for physical privacy. Not emotional privacy -- I'm pretty open about most things.

I like to have MY space that is MY space and NO ONE ELSE'S... but not just that, I don't want anyone else EVER in my space. EVER EVER EVER.

Even people I dearly love and trust. For example, it even bothers me when Ann has to go through my closet or my dresser. It's worse if she has to go through my bag or my papers. And there's nothing there to hide! But when it happens, I feel invaded and humiliated, which is TOTALLY NOT HER FAULT. I'm talking about being embarrassed by this EVEN IF I HAVE ASKED HER TO DO IT.

I think some of it may have to do with knowing that I'm not particularly organized, and I'm always worried that I will be heavily criticized for having, say, an old letter in my sock drawer, or a book I thought I was missing stashed under my shoes. This is not a logical worry; Ann may point out to me that it doesn't make sense, but it's not like she's mean and evil about it. There is no reason to worry. But I do.

Frankly, I don't even like having my friends over to my house most of the time. (There are a very few exceptions, and those people are welcome at all times... but then again, they don't snoop in my stuff.) When people are at my house, I automatically feel invaded and judged and found wanting, whether or not there is any justifiable reason to feel that way.

So this Sunday, I am HOSTING a live fantasy football draft in my living room. Already I'm uneasy. There should be eleven people there including Ann (who is helping to host but is not in this league), maybe fewer if some can't make it. I am responsible for running this thing. These are friendly people. These are people I like, getting together for a fun purpose.

I'm not worried that they're going to tell me I'm running the draft "wrong," and I'm not worried that they're going to complain that I live so far away. But every time I think about it, I have to take a deep breath and remind myself that they're not INVADING, they're INVITED.

They're invited.

To my house.

Dear God, why am I doing this???

I'm several days behind on this. Day 3 stumped me a little bit, and then the weekend happened.

( 30 Day Meme, Day 3. )