There is some conflict happening in our department right now involving the placement of paper clips upon the copier. I’m so angry about it that when I explain it out loud to people, I actually fear that my words are going to grudge-fuck each other and spawn a fiery hate baby.
Until then, thank god pretzels and severed fingers are permitted.
This sign is actually looking out for people so I’ll let it slide.
My friend Michelle sent me the best mug ever! She said it probably won’t do much to improve my reputation at work, but that’s OK. Everyone there will agree that it fits in perfectly on my Desk of Inappropriate Things.
Elsewhere at work, I was having problems that only the Help Desk could fix. The guy I spoke with was pleasant and polite, but I couldn’t tell if he had a speech impediment or an accent, but whatever it was made him say “eggcellent” when I permitted him to remotely access my computer.
I answered all of his questions in a standard “I have shit to do, IT dude” tone.
After we hung up, he emailed me I have me try another avenue to reach computer victory. His name was Alex and his last name was approximately 9 syllables long so I felt compelled to look him up in the Firm directory.
Even Barb and Debbie were like, “Yes, this is the man you should cheat on Henry with. Go for it.”
I was on my lunch break a few minutes later and even though the sensible “what will the neighbors think” side of my brain was saying “No, don’t do it, dumdum,” I found myself typing his name in Facebook anyway.
DOUBLE HELLO ALEX.
“OMG OMG!” I cried giddily, making Barb stand up to look at my computer screen, with Alex’s HOT FACE AND NAKED TORSO looking back.
From there, I learned that while he lives in Boston now, he’s actually from BELARUS and lived there at least through high school, based on his “about” section. That explains the accent and HOTNESS.
I guess I’ll have to stop making fun of the Belarus athletes in the Olympics now.
I also learned that he recently traveled to Doha and he’s 38 which is pretty much my ideal age.
“You should make that picture your new computer background,” Barb laughed, but I seriously considered it until I realized that there was a possibility he’d need to remotely access my computer again, which made Barb crack up at the thought.
Then she REALLY wanted me to make his picture my background.
The last email I got from him yesterday said he had some ideas about how to fix my issue and that he was going to go home and sleep on it.
“OMG HE’S TALKING TO ME ABOUT SLEEPING HOW INTIMATE!” I hyperventilated.
Meanwhile, before any of this happened, I ran into my co-worker Cheryl in the kitchen who told me that it sounded like something a different department was going to fix for me, and that I should just email them. And I was going to do that, but then I had to go and look up Alex’s picture in the directory and it just totally snowballed.
“I’m totally stringing him along,” I admitted to Barb, and then told her what Cheryl had suggested I do. “But that was before I fell in love with Alex,” I explained. I didn’t even care about gaining access to this particular Outlook inbox anymore — I just wanted to keep Alex in my life for as long as possible.
When I got to work this afternoon, I had an email from him telling me to let him him know when I had a “minuet” [sic] because he wanted to try something out, which I of course construed into a million different sexual contexts and did that creepy, throaty laugh I do when I’m being weird.
He called me again, and this time I was totally perky and excitable, a complete 180 from yesterday when I spoke to him in a bored and distracted manner.
However, while we were on the phone, I noticed that everything had been fixed and I now had access to some stupid Outlook inbox, though I’d have preferred access to Alex’s pants.
I was really whiny for awhile after that.
“Maybe he looked you up on Compass too and did the same thing!” Barb suggested soothingly.
“Ugh, if he saw my picture on Compass, there is no way he’d have felt compelled to look me up on Facebook!” I pouted. Seriously, my Firm photo is Fug City. Plus, my hair was still dark brown and hanging all limply around my fat mongoloid face when it was taken.
Later in the night, I told my friend Kristen the whole saga, so she immediately looked him up in the Firm directory and noticed that HIS CELL PHONE NUMBER IS LISTED.
She texted it to me but I haven’t done anything with it yet. Alex better pray I don’t find a way to Boston sometime soon.
I was going to include his OMGHOTBELARUSIAN photo in this post, but…remember what you learned this year about being stupid with photos on your blog, Erin.
Man, this week has been rich with far-fetched crushes.