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Work Appropriate #1

5 Aug

Tappity tappity ping! Tappity tappity ping! Tappity Ring ring!
“Guy Gumshoe, Private Eye. . .  Hello Mrs Finklebottom. . .*Tappity* No, we haven’t found him yet. . .*tap*.. .Yes we’re working on it. . .*yelling. . Slam!*. . . Good grief. .. ”
I continued to type. . .Tappity. .. Tappity. . The door creaked open and-  Slam! Guy Gumshoe strode into the office with purpose, with determination, with panache with-
“Ms Friday I need you to get me Sammy the Snitch on the phone immediately and then I need you to-”
“Sir, I can’t. Sammy the Snitch-”
“Of course you can. Wait a minute, who are you? What have you done with your hair?”
“Sammy the Snitch got whacked by Moe the Mobster last Wednesday. I just got my hair done. It’s supposed to look like Veronica Lake, I hear it’s the latest thing, do you like it?”
“No. I don’t like it and I don’t like change. Ring Flo-”
“Florence the Floozy has been sleeping with the fishes since she crossed Speak Easy Pete 2 months ago.”
“Hmm. .. Well call someone and get the low down on the Finklesteen boy and get it fast.”
And just as quickly as he had come, Guy Gumshoe disappeared into his office. I turned open my address book and began searching for someone, anyone who might know the whereabouts of Freddy Finklesteen. He had been missing for 3 months and our investigation had revealed a bit of a seedy past. Guy’s door opened slowly.
“And Ms Friday, will you get me something to drink?”
“I thought we were abiding by prohibition now.”
“Only on Tuesdays”
“It is Tuesday.”
“Only on last Tuesday”
“Just a minute.”
I opened my desk drawer and brought out our contraband bottle of scotch when something terrible happened.
The door opened and in rushed what could best be described as a giant lime green swamp monster with a bad hair day. Tentacles and assorted pond scum waved in a threatening manner. I dropped the scotch and screamed.
“Katie are you ok? Oh my-”
BANG!
With an ominous wail, the swamp creature fell to the floor. Cautiously, Guy and I approached the deceased monster only to find. . .
“Holy cats! That’s my assistant, Ms. Tacky!” I cried.
We had a bit of trouble explaining ourselves to the fuzz, but upon examination they agreed that Ms. Tacky’s death was purely accidental. Given the strange costume she had on, it was a mistake that anyone could have made, they said.
Turns out she was really just going for one of those new fangled, Bohemian looks. She was dressed from head to toe in flowy ruffly crepe-y fabric. Her fatal mistake was the color choice of lime green.
And that is why, dear friends, you should always wear sane and professional attire at work.

Another jogging tip for the lone woman. . .

5 Aug

Should the opportunity ever arise, at the end of a 6 + mile run through mountains, humidity, and rain, do NOT run through a gaggle of geese.

A Quick Jogging Tip for the Lone Woman

13 Jul

Over the past few years exercise has become very important to me. Naturally, my figure is not a primary concern in life but my health is. In order to be polished and lady like, it is important to look after one’s health and well being.
I typically do a crazy combination of running, yoga, and weight lifting, but there is one problem: I like to run outside, but I don’t always have a running partner. I was really at a loss as to what to do until one day on my way home from work I passed a truly inspirational woman.
She was grim. She was fit. She was tan. She was carrying a gigantic baseball bat and scary as all get out BEFORE the double homicide in my neighborhood.
So there you have it, ladies. If you carry a baseball bat while running, no one will mess with you. Ever. Because dear God, you will be seriously scary.

O. M. G.

How to Cope with Snake Hair

8 Jul

I should have know that I was in for it at the first tones of my alarm. As I rolled over and hit snooze I could already hear the faint sound of conspiratory whispers along with odd hissing noises and, holy cow, was that a rattle? My hair was plotting my demise. Again.
I eventually pealed myself from the warm, seductive embrace of my comforter and stumbled to the bathroom. My hair was swirling around my head cackling and claiming that it was ‘called legion for we are many’. Great. Not only am I resembling a non-green skinned and unusually attractive gorgon, apparently my hair has been taking a 15 year old’s class in drama and emo-ism. Que frantic heating up of several appliances. An epic battle was staged. I lost. No matter what I was doomed to have massive volume with what can best be described as. . .snakes. . .in my hair.
15 minutes before I had to leave for work, I looked my hair in it’s, um, eyes(?) and stated in a voice usually reserved for convicts and two year olds, “Ok, hair, listen to me. I get it. You are apparently demonic. But you have two choices: You can either get yourself into some sort of attractive configuration within the confines of some bobby pins, or next week, I swear on all that is good and right in this world, I WILL CUT YOU.”
Screams of protest erupted and the whole ordeal was concluded in about 30 seconds with only a few serpentine tendrils sprouting from my scalp throughout the day.
And that my friends, is the sad truth of my supposedly good hair. It’s a weird texture and it has me outnumbered. Left to it’s own devices it goes feral.
I am sure that I am not the only one.