Babe* in Boyland

Just another Monday in the life of SSG ...

Quiet Guy

I was working away yesterday morning when I saw the telltale sign of QG lurking around the door to my cube.  I have taken to ignoring him, which turns into this odd moment of me knowing he is there but not acknowledging him and instead trying not to start giggling (SSG is AWESOME under pressure).  He wouldn't go away.  And kept inching one foot into my cube.  And then another.  Until he was standing smack dab in front of my desk.  

I couldn't NOT look up.

So I did.

And came face to face with a guy, who was decidedly not Quiet Guy, but a new guy that just got hired a couple of weeks ago.

SSG:  (Stammers) Oh hi!  I'm so sorry, I'm in the zone.  Did you need me for something?

After I answered his question I promptly e-mailed Work BFF what happened (despite the fact he sits not 20 feet away from me).  And as I was typing about how bad I felt but how FUNNY it was, it dawned on me.

I NOW WORK WITH ANOTHER GUY THAT HOVERS IN MY CUBE AND DOESN'T SAY HELLO. 

(Please excuse me while I go check to see if I have somehow started to grow snakes on my head instead of hair.)

March Madness

We're doing some kind of like basketball bracket type thingie for the college basketball championships.  Is it the championships?  Whatever,  I don't know.  All I know is I like the "MADNESS" of March.  It's fun to see everyone get into game after game after game after game for a span of a couple of weeks.  And I love college athletes--they play with so much heart.  I also love that last year we ducked out of work at lunch to go watch, ahem, part of a game at a sports bar close by.  And the sports bar was filled with A LOT of dudes.  Me. Ow.

Anyhoo!  Here's how the conversation with me and Work BFF went down.

BFF:  You in on the bracket?

SSG:  YES!

BFF:  Do you even know what that means?

SSG:  Sweet Sixteen, Elite Eight, Final Four?

BFF:  Yes.

SSG:  Sweet!

BFF:  But there are 65 teams.

SSG:  Oh.  65?

BFF:  Yes.

SSG:  Why not 64 or 66 so they can play in actual ... you know ... GAMES.

BFF:  Blah blah blah, worst teams, blah blah blah, winner plays best team.  Blah. And Blah.

SSG:  Whatever, I'm in.  Who is ranked #1?

BFF:  Well technically there is one number one team in four different blah blah blah.  

SSG:  So who are they?  Wait, wait, wait.  Let me guess.

BFF:  This should be good.

SSG:  It's probably someone like Duke, UNC, UCONN and I don't know Cal or something.

BFF:  (Silence.)

SSG:  Uh oh.  Am I way off?

BFF:  (Silence.)

SSG:  Uh oh.  I am, aren't I?

BFF:  (Silence.)

SSG:  Dude, it's okay you can tell me.

BFF:  (Silence.)

SSG:  You're freaking me out!  Who are the teams?  (Frantically Googles.)  Dude, three of the teams I picked are ranked # 3, 5 & 6.  Ha ha!  I didn't even look!  I am AWESOME AT THIS!

BFF:  (Walks out of SSG's cube.)

SSG:  Where are you going?

My Neighbor

 (No, Not the Neighbor Formerly Known as Cute Neighbor)

So one of my neighbors likes to evade arrest, lead cops on a high speed chase through my neighborhood until they eventually bust down his door at 1 a.m. but not before trying to pick up on the nanny across the street.  And the other one?  Well up until last week I never heard a peep out of him.

I'd see him occasionally.  My mom had met him once.  Bob of the Bobs had seen him.  Most of the time his garage door is closing just as I'm leaving.  Or mine is closing just as he is getting home.  I think I might? Wave? Occasionally?  If someone offered me $1,000,000 to tell you his name right now I'd have to say .... Kevin?  Keith?  Khan?  I have no idea.   WE HAVE LIVED NEXT DOOR TO EACH OTHER FOR FOUR YEARS.

I assumed he had some assemblage of body parts in an industrial strength freezer in his garage or whatever and next time the power goes out for four days in the summer and a strong odor wafts into the neighborhood and the cops go from my other neighbor's house to this neighbor's house to arrest the guy for being a serial killer I'd be one of those people on TV telling the reporter "He was SO quiet!  Never heard a peep out of him!"  

(Why yes, I DID watch a lot of CSI this weekend.  Why do you ask?)

But last week, I heard him.  Or rather his BASS.  I don't know if homeboy got a new stereo or WHAT.  But if you saw my post last Thursday I was at my vibrating wits end.  Wait.  That didn't sound the way I meant for it to.

Anyhoo.  I didn't want to be THAT neighbor.  And after four years of peace and quiet (except for the imaginary (or are they?) body parts) I wanted to cut the guy some slack on his new woofers or tweeters or WHATEVER is making that RACKET SONNY (insert SSG as an 87 year old woman's voice here).

But Sunday night the thump, thump, thump was going on after 11 p.m.  I got home at 6 p.m. tonight after leaving at 6 a.m. this morning and it was going on AGAIN.  So I brushed my hair, put on some lip gloss and hoped he wouldn't beat me up since I'm just a twee little girl and all.

I also hoped he wouldn't want to scalp me for his human suit.

I knocked.  

And I waited.

And I knocked louder.

And I waited.

BUT THE MUSIC WAS TOO LOUD.

So I pounded on the door, SWAT style (which I now know about thanks to NFKACN).

And it opened.

And the serial killer with the crazy bass looked at me and said ...

"Hey."  All kind and nice like "What's up?  I think I might know you from somewhere?"

And he was CUTE.

GAH!

I was all fired up because.  NOISE!  KEEPING ME UP!  I WORK HARD!  BASS THUMPING!  LOUD!  AND HAVE YOU LIVED HERE ALL THIS TIME BECAUSE YOU'RE TALL AND CUTE!  YOU DON'T HAVE ANY HEADS IN THE FREEZER, DO YOU?

Instead I pulled it together.  

SSG:  Hi, I live next door.  I'm so sorry to bother you, but I don't know if you got a new stereo or something?  (Blink. Blink.  Gosh you really are quite cute.)  It's just I've started noticing the bass over the last week and normally I wouldn't care but I've started to hear it quite late at night and ...

New/Old Neighbor:  I am SO sorry!  I've wondered.  I never hear a peep out of your place (are YOU a serial killer?) and I thought the insulation might be better.  Thank you so much for coming over and letting me know and not calling the cops or anything.

SSG:  Oh no, no, no!  I wouldn't.  And I certainly don't want to be THAT neighbor.  Nor do I want to come between you and good music.  It's just the BASS that has been killing me (kind of like that cute smile you have and your pretty eyes and what color is that on your walls back there, I like it.  FOCUS!)

NON:  My apologies, thanks again so much for letting me know.  I really appreciate you coming over.

SSG:  Ok, well um, thanks? (And shit, now I probably won't talk to you for another four years.)  Okay, bye!

NON:  Bye, thanks again!

The End

*"Babe" clearly means SSG is a BABY in Boyland.