Greenie weinie

One of the difficulties of being a writer is always originality. There are very few topics left undiscussed, even moreso in the age of citizen journalism and citizen reserachers.

So last December when we cobbled together our year-long editorial calender for the magazine, we opted to make the November-Decemeber issue a green issue.

Because there is a topic we haven’t discussed ad nauseum.

I started some basic research today with no idea how to present this issue any differently. The Democratic National Convention is holding a green event. I snagged a few tips from their site.

Al Gore. Yeah, he’s got a thing or two to share.

What else? How do I repackage this information to be pertinent, useful and above all, interesting to my audience?

In my own life, I can see the green message is taking root. I’ve always been a fan of recycling. Now my neighbors are as well. My Aunt Connie for years has sewn her own bags to carry groceries home from the store. Today, the grocery store will gladly sell you the canvas bag to transport your milk. Ride sharing, fuel-economy, the growth of the local produce industry, bee keeping, there are so many ways to add a little more green to your life.

What I don’t know is just how impactful these measures are. Has it really made a difference? And if so, how? What else can we add? If it’s as easy as carrying a bag or two for purchases, then we can all participate. If we have to start biking to work, I don’t see that happening. What I want to know is, how can I really, truly make a difference and by how much?

I popped over to earthlab.com and measured my carbon footprint. Overall, not too bad, I’m lower than the national average, much lower than the Missouri average.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still slowly killing the whales with my gas guzzling SUV, but that damn low-pressure shower head makes all the difference in the world.

The seat of power

I can't believe I'm typing this. I never thought things would go this far. I'm almost ashamed to share this in a public forum, so many people I know will be shocked, possibly disappointed by my admission.

However, I can't keep it to myself any longer. I am in love with a toilet seat.

Ok, so it's not that drastic, but I am rather fond of this particular bowl at work. Normally I'm shy of placing my baby-soft bottom on foreign surfaces. I'm a lid-wiper, toilet-paper-spreader or seat-coverer. I don't like dampness that is not my own to marr my skin. I need the illusion of clean even as my mind rejects the possiblity. I'm so uptight about it that I have been known to walk directly out of a facility if it's just too nasty at first sight. I have my standards.

And then I met "huggie bowl." I can't put my finger on the appeal. The back of the seat hugs my bottom in a welcoming caress. It's never cold. It's never damp. It cradles me, pulls me into an intimate embrace.

I'm only at the part-time gig two days a week. Two days to revel in plastic dreams. Two days of tinkling delight. And then it's back home where my sad normal toilet needs to be cleaned because the ball of fire and the concept of aiming are still at odds.

I still can't believe I just blogged about a toilet. That exemplifies the sheer power of this bowel. Power to the pee-pee!

Word bile

Change is difficult for me sometimes.

Every now and then, I apply for a job that interests me. The only way I'd give up my relaxed two-day-a-week work schedule is for the job that I just can't pass up. I saw such a job recently. It's for a local company that connects poverty-stricken children with generous donars who "sponsor" them for $22 a month. Great agenda, right?

The postion is for a web writer -- my all-time favorite.

I've had two interviews so far and something is bothering me. I've been asked a lot of questions about compromise. Could I compromise with another group who likes to insist that things go their way. Could I take lots of constructive criticism. Could I handle it if my copy were "killed."

During my second interview, I actually heard the word "confrontation" used.

Pause for a moment. If I'm going to give up my summer and, more importantly, the ball of fire's summer for a full-time gig, do I really want to give it up for a confrontational work situation?

I just don't know.

I don't really have to work. We can keep pinching pennies and skip the family vacations for another year. But I miss the social interaction of being part of a solid team, which this company seems to offer.

Confrontation. That lingers on the back of my tongue with an acrid burn. I don't know if I can swallow that one.

A fine art

I consider "bitch" a term of endearment. But I may be alone in this thinking.

I've mentioned before that I work with some great people on a very small staff at the part-time writing gig. One of them is very mild mannered but has a tart sense of humor that she lets fly on the sly when you least expect. Of course, I adore her.

A few weeks ago, she challenged me to find some odd tidbit on the Internet and I said something along the lines of, "I told you, my bitch!"

Stunned silence. I immediately apologized. Luckily she does have a great sense of humor and claimed she was honored by the nickname.


This week on my desk, there magically appeared a slender tome with the bold titles, How to Be a Bitch with Style.

Nice.

This sweet little number promises to teach you to climb The Twelve Steps to BITCHHood and use your thoughts to control your life.

How does one get control, I wondered? Luckily there were pre-control questions.

(1) Are you in total control of your Self? Why is self capitalized here? Am I now a god-like creature? And shouldn't that be yourself all-one-word?

(2) Are you responsible for what happens to you or is someone always doing it to you? God, I wish someone was doing it to me.

(3) Are you ready to lead a more healthy, happy, prosperous and fulfilling life? Not really, I much prefer mediocrity and enduring poverty.

(4) Do you really know who you are and why you are here? I always assumed my special purpose was low-brow humor. Could that be wrong?

(5) Are you ready to fulfill your devine purpose for being on this planet? Devine? Are you fucking kidding me? Do you think she meant devein, like when you devein a shrimp? Devine is actually a city in Texas: population 3, 298. No shit, I looked it up.

After answering those five short questions, I'm pretty convinced I don't need her help. I'm as big of a bitch as they come!

Resignation

I have the joy of working with a lot of women. I have some great co-workers who are funny, interesting, intelligent and insightful. And I'm not just saying that because today I accused them of kicking me around. It is a fact.

A second fact, women talk about everything. If you've ever thought for a moment that we don't, you are deluded. If we do it, we'll talk about it: sex, marriage, child birth -- all up for grabs.

Today one of my co-workers was talking to another employee about health, mammograms and breast cancer. She was recommending a mammogram every year to everyone, especially to her daughters who were in their 50s.

We were startled by that. Her children were in their 50s. I've known this lovely lady for 12 years, but it never dawns on me that she is so much older. She has such an engaging and winsome personality.

"You'll never guess how long I've been married," she said.

"How long?," we dutifully replied.

"55 years to the same man. Isn't that disgusting!?"

We howled with laughter, because yes, it is kinda disgusting!

Twisted and tangled

Overheard at the part-time writing gig, supposedly while I was writing the latest edition of my fabulously popular newsletter. I specialize in sarcasm, in case you didn't pick up on it right there.

Me: Listen to this, according to Sleep to Be Sexy, Smart and Slim (the latest addition to 'Today on my desk') the author recommends you sleep naked. She says, "It's easier to adjust your comfort zone with the sheets and blankets you can pull up or thorw off rather than a long nightgown or a pair of fleece pajamas. The idea is to make the adjustment in a way that rouses you from sleep the least."

I could never do that. I just get too cold!

Bodiless voice from the next cube, who happens to be our IT guy: But it's true! It's much easier to throw on covers or kick them off.

Me, catching the eye of my editor MK, who looks horrified: But what about stickage? I hate when you spoon naked and your skin sticks.

IT guy: Get a thin cotten sheet and slide it between, you can still spoon but you won't stick.

Me: Well, it seems like (IT guy) likes to sleep NAAAKEEED!

IT guy: Now wait, that's an assumption.

Me: Are you kidding me? You just gave a detailed explaination about why someone should sleep naked and how, it is a good assumption.

IT guy: But how can you know if it's really true or not?

MK: I'm just going to go hide in the bathroom now .... Call me when it's time for lunch.

The next segment of "today on my desk"

A few weeks ago, I had an unfortunate event occur at my part-time writing gig.

Wait, let me back up.

I don't like public restrooms. And I define public as any restroom that is not safely ensconced in my house. I have an issue. I don't have time to go into it further because I need to LIVE my life!

Back to my unfortunate event. I went to the restroom and basically clogged up the toilet, which then clogged up the pipes which caused water to rise up from the drain in the floor and ohgoodgodImayvoimitbecausethatispoowater!

I wasn't doing anything unusual in the restroom, but still, the worry lines marched up between my eyebrows. I had to TELL another person that I (Michele) had clogged up the toilet. Of course, the person I had to tell was a man, sitting right outside the restroom and, unfortunately, the son of the owner of the company.

My whole sordid "public restroom issue" was brought into light. Fine! I've lived with it this long, I can take the verbal abuse and eye rolling. Although, my friend JT would run into the bathroom after me and giggle like crazy after she found out about my issue. THAT was a little hard to take.

Still, ever since that day, I swear I catch a glimpse of the "what a weirdo look" exchanged by co-workers.

Today on my desk was a copy of Weirdos in the Workplace: The New Normal.

Niiiiccceee ...

Impressions

I know I have a strong-willed personality. And I can be ribald at times. ... Ok, most of the time. I like to get what I want, if I don't get it, I will pursue it with determined zeal until I do.

I think my co-workers are starting to figure me out. On my desk is one copy of The Corporate Dominatrix: Six Roles to Play to Get Your Way at Work. There is also a copy of Rogues, Writers and Whores: Dining with the Rich and Infamous.

I'd say that's a good overview!

My cup overfloweth

When I worked at the yet-to-be-named tax preparation company, I had this little sign that I liked to flash at my co-workers who were getting on my nerves. It was better than actually saying, "shut the fuck up, you're getting on my last damn nerve" which apparently is against HR regulations or something.

Anyway, after I started working there, my friend Doug came over to complain about something and I flashed my sign. I think he was startled -- the 5'2" frame, blonde curls and freckles lend itself to a much nicer demeanor. But he treated me with a whole new kind of (dis)respect afterwards.

This weekend I stumbled across an rant on the Huffington Post that was the political equivilent of my favorite sign.

I laughed out loud as I was reading it, so I thought it appropriate to share. I know my friend Doug will find it especially compelling.

Jargon to the left and jargon to the right

When I worked at the yet-to-be-named large tax preparation firm, I was overwhelmed by corporate jargon. As a writer -- and lover of good literature -- corporate jargon is the antichrist. In fact, I hated it so badly, you might say I became one of the winged furies who dealt punishment on any article containing it.

But the problem was that the management team loved it. I mean LOVED to use corporate jargon. As if their message suddenly gained startling clarity if the words drill down, circle back and end-to-end service were used. And it was I, the stupid writer, who was in the wrong everytime I suggested that it could be written simpler, clearer. Silly me.

Then today .... (insert music from the heavens) ... a book fell on my desk that supports my theories that corporate jargon is actually THE antichrist. Author Gretchn Hirsch writes, "To avoid descent into a hell of gobbledygook, it would be wise to expunge trendy, inflated expressions from your vocabulary."

Then she goes on to list pages of buzzwords that are considered crap. Bandwidth, action items, best practices, deliverables, escalate, facilitate, messaging, mission critical ... all my old friends lined up like the usual suspects.

I felt great relief while I read this little slip of a book. I was not the rebel trying to control language and do things my way as I had been portrayed in the past. But rather a knight of the noble word table, dedicated to the protection and use of a beautiful yet intricate language. My quest was bold and honorable.

Alright, that might be stretching it a bit, but it did bring a small self-satisfied smile to my face. In fact I made copies, included some appropriate messaging and circled back with my former co-workers so they could also enjoy the pithy fruits of my spoils.

I love being a writer!

Don't say that!

I am by nature, drawn to the weird and slightly absurd. I used to think that weird things just happen to me, or while I'm around. Seriously, how many purple-haired mothers are groped by old women? Probably not many.

As I got older, I realized that people are generally off their damn rockers and it's just my luck to be observant and chronicle those episoides.

For example, I have this great little part-time writing gig with a former employer. They have a small staff and they have busted their tails to put together a national conference for their members -- which is happening this weekend. Before they left, a nice little e-mail went around with some helpful tips on how to chat with people in the elevator, outside the conference rooms, in the hotel lobby bar while drunk, whatever. I must say that I laughed out loud when I read it.

One of the first tips was having a list of openers:

• Good morning!
• Good afternoon!
• Hello!
• Hi!

Are you shitting me?

This organization has more books about networking on the shelves than the public library. I'm pretty sure these ladies know how to open a conversation.

Part of me belives (desperately) that this was a fun joke to ease anxiety over the meeting. So, in the spirit of humor and fun, I created my own Top 10 list of things you should NEVER say at a networking or business event.

1. My God, your tits are huge! Are those real? (said while poking with finger)
2. Hmmm, you look so familiar. Weren't you in that movie, "I Love Lesbians" with Jenna Jameson? Could you get me her autograph!
3. My God, I am so horny. Do you think that bartender is cute?
4. Oh yeah, I know your husband. He's got some skilz... know what I'm sayin' (wink, wink, nudge, nudge)
5. Giiiirrrrlll, two words TIC ... TAC
6. Awww Gawwd, do you smell that? Somebody totally ripped one. Was it you?
7. My panties are riding up my crotch. Stand in front of me while I pull them out, will ya?
8. Your boss is such a skag. Look at her outfit. She looks like a hooker! Could her boobs come any further out of that shirt!?
9. I think I'll get a tattoo while I'm in town. I want a devil, breathing fire that spells out DEATH METAL. Doesn't that sound wicked!?
10. (And my personal favorite) Do I smell like B.O.? Smell my pits, would you?

One of my all-time favorite movies lines is from Steel Magnolias, when Olympia Dukakis says, "If you can't say anything nice, come sit by me."

I'd say it's my motto.