“Funny Little Quirks” or: A Brief Glimpse into my Crippling Neuroses

Ever notice little things about yourself that are a bit odd? Not necessarily quite ‘strange’ or ‘unusual’, but just funny little details that help you set yourself apart from the rest of the herd on those depressing Monday mornings when you realize those cute shoes you bought are about as unique as the fake Louis Vuitton purses sported by the frumpy office moms who apparently also thought that sensible ballet flats were special and different this year?

*pause for breath*

Ugh. Nothing I love more than the constant reminder that to the average onlooker, I’m just part of the flock. I put on pants nice enough to qualify as ‘business’, avoid open toed shoes or tops that leave my shoulders bare.  But in reality, I fall into the category of apathetic gen-Y office dweller. I’m not quite the post high-school slacker just working hard enough to not get fired, uselessly pushing the dress code with black sneakers and nailpolish. I’m not the razor sharp, well dressed, killer heeled Career Woman with expensive accessories. I’m not a Frazzled Office Mom with a mismatched pantsuit and the wrong sandwich in my knockoff purse that isn’t fooling anyone. I don’ t have a kid and/or mortgage, and I’m not stuck here doing my frantic best to make it through to retirement, realizing that one day I’m going to wake up amidst sit-com reruns, wondering where my youth went.

No, I’m just paying my rent, happy enough that I usually like my job and get to work with my best friend, before secretly running away to live in the south and save up for a trailor.

This last option actually kind of terrifies me. No, no, not the trailor thing. I mean, that’s scary, but crazy exciting. No, it’s turning into a Frazzled Office Mom that scares me. Because Slacker Girl won’t be able to pay bills, but at least she’s hip and cares not for ‘the man’. Career Woman may not have her looks forever, but for now she kicks a lot of ass. But Frazzled Office Mom? There’s plenty of  ladies sporting kids and bellies and mortgages wandering around my office looking lovely and ridiculously pulled together, but somehow I don’t think I’d be able to pull this off. I’m already flying around by the seat of my pants without throwing kids and “caring about my career” in there. And I seriously do not want to turn into my cubicle dwelling mother, shouting at the kids to hurry the hell up and get in the minivan, poking my eyes with mascara at stoplights and hating every minute of it.

And so this is why my morning arrival into the elevator banks is often nothing short of a brief, dizzying bout of introspective crisis. If I see in my fellow ascenders enough terrifying glimpses into the possible future to remind me that it’s a slippery slope from ‘just paying the bills’ to ‘stuck here for life’, it makes me want to throw down my latte and run, shrieking “I’m not one of you! I just have to wear these pants!”

Unfortunately, that probably wouldn’t be a good idea since while waiting to eventually say “Screw this noise!” and run away to the wilderness, I happen to enjoy at least electricity and a roof over my head. So I wear my pants and drink my latte and remind myself that aside from my crippling neuroses, I’ve got a few other traits that, at least internally, set me apart from the herd:

– I used to have eight barbells in the back of my neck. I didn’t take them out for my job, I took them out because it turned out I’m allergic to nickle and it would have cost an assload to have them plated in titanium and put back in (see: cost of roof and electricity). I still have the jewelery though – just in case.

– I get a sick kick knowing that even when I’m pushing the ‘doors close’ button on the elevator, it looks to the rushing fat guy that I’m pressing ‘doors open.’ The elevators are lined with mirrors, perfect for displaying the vaguely frantic expression of  ‘oh, so close!’

– I value my sleep enough that I’d rather show up with wet hair, put my makeup on at work and greet my clients blotchy-faced and blurry-eyed than show up looking professional and have someone ask me for stuff before 9am.

– Somehow, my ‘desk job’ involves an awful lot of ‘moving desks.’ Not sure how that happened. In fact, my ‘white collar’ job is actually about 25% blue collar. I feel this gives me the right to scratch and burp in a manner that would otherwise be deemed inappropriate for an office environment.

– At least once a day I belch fairly loudly at Talea. She usually belches back.

– I can pretend to give a shit in four different versions of engrish.

– While Josh enjoys my occasionally sexy corporate wear, he really wishes I’d dress like Joy from ‘My Name Is Earl.’ Secretly (in that ‘I just said it on the internet’ kind of way), I think I could pull it off.

– I get ridiculously annoyed at bathroom dwellers, like that ugly chick from across the hall who stands in front of the mirrors for upwards of ten excruciating minutes, morosely adjusting her ill-fitted clothes. I hate her. Yanking on your shirt will not make it fit, get out and let me pee in private!

– I consider corner cutting to be an efficient skill worthy of honing. Sort of along the same lines of “If you ignore it long enough, it will fix itself.” I’m also of the belief that sometimes, violence is the answer – particularly in relation to the Xerox machine.

– I sent one of my superiors the so NSFW links to ‘Like a Boss’, ‘I’m on a Boat’, ‘Powerthirst’ and ‘Powerthirst2’ because I felt he was not adequately in the cool kids club. I like my bosses to know when I’m making fun of them, or at least understand the humour of being ‘uncomfortably energetic’.

– Freaking out about something completely unnecessary is a part of my balanced breakfast.

There you have it. A little bit of me, myself and my brain. I hope this has been an enlightening or at least amusing adventure. At the very least, if any of you have the good fortune of meeting me in person, particularly at work, you may be less perturbed when I suddenly bust out with The Lonely Island. Because, you see, it’s very important to my peace of mind. So until I can kick this creased-pant habit and start wearing slutty tank tops, I’ll be here, drinking my latte, directing workflow.

(Like a boss.)


  1. sleepyjane said,

    October 13, 2009 at 7:07 am

    Hah! I LOVED this post!! 🙂 Seriously, well done!

    Thanks! I figured “I can’t be the only one who looks around and realizes how ridiculous their job is…I should write this down!” 😛

  2. October 13, 2009 at 12:45 pm

    whoah, everything’s well said. 🙂 perfect

    Now if only they could get my latte perfect 😉 It’s surprisingly difficult!

  3. October 14, 2009 at 5:44 am

    OMG! “Yanking on your shirt will not make it fit, get out and let me pee in private!” – – That doesn’t work? ROFLMAO! Fantastically hilarious! I also really love your quote, “- Freaking out about something completely unnecessary is a part of my balanced breakfast.” This was fun reading! xoxox (JavaQueen)

    There you are! 😛 I’m glad you enjoyed it, I have an idea that freaking out about something completely unnecessary is a part of many people’s balanced breakfast! 😉

  4. Polprav said,

    October 16, 2009 at 6:47 pm

    Hello from Russia!
    Can I quote a post in your blog with the link to you?

    Hello from Canada! Amd of course you may 🙂

  5. Josh said,

    October 20, 2009 at 2:03 am

    Nobody likes their job all the time darlin. And as long as you stick with me I can pretty much guarantee your life won’t end up normal or boring. 😉

    I’m lucky enough that I like my job most of the time. And that I have a rad, un-boring boyfriend 😉 Love your face!

  6. urbanvox said,

    October 20, 2009 at 6:25 pm

    So… slutty tank tops uh… ummm… interesting… LOL!!!!
    thanks for the inside scoop from your brain! 🙂
    It is good to know I am not the only crazy one around…


    I think most people should have more glimpses into the inside of my brain. It’s very amusing being me. 😛

  7. October 21, 2009 at 11:13 am


    thanks for the great quality of your blog, every time i come here, i’m amazed.


    black hattitude.

  8. Romi said,

    October 22, 2009 at 10:32 pm

    Enlightening and amusing without a doubt! 🙂

    And: ““I’m not one of you! I just have to wear these pants!”” DUDE…I scream that in my head every day!! Goddddddddd…..also I HATE the “shirt adjusters” in the bathroom, I am a total nervous peer, and 90% of the time I can’t pee if there’s someone else in the bathroom…seriously! :-S …

    Stupid office pants.

    Oh Romi, I so love having other people around who get it. And what is it with the bathroom people? Do they love hearing us pee or something? Is this an undocumented fetish that has yet to be explained? I don’t get it!

  9. Duffboy said,

    October 22, 2009 at 10:51 pm

    You go on with your latte-drinking-not-frazzled office mom-just-yet-self! That was long… but seriously: it’s very healthy, I think, to know who you DON’T want to become, as much as you do want to be, um, when you “grow up”.

    Sometimes I think, “When I grow up, I want to be famous” but then I remember that I refuse to put on lipstick to grab milk at the corner store. 😛

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