Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Three Stories that Rock My World

1. A month or so ago, I was walking around with The Girls through TJ Maxx decrying the lack of wearable office footwear. I don't do open-toed, strappy, patent leather, platform, bejeweled shoes in the office, so I vocalized my disgust by declaring that these are all shoes that would make me look like a ho, and I don't wear shoes that make me look like a ho in the office. I believe there was some discussion of what constituted "ho" shoes, so I explained my personally-imposed footwear parameters for the workplace and left it at that.

Then, last week, I was shoe shopping with Thing 3. She kept picking out Disney Princess light-up sandals, and I kept picking out shoes that were slightly more practical for early Spring in New England. Looking at the shoes I chose, she declared that she could not get them because "those shoes make me be looking like a ho."

Argh. Why can't she listen to me when I tell her to sit down at the table or stop climbing on the counters?

2. Thing 2 caused a hung jury in her classroom trial of the Witch from Hansel and Gretel. I don't know what she was charged with, but as far as Thing 2 was concerned she had not actually done anything wrong. (She called it a "conspiracy", but I explained that the word was "inchoate".)

In fact, from Thing 2's perspective, the Witch saved to two little brats who were lost in the forest and, mind you, trespassing on her property. Then, she overfed Hansel. What's the crime in that? As thanks, the little brats pushed her into an oven. And she's the one on trial???

I'm so proud of Momma's Little Rabble Rouser.

3. In what can only be described as the Ultimate Dilbert Moment, I've been asked not to go to lunch on Thursday because it might not be nice to others who cannot go to lunch. A bit of background: the Firm scheduled an "all associates social lunch" of pizza in New York on Thursday. None of the three litigation associates from Stamford can make it, so we decided to go "rogue" and schedule our own lunch of, you know, lunch.

Then, because I'm overly worried about leaving anyone out and I think our office should be more social in general, I extended the invite to the rogue lunch to all attorneys. You know -- we all eat, so why not eat at the same time and place on Thursday? "Nuttin' stren-yu-iss!", in the words of Miss Martin of I.S.51 fame.

My boss just called instrucing me to reschedule my "rogue" lunch because it isn't fair with blah blah blah brief due for me and X and Y to go taking hour and a half lunches blah blah blah. He wants me to officially cancel/reschedule the "rogue" lunch. He meant well. It was said in the interest of "this is what's in the best interest of the office." (Of course, the reason why the office doesn't socialize at all is because of his "must keep nose to grindstone at all times" attitude.).

It just came off as completely oxymoronic -- reschedule your "rogue" lunch for a "sanctioned" time.

So now we're totally going rogue. Camo paint, sneaking out one at a time, eating pizza like we just don't care. And now I know not to let the boss know EVER that we might have fun.

Tuesday, March 04, 2008

Best Election Coverage Quote So Far...

I just popped into our large conference room with the large flat screen TV (as opposed to the small conference room with the large flat screen TV). Continuing coverage of today's make-or-break primaries for the Hilary half of Hilarama... Hilary appears to have closed the gap with Obama. This is going to be a long race to the convention...

Tim Russert on split screen with random talking head who says, "...may come down to the convention, where perhaps Al Gore will broker a peace. Which would be great, if only for the irony."

Russert laughs so freaking hard that were he drinking milk, it would have come out his nose.

Fran realizes she has, quite possibly, overused ellipses in this post...or not.

Auctioning back my childhood

I totally scored a copy of Dooly and the Snortsnoot.

Bite it!

Of course, I'm at work and The Hubbins called me up to ask what in heck is a "dully and the snarsnut" and why was one delivered to our door, so I have not even had the chance to squee at the delight of owning my very own Dooly and the Snortsnoot for the first time since I was about 6 years old and the world was bright and sunny, and I was happy, in the days of the Republic, before the Dark Times. . .

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