Starbucks Crushes

So you've all heard me mention that I have a crush on a guy I've seen ONCE in Starbucks.  Friday was the day we were all looking for him again.  But, unfortunately no such luck.  As I told Work BFF, he will remain a fond memory.  And then I promptly got distracted by some gorgeous tulips at the florist.  (Because, whee!  Spring!)

The boys however, did see THEIR Starbucks crush on Friday.  She's a super cute girl that they've all got a thing for ... and coincidentally, just the type of girl that intimidates SSG.  Kind of like SSG's hairdresser.  

They're wee pixies of little things and wear their hair in funky styles with layers of ripped clothes and long sleeve shirts under short sleeve shirts with checkerboard Vans and big rings.  You know they spend their weekends checking out local bands and probably have multiple tattoos.  But they also have angelic faces and a cool, relaxed style that SSG envies.   

If SSG tried any of that it would look like Tina Fey got into Avril Lavigne's closet.  (But for the record SSG REALLY wants a pair of checkerboard slip on Vans ... and she does dig on local bands.)

Most days the boys just kind of ogle Starbucks Girl and try and look to see if she's wearing a ring.  But Friday?  They made contact.

Work BFF:  Dude, I totally talked to her.

Work Guys:  WHAT?!  You DID?  What did you say?

BFF:  She was in the way of the sugar, so I said 'excuse me.'

SSG:  She SO wants you.

The Best Friday Ever

Yesterday morning, as I was sitting at work, a few thoughts occurred to me.

1)  It was Friday.

2)  It was payday.

3)  The only thing the day was missing was SSG sipping a lemon drop by 8 a.m.

I shared those three items of importance with my cube neighbors ... and then promptly Twittered the same sentence when they laughed because really?  SSG can only be so funny before 8 a.m.  She's got to take it where she can get it.

And that's when one of the guys I work with said "Haven't you heard?  We're having an 'off site' meeting this afternoon?"

SSG:  Why you gotta tease SSG like that?

CW#3:  I'm serious!

SSG:  No you're not.

CW#3:  I am!

SSG:  Uh uh.

CW#3:  Uh huh!

SSG:  No WAY!

CW#3:  WAY!

SSG:  Ohmahgah!

CW#3:  I know!

CW#4:  For the love of GOD, would you two STOP?!  SSG, we ARE.

(SSG sat in stunned silence.  OFFSITE MEETING OVER HAPPY HOUR?!)

SSG:  Uh uh.

CW#4:  Someone PLEASE kill me.

But it turns out, WE DID!  And even though I got in at 7 and took a 20 minute lunch before leaving at 3 for a cocktail I ended up buying myself, I'll TAKE IT!  Because that thought of leaving early!  Lemon drop!  Was enough to get me through Friday and onto next week's 5 day countdown before I go on VACATION FOR A WEEK!

Okay, so TOTALLY just kidding.  NEXT Friday will be the best Friday ever ...

Forgive Me Father For I Have Spreed

It has been 24 hours since my last confession.

Pray tell.  WHAT IS IT WITH THESE THINGS?

I looked at the list of ingredients and there doesn't APPEAR to be any crack listed.  Though I don't know, the only actual food item I could make out on the label was "egg."  But I'm pretty sure when egg is hyphenated with "albumen" that it's not anything like the eggs I had for breakfast.  And frankly, after further thought, I'd really rather not know what egg albumen is.  Let's move on, shall we?

The first three ingredients are dextrose, corn syrup and hydrogenated coconut oil.

AWESOME.

I feel like Will Farrell in the movie Elf when he says the four food groups are candy, candy canes, sugar and syrup.

We've even developed an afternoon routine at work.  It usually starts out as an e-mail containing only the following sentence:  "We Spree?"  The guy at the convenience store recognizes us the second we walk in.

One of the guys holds his hand out the moment I come back to the office, yet another hears the telltale crackle of the bag opening and asks for a few.  I make my rounds passing out a couple here and there.  There is talk of someone going to Costco to get a box of them.  There is mention of an SSG Spree Subsidy.

Then again ... SSG is supporting the local economy, donating what and where she can and bringing a sense of joy each afternoon throughout our little cube farm ... perhaps dextrose, corn syrup and hydrogenated coconut oil are just the things we need during this stressful time!  Perhaps this is exactly what we can do to get this economy turned around and people spending again!  Believe!  Believe in the power of Sprees!

You are HEALED!

(SSG falls down into a diabetic ... or evangelical coma.  You be the judge.)

How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying

Negotiate

Co-Worker #1:  Hey, SSG!  I'm going to meet you guys in the yuppieteria.  Can you carry my lunch down for me?  

SSG:  Why aren't you carrying your own lunch?

CW #1:  I've got to run and drop this off at the mailbox first.

SSG:  Okay, as long as you stop and grab me some Sprees on your way back.

CW #1:  Deal.

Delegate

SSG:  Hey, can you grab that bag for me right there?

Work BFF:  Yeah ... (halfway down the hall) Wait, why am I carrying this?

SSG:  My hands are full.

Work BFF:  ONE of your hands is full.

SSG:  But my soup is really hot!  I might have to switch hands midway and then what would I do?

Work BFF:  Dude.

SSG:  Dude!

Work BFF:  Whatever.

Close

Co-Worker #1:  Hey guys.

SSG:  Hey, you got mah Sprees?

CW #1:  You got mah lunch?

(SSG takes CW#1's lunch from BFF and hands it to CW #1)

Work BFF:  Wait!  I carried YOUR lunch down here?  I never agreed to that.

Co-Worker #2:  (Looks at SSG, who pockets the Sprees, and jumps into her soup.)  Wait a second, what just happened?

Work BFF:  Did you give her something for bringing your lunch down here?

CW #1:  (Digging into his lunch.)  Yeah, I told her I'd buy her Sprees.

CW #2:  So she got Sprees AND didn't bring your lunch down?

CW #1:  It's here.  I don't care how it got here.

Work BFF:  Dude! 

SSG:  (With a mouthful of soup.) Tomorrow I'm going to be asking Congress for a multi billion dollar bailout. 

The Yuppieteria

Almost every day, my work posse and I head down to what I've deemed "The Yuppieteria."  It's like your elementary school cafeteria, only with ZERO french fries and a ton of guys in dress shirts.

A few months ago I noticed a guy looking at me.  He was cute, so I looked at him for a couple of seconds longer than just a quick eye gaze and then went back to talking to the boys.  A few minutes later, I glanced up and he was still looking at me.

"Do I have something on my face?"  I asked my work BFF.

I didn't.  

So I looked at the guy again.  

He was still looking.

SSG turned a million shades of red and didn't look at him again ... nor did she answer the guys question when they asked "what's wrong with you?  Are you sick or something?"

I never know what to do in that situation.  If we were in a bar, I'd smile or make my way past him like I was headed to the bathroom to give him a chance to say something.  But we were at WORK.  I was with a group of guys that make fun of everything I do or say.  NO WAY was I going to start flirting with a guy in front of them.  Especially without a couple of lemon drops first.

So I now see this guy at least a few times a week.  But I'm always surrounded by my work dudes.  Starey Guy is always with a group of guys HE works with and yet, we still manage to catch each others glance for a bit longer than necessary.

Last week after it happened again, I was kind of quiet as we meandered back upstairs.  Because:

1)  This could all VERY MUCH be in SSG's imagination. 

2)  The poor guy is probably wondering "why the F is that chick staring at me all the time?" 

3)  He could be a serial killer (SSG has been watching CSI again).   

I was back at my desk thinking about a potential strategy to meet this guy when an e-mail popped up on my screen.

It was from a friend of mine who I used to work with and who also still happens to have a crush on the quandary known as Quiet Guy.  The e-mail said:

"Hey!  Let's get together for lunch next week.  And keeping this on the down low, is Quiet Guy there today?  I e-mailed him, but haven't heard back."

All it needed was a request for SSG to take Quiet Guy a note that said "Do you like ____?  Check Yes or No."

Wait.  A. Minute.

ELEMENTARY SCHOOL CRUSH GAMES are still fair play in adulthood?!?!

Next week SSG is SO sending her work BFF over to Starey Guy with a note that says:

"Do you like SSG?  Check Yes or No."  

Only the note would also have the following caveat:  

"Or you can check this other box way down here that says 'Who is SSG?'  And if that box is checked?  Forget this little meeting ever happened."

(Photo courtesy of the Baltimore Sun Times.)

Do These Shoes Make My Butt Look Big?

Guys of the world?

SSG feels your pain.

Today her work BFF casually asked her:  "Do you like these shoes?"

SSG looked down ... and so did NOT like the shoes.

SSG:  Mmm hmm!  Yes!

BFF:  No you don't.

(Gulp.)

So SSG did what any self respecting guy would do in her situation.  She pretended she didn't hear the question.

SSG:  Uh, I'm sorry.  What?

BFF:  Wha ...

SSG: Wow, that girl over there looks just like Tom Brady's girlfriend.  What's her name again?

BFF:  Giselle?  Where?!

SSG:  Oh she just walked into Starbucks, you should go get your refill.  I'll see you upstairs. (SSG sprints to the elevator.  And then turns around to see work BFF right behind her.)

BFF:  Seriously, do you like them?

SSG:  (Starts sweating.)  Do YOU like them?

BFF:  I don't know, I thought I did but then looking at these pants, I don't know.

SSG:  (SSG frantically hits their floor button over and over again.)

BFF:  So dude?

SSG:  (SSG nods her head.)  Dude.

BFF:  DO YOU LIKE THEM?

SSG:  Since when do you care what I think?

BFF:  So does that mean you DON'T like them?

SSG:  I didn't say that.  Why did you buy them if YOU didn't like them?

BFF:  I know what I think, tell me what YOU think.

SSG:  Well if YOU already know what YOU think, why are you even asking me?

BFF:  I'm going to kill you.

SSG:  Please do, then I can't answer.  I ... I ... I MEAN violence NEVER solves anything!

BFF:  HA!  I knew you didn't like them.  

SSG:  I'm ... uh ... well ... I'm not sure I'd wear them with those pants (SSG thinks to herself 'or any pants.')

BFF:  DUDE! 

SSG:  YOU ASKED!

BFF:  What's wrong with these pants.

SSG:  (Wondering when she walked into a mine field.)

BFF:  Don't answer that.  I just don't like how my shoes are black, my socks are a different shade of black and my pants are gray.

SSG:  (Bites her bottom lip and says quietly) I thought guys socks were supposed to match their pants?

BFF:  No they're supposed to match your shoes.

SSG:  I think that's for women.

BFF:  (Earth crumbling.)

SSG:  You know, SSG knows NOTHING about fashion.  We have two gay guys in the office.  Let's ask them.

BFF:  Okay, it's TOTALLY obvious.  The only appropriate color of socks is white.  Regardless of shoe color.

SSG:  Or shoe style.  White socks and sandals?  HOT. 

BFF:  I'm never asking for your opinion on anything ever again.

SSG's Dealer

SSG has a drug dealer.  

Luckily he's not located too far away from her office.  So every day, in the late afternoon, SSG tip toes out of her cube.  After a quick swing by work BFF's desk, the two take off to get their respective drugs of choice.

It's all taken care of in a matter of seconds.  SSG's dealer gets her change ready the second she walks up to him.  They only deal in cash and she doesn't even know his name.

SSG and her work BFF crack up as they walk back to the office slowly, already high.  And as she sits back down at her desk, all is quiet and right with the world.

Until her coworkers hear the telltale sound that can only mean one thing ...

Co Workers:  DID YOU GET SPREES AGAIN?!  What's WITH you and those things?

SSG:  (Mouthful of Sprees)  They're soooooo gooooood maaaan.  You know you want to try one.

So tell SSG, what are you secretly (or not so secretly!) addicted to?

Percentages

At work we constantly gauge each others percentages.  

Not our BMI or debt to income ratio.  Not our net worth or production to slack ratio.  It's a MUCH more important calculation.  It is taken VERY seriously and requires hard evidence.  Occasionally things get heated and we have to call in a panel of judges to hear both sides and weigh in on a ruling.  

It's totally analytical and quantitative.  GOOD THING we're all analysts and have access to spreadsheets, formulas and algorithms for those times we need to determine:

The Guy/Girl Percentage

For example, most days SSG is 95% female and 5% male ... though, if you've been keeping up here at SSG, over the past couple of weeks that percentage has slowly morphed to 90/10 (and NO it's not going any further that direction).  I'm pretty sure my dude percentage stems mainly from my knowledge of baseball ... and Mom jokes ... okay and maybe my ability to quote Tommy Boy verbatim, but that. Is. IT.

On average, I'd say most of the guys I work with run about 80/20.  

HAHAHA I LOVE that they don't know that this blog exists.  SSG's RULES, baby!  

Wait, where was I again?

OH YEAH ...

So I came into work late today and swung by my work BFF's cube on the way to mine.

SSG:  Coffee?  Or did you guys go already?

BFF:  Yeah, but I could be persuaded to go again.

SSG:  By 'persuaded' you mean I just have to ask you like, twice, right?

BFF: No it means you have to buy me a venti, nonfat, soy, half caff peppermint mocha twist with whipped cream and extra foam.  Wow, did my percentages just go down because I know what all of those things mean?

SSG:  Yeah, but that's okay.  I was JUST saying last night that I needed to hang out with more girls.

BFF:  That isn't persuading me.

SSG:  Come on!  It will be SUPER fun.  I'm sure there is some bear you can hunt in the lobby. 

Later, while eating lunch ...

SSG is having a tough time cutting up her chicken with a plastic fork.  

SSG (JOKINGLY says):  Do one of you guys have a rogue knife in your back pocket?

BFF:  (Says nothing, reaches into his pocket and busts out a some crazy foldy-uppy hunting knife.)

SSG:  (Stunned for a minute) Do one of you guys have a rogue boyfriend for SSG in your back pocket?

We laugh, make a couple of inappropriate comments and I cut up my chicken before passing the knife back to work BFF.

We're all silent as he folds it up like some serrated form of metal origami and goes back to eating his lunch.

SSG:  Okay, your percentages?  SO. Just. Went. Up.

In a Word

I haven't seen my work BFF for over a week.  He came into my cube yesterday saying only one word:

"DUDE."

"Dude" can mean almost anything between us but the meaning is usually a given depending on the inflection with which its said.  Allow me to translate.

• I HAVE to talk to you, like NOW. (Said quickly.  Followed by a head nod toward the door.)
• You're so LAME.  (Said with an eye roll.  Usually by me.)
• Ohmahgah, did you HEAR what (insert coworker 1,2,3 to infinity's name here) just said? (Said with an exclamation point and eyes open WIDE.)
• Are you STILL carrying out your jihad on the polar bears?  (Said all curt and judgey like.  Followed by a point to my paper Starbucks cup.  Always by him.)

In yesterday's case "DUDE," said while carrying his organic, free trade, vegetarian, biofuel, made by eskimos in conjunction with the polar bears adopted by the ASPCA and blessed by a rabbi coffee cup, meant: "Must. Get. Coffee. Now."

While in the elevator I brought up "Vacation 2009: Bigger & Badder!"  Or not?  

"Dude.  Yeah."  (Translation: BFF was in the same quandary.) 

We each have four weeks of vacation time that must be used in 2009 ... and SSG has no major travel plans until 2010 when she's planning a trip to Italy (SSG has GOT TO SAVE, because this time?  She's getting some table linens.  I curse you fiscal responsibility in Provence!)

On the one hand, SSG is hesitant to take trips because of the fragile economy.  On the other, she smells DEALS.  And if she can just trim her latte habit, shave her eating out & happy hour habits and continue to turn the occasional trick, SSG might just be goin' on a little vacay next fall. (Totally kidding on one of those money saving methods.  I'd NEVER dream of giving up my happy hours.)

After having to explain why traveling to see every University of Oregon Ducks road game was NOT in SSG's travel plans, but still could be in work BFF's, SSG came up with the following list of places.  One of which she'd like to visit next year:

Savannah, Georgia

It's mainly because SSG wants to pick up a sweet southern accent, but she likes the idea of weeping willows, front porches and who are we kidding?  Mint juleps and southern gentleman.

(Not necessarily in that order.)

Washington D.C.

The monuments, the Smithsonian ... and the chance of seeing the Obamas 

(Really, their new puppy ... good GAWD is this thing going to have to take a shit on the inaugural ball dance floor before we're introduced or WHAT?)

Chicago

Two words: Wrigley and Field.

(Which begs the question why SSG chose a picture of the skyline and NOT Wrigley Field?  

In a word?  DUDE.)

Maine

SSG and her college roommates, Digs & Spleen, have been talking about doing a little road trip action up the Maine coast.  

Because a road trip sounds fun.  

And cheap.

(If it weren't for those pesky little necessities like airfare, rental cars, gas, hotels, food and drinks.)

The Four Seasons

Maui

This is on SSG's "Life List."  

And at a rate of $600 a night, she could stay here for like ... 

a half hour.

But that half hour would be AWESOME.

And as I was standing in the Starbucks line, feeling the cool ocean breeze of Hawaii on my face, sipping a cocktail filled with a dozen different kinds of fruit (and vodka!) and 12 drink umbrellas, I heard something.  

A little voice.  

A guy's voice ... getting louder as it came toward me.  

Who was it?  I could just make him out ... my hot surf instructor?  

He WAS saying dude a lot.

"Dude?  Um, dude!  SSG, DUDE!  They're ready for your coffee order."

Oh, right. 

DUDE.

Don't Ever Change Your Password on a Monday

I have to use A LOT of passwords for our systems at work.  And I like to try and keep them upbeat and fun.  I like a little something that will make me smile or relax for a second before I enter into my world of numbers and corporate balance sheets and acronyms ... oh how we love our acronyms in finance.   I think I used four sets in one sentence today and not surprisingly?  My cube neighbor answered in an acronym. 

SSG:  How would you calculate an XYZ when you've got a noncompliant ABC on a standard BCG that uses a TFP?

A:  I think you can use that new FUK we got on that con call last week.

Corporate finance, my second language.  

My passwords are usually something like "Bellagio Villa" which yes, takes forever to spell out, but doesn't it make you think of George Clooney wearing aviator sunglasses, white linen pants and no shirt out on his boat in Lake Como?  Perhaps that's just me.  

Today, a rainy Monday in Portland with a full five day work week ahead, the LAST thing I wanted to do when I got to work was be perky and upbeat enough to pick a password.  

It was an inauspicious start.  "Portland is a bucket of water disguised as a city"  was too long and didn't have the proper format. "H8" was too short and apparently "SuckA55" I had already used before.  It took me 20 minutes, plus a cruise over to Stumptown with A, a double tall vanilla latte and one piece of banana bread with chocolate chips before I could think of a password.  Perhaps I should have chosen "Procrastin8?"

I finally came up with one.  And I'd totally tell you what it is, but then you'd have to use the FUK to calculate the XYZ on a noncompliant ABC on a standard BCG that uses a TFP and I like you all WAY too much to subject you to that.

Sex and the Sleepy

So I woke up late this morning and bombed into work sporting a headband lest anyone see my hair which was bordering on the GARTIPOC day #5.  The reason I gave the guys at work that I overslept?  I thought it was Saturday.  The real reason I overslept?

I had a DREAM about one of them.  

Yeah, like THAT kind of dream.  And it was a good dream.  So good that it kept me from waking up on time.  I have been a mess all day.  

Everything he (read: Starring Member, or ahem, Leading Man in my Dream) said I heard as either:

1)  Innuendo

2) Evidence that he knew EXACTLY what I had dreamt about.

"Good Morning!" he said as I walked into the office.

I giggled.

"SSG, I'm going down, what do you want?"

"Nothing!  Don't want you going down.  Don't.  Want.  Anything.  Don't.  Uh uh.  Nope.  Nothing."  

"You okay?  You sure you don't need anything?"

"Nope, nope, don't need a thing."  I shuffled papers around and looked up at the ceiling. 

During lunch:

"Want a bite of my burrito?"

"OH MY GOSH, NOIDON'TWANTABITEOFYOURBURRITO!"

After lunch:

"Man, sometimes I wished I smoked.  I could really use a cigarette right about now."

I literally blushed, laughed uncontrollably and ran back to my cubicle.  But not before hearing:

"Dude, what's gotten into her today?"

You have absolutely NO idea.  

And I will do everything in my power to keep it that way.

Why I Don't Mind Bringing Home the Bacon

I have been working since I was 16.  Half my life has been spent going to a job, coming home from a job, getting fired from a job (my first ... oopsie!), looking for a new job and simultaneously loving and cursing said job.  

The one thing that has always made going to work worthwhile were the coworkers.  The actual work has been interesting at times, but not half as entertaining as the people I work with.  When I look at my collection of friends, a lot of them have come from previous employers and I wouldn't trade any of them for the world.  No matter how hard they try and get rid of me.  I can find the fun peeps anywhere, even at this job

Today I was scouting recipes, instead of calculating the host of acronyms I should have been calculating, and I came across a spring vegetable soup recipe with goat cheese croutons that I had just started to print out when I got distracted by a rubber band that went whizzing by my head.  This wasn't just any rubber band.  This was industrial strength--large, wide and with enough force to literally blow a section of my hair up off my head.

"Sorry!"  J & L shouted.  So Ems, looking for distraction as much as I was, and I sauntered over and pulled up two feet of the remaining desk space in J's cube.  We promptly started discussing the following:

• Ins and outs of fanny pack wearing and how much you'd have to get paid to wear one for a year.  The price tag was a reasonable $10,000. 
• The baby shower extravaganza this weekend where we were promised no games.  And by "no games" they meant melting chocolate bars into diapers and passing them around to see who could guess what kind of candy bars were inside.  Related question:  Was the peanut filled candy bar really necessary?  
• The unanimous decision that the best part of the shower was when this chick's husband thought that the string he cut for the game "guess the size of new mommy's belly by cutting a string and then measuring it to see how close you are!" was really to see how big her boobs had gotten.  I love having guys at baby showers.  (And future husband?  If you're reading?  First of all, hi.  You're super cute.  And if we ever have kids ... do you want kids by the way?  Anyway, if we have them, you're coming to the shower.  It's going to be held in a box at a baseball game and there will be NO games except for the one being played on the field.)
  
• J announced to the group that my bracelet was "the fucking ugliest bracelet he had ever seen in his entire life." (It so isn't.)  
• The multitude of broken bones we've all had.  (I so won).

We all eventually sauntered back to our desks and I waited to smile until I sat down.  There is no way these guys are going to know that I actually LIKE them.  I fully maintain my cover that I merely TOLERATE them.  But then K sent out an e-mail that read:  

Subject:  Buds

"I really like jawing with you guys.  I consider you good friends.  But if you want to think of me as a casual acquaintance, that's okay too."

And NO way in hell I'll ever admit that brought a tear to my eye, but it so did.

Senator Obama Answers My Question

Last Friday the office was all atwitter.  Senator Obama was here!   Not only in town, but in OUR office building.  "How do you know for sure?!"  "What could he be doing here?!"  "Do you think we can shake his hand?!"  "Does he have Secret Service?"  Our Admin Assistant was ALL over it.

Nancy Drew spied a police officer at the door to the gym downstairs and managed to put two and two together.  She marched directly up to the door of the gym on a mission.  But apparently her set hair and brocade jacket with a broach must have tipped off the police officer to the fact that she may not be there for a routine workout.  He was kind enough to answer her questions.  Yes, Obama was in the building.  The hotel he was staying at didn't have a gym and so he was downstairs using ours.  And no, she could not meet him.

We got the full report and after the initial excitement wore off, SSG had two questions:

 

1)  We have a gym downstairs?

2)  Doesn't the fact that your hotel is sans gym, legitimately excuse you from a workout?

I think it was then that I had an Oprah copyrighted "Aha! Moment."  So that's why my jeans are  um ... snug.  

Thanks Obama!

The Way to SSG's Heart is Through ...

Breakfast Burritos

(SSG walks into the office)

J:  You're late.

SSG:  It's 8 a.m.

J:  I thought you were going to be here early so I went and got us a breakfast burrito to split.

SSG:  Nice!

J:  I cut it in half and set your half to the side.

SSG:  Thanks so much!

J:  But then you weren't here.  So I ate it.

SSG:  Um, thanks?

J:  Now my stomach hurts and it's all your fault.

The Arcade Game Root Beer Tapper

K:  So SSG, remember yesterday when you were asking me if you could get the Tapper song as your ring tone?

SSG:  Yeah and you went on forever explaining why it wasn't possible and that I was an ass for even thinking it was?

K:  Yeah.  Well I was messing around last night and recorded it so you should be able to.

SSG:  Awesome!  Where's the recording?

K:  On my cell phone.

SSG:  Thanks so much!  Do you want to just text it to me?

K:  Oh no, I left my phone at home.

Baseball

C:  Dude, SSG why are the Padres sucking so bad right now?

Any Coffee That's Not Starbucks

R:  You want to go grab some coffee?  I'll buy.

SSG:  Uh, yeah!

(Take the elevator downstairs)

R:  Where are you going?

SSG:  Stumptown.

R:  I'm not walking way the fuck over there.  Let's just go to Starbucks.

And this is why SSG has a firm policy of not dating guys that she works with.

Security Alert - Code Level "Pumpkin Pie"

On any given day I access 10,011 computer systems that each require their own password.  Security is VERY important in finance and I take good care of the pieces of paper in my charge.  I tuck tax returns and balance sheets safely into bed each night before I go home.  I make sure to lock brokerage statements up tight with promises that I'll return to analyze them tomorrow before turning out the lights and locking the door behind me.  I have absolutely no idea who I'm protecting them from.  But I protect them.   And then last week, my world came crashing down.  

It turns out I have been looking after the wrong pieces of paper.  It was not rich peoples' financial information that these thieves were after.  Rather the rich people were the thieves--and they would stop at nothing to obtain ... wait for it ... RECIPES.  And not even recipes that were "Secret Family Recipes" but recipes that were so public they were stolen right out from under everyones' noses.   I have 10,011 different passwords, but my Food Network recipe box?  Wide open peeps.

Cindy McCain was on The View this morning.  When asked about "Recipegate" (how much do you love itgate?) she pulled out her ninjagate politician moves:

1)  Blame the Intern- It's ALWAYS the intern's fault.  Always.  This pesky little Iraq war?  Has intern written all over it.

2)  Joke About It - The intern is now at "Betty Crocker Boot Camp."  Wait a second ... I didn't know Betty Croker lived in Cuba ...

3) Deflect Attention - Cindy is writing a BOOK!  About the trials and tribulations of being the wife of a man running for office.  It must be difficult shamelessly ripping off other people's ideas without giving them credit.  I have NO idea what that's like.  What do you mean you saw yesterday's post?  Have I told you about this BOOK I'm writing?

SSG is onto you richies, and will not be made a fool of.  I have the following color coded system in place to warn us, the dwindling middle class, how close the smooth forehead-ed, plump lipped, bleached blond, french manicured hands are to plucking the "Pork Roast with Fig Reduction" recipe right out of our hot little kitchens.

Code Asparagus - Threat is low.  Nothing that a little "Asparagus Soldier" can't handle.  Jamie Oliver will wrap an asparagus with bacon and bake it in the oven, warding off the wealthy with a quick "take tha!"

Code Blueberry Scones - Ina Garten will run DOWN those ladies with her OWN Mercedes on her way to the Hampton market for fresh blueberries.  Jeffrey will be at home hiding until Ina lets him know it's safe to come out and eat warm Blueberry Scones fresh from the oven.  

Code Lemon & Thyme Granita - Giada de Laurentis will let us know when the threat starts heating up by confusing the wicked women with her pronunciation of Italian words like "spaghetti" or "rigatoni."  She'll say them so Italian-y that the rich ladies will wonder if they've woken up from a hangover only to find themselves in Capri.

Code Pumpkin Pie - If you hear Paula Dean say "start with two sticks of butter," those bitches have their dirty little fingers all up in your recipes ya'll.

Code Cherry Cobbler -  Forget it, they're gone.  Sandra Lee went and mixed the canned cherry juice from the cherry pie filling with half the contents of her liquor cabinet and didn't see a THING.

And like I always say, if you can't beat 'em join 'em!  Sandy baby, can you pass the Grey Goose?

Always looking out for your safety,

SSG

CEO of Lunchtime Inc.

So today we all ROTTED on a conference call.  An announcement by our succinct (and AWESOME) CEO that could have taken 5 minutes ended up taking over an hour.  Why?  Because also on the call were about 27 layers of management across what felt like 1,000 different business lines.  And people as you well know, management has a lot to say.  

Managers COULD NOT get things done without all of those who have been helping them.  Managers have A LOT of people to introduce and thank for their efforts.  And then THOSE managers, happy to have had a little  senior management fondle, and wanting to impress our CEO made sure to let their manager, and their manager's manager, and their manager's manager's manager know exactly how EXCITED they were to be part of the new groundbreaking strategic initiative.  

I would have gouged my eyes out if my pencil hadn't been so dull.

So, in the spirit of management, I decided to thank the squad for their efforts by sending out a little e-mail.

To:  The Squad

From:  SSG

RE:  Strategic Initiative

First off, I'd like to welcome you and let you know how excited I am to be here.  I'd like to start off by saying thank you to the following:

Ems:  Thank you for your efforts in trying bangs on for size today.  Change is important and it should absolutely start with your hair first.  Well done.

K:  I'd like to thank you for e-mailing the Friends & Family Ann Taylor discount coupons out to the appropriate parties this morning in record speed.

L:  I'd like to applaud your efforts in making the dividing line between cubicles not only clear, but concise and to the point.

J:  I'd like to thank you for your marketing strategy on L's new cubicle decor.  I don't need to tell you that branding is everything in our business.

It's important that we have leaders like you on this team.  Have I told you how excited I am to have you here?  Or how much your efforts are appreciated?

That said, I'd like to invite you all to lunch today.  It is B.Y.O.L. With all of the excitement, we mustn't forget that we are accountable to shareholders and it starts with us.  Furthermore, in the interest of our new "green" initiatives, we'll be leaving our private jet and cars at home and walking to our destination.

I look forward to seeing you all there.

Sincerely,

SSG

CEO of Lunchtime Inc.

To:  SSG

From:  K

RE: RE:  Strategic Initiative

I would like to say that I too am excited to be a part of these initiatives.  We are making great headway.  Thank you SSG for taking the first steps in these endeavors.

To:  SSG

From:  L

RE:  RE:  Strategic Initiative

I am overjoyed to be given this opportunity to network with such a dynamic group of people.  Don't forget to bring your business cards with you!

To:  SSG

From:  J

RE: RE:  Strategic Initiative

As supportive as I am of this initiative, I will have to decline the lunch meeting today.  But really, thanks again for your leadership of this partnership as we march forward.

To:  Squad

From:  SSG

RE:  RE:  RE:  Strategic Initiative

At this lunch meeting, please be prepared to discuss "Strategic Initiative #2:  The Reorganization  & Downsizing of J's Position."

I Wanna Have Some Fun

The eighties got brought up at work today.  There was much talk about Aqua Net, gel bracelets, fluorescent pink leg warmers and Reebok hightops.   And then the talk shifted to bands--Ready for the World, Stevie B and my fave, Samantha Fox (Was such a wild dame!  Ah!  What's in a name, Ssssss-Samantha Ssssss-Samantha!).  Many a cheerleading competition was danced to those gems.

I decided to have a little fun with the guys I work with as they reminisced about the posters of Ms. Fox they used to have hanging in their teenage bedrooms.

SSG:  Gosh, I can't think of the songs she used to sing (knowing full well what songs she used to sing).

Guys:  (Frantically Googling & shout in unison) "Touch Me", "Naughty Girls Need Love Too..."

SSG:  How did "Naughty Girls Need Love Too" go again?

Guys:  How can you not remember?  Okay, (start singing in unison) "Naaaaaughtyyy girrrrrls need. Love. To."

SSG:  (Biting the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing) Oh yeah, I kind of remember now.  What was the other one?

Guys:  Touch me?

SSG:  Yeah, how did that one go?

Guys:  I can't believe you don't remember!  "Tooouuuch meeee, I want to feeeel your body, your heartbeat next to miiiiiiine!"

SSG:  Didn't she have one about wanting to have some fun or something?

Guys:  (Start singing unprompted)  Iiiiiii, wannnnna haaaave some fuuuuun?

SSG:  Yeah (starts laughing uncontrollably).

Guys:  Ahhhhh, daaaaaaaaaaamn!

You haven't lived until you've seen grown men in dress shirts singing "Naughty Girls Need Love Too."   

Bright Spot. Bland Cubicle.

Mmmm. Mmmm.  Don't you just love the graininess of a cell phone photo and florescent lighting in the morning?  

Sure I had work to do.  Sure people were waiting for financing on their multi-million dollar projects.  I should have remained a focused analyst.  I should NOT have been reading blogs like hotfessional or amalah.  But sometimes you need a bright spot in a bland office.  And today was one of those days:

Bright Spot:  The cool intern was in today, which means Stumptown Coffee runs & lots of baseball chat.

Bland Spot:  Hearing a douche bag say "Yes'm" to a GUY ... repeatedly ... without sarcasm. 

Bright Spot:  Invite to Red Coach for yummy burgers and crispy, crinkle-y fries.

Bland Spot:  Irritating sales guy is back, and with a RUSH (!) no less ... have I mentioned that every deal of his is a RUSH(!)?  I think he's afraid his clients will realize what an ass he is and he recognizes that he's got a short window to pretend otherwise.

Bright Spot:  This gorgeous orchid.

Bland Spot:  I bought it for myself.

Bright Spot:  The off duty fireman pulling out of the fire station in his hot, big, guy Dodge Ram.

Bland Spot:  The jackass in the Toyota Corolla that would not turn right on a red light despite the fact that the car in front of him pulled all the way into the crosswalk to give him room so he could.  Dick.

Bright Spot:  The conversation via loud whisper that happened between two guys that sit next to me:

Guy 1:  (Asks a question.)

Guy 2:  (Doesn't respond.)

Guy 1:  (Says loudly) Are you mad at me?

Guy 2:  (Says quietly) Yes.

Guy 1:  (Whispers) So we're no longer talking?

Guy 2:  (Whispers back) No.

Guy 1:  (Whispers) What can I do to make it up to you?

Guy 2:  (Says softly) Hold me.

Bland spot:  Having a guy I work with ask me to interpret a dream he had.  Uh, wha?

Hope your day has been full of bright spots!

XOXO,

SSG

Cell Phones, Who Needs 'em? Eh Sonny?

When you work in finance and you're an analyst you spend a lot of time staring at numbers. When you're not staring at numbers, you're staring at a computer screen. Often times you're staring at numbers on a computer screen--or if you're me, you're staring at the clock on the computer screen (which technically is comprised of numbers). Breaks are not only important, they're like lifeblood. And no, I'm not exaggerating. Try and get in the way of us geeks on the way to our morning shots of espresso--we'd mow over a grandma.

So after the morning coffee run and lunch, afternoons stretch long--a highway if you will, with no exits until quittin' time. It starts to get strangely quiet when you take into account the food coma and the fact that we're financial geeks churning out reports like it's goin' out of style ... that is, if they ever were in style. Often times right around 3:00 everyone is looking for an excuse to chat, but no one wants to make the first move, for fear of disrupting the quiet. And then it happens ... someone sneezes and about six people say "Bless You!" simultaneously. That gets everyone up to chat for a bit and that's all it takes. If the flap of a hummingbird wing can cause a tidlewave on the other side of the world, a sneeze can get a group of analysts out of their cubicles in Portland.

The conversations vary--some can be as mundane as who has the least amount of seniority, for it is they who will make the requisite snack run (deemed "you fly, I'll buy" at Goldman Sachs, thanks Digs). Often times the afternoon chats can be politically charged ... or they would be if any of us were republicans. And sometimes, like today they're oddly reassuring.

Today's chat was about our respective parents' utter lack of ability to use cell phones.

Our parents are all relatively successful people, who raised relatively successful children but the thought of a phone not attached to the wall is a veritable quandry to them. It's a display of ineptitude of such magnificent proportion that it caused enough fodder for a good 20 minutes of story telling. So here we go:

1) My mom has the ghetto cell phone that you buy when you have bad credit. You know the pay ahead kind? Yes, she has the cell phone version of a layaway plan. In addition, her phone is a good five years old and has this incredibly loud screech/alarm/death toll that occurs any time she turns it on. In addition to the loud shriek of a sound my mom's phone makes, it always has the courtesy of telling her exactly how many minutes she has left on her "plan." This number? A complete mystery to my mother every time she hears it. It baffles her every time that she could have that many minutes left! Regardless, any time my sister and I are with her we graciously allow her use of our phones to which she always replies "oh thank you, this is NICE," she says while shoving her analog phone back into her tote bag.

2) M will leave a message for her parents on their cell phones. The message they never listen to which she discovered after they called her back asking all the same questions she had left answers to on their voicemail not ten minutes earlier. So she decided to stop leaving messages when she called them, figuring they'd see she rang and give her a call back. At least she tried, until they called her in such a panic wondering if something had happened to her where she was so injured she couldn't leave a message.

3) K's mother in law had accidentally been answering her cell phone on speaker. Everyone could hear her conversation, while she was talking into the mouthpiece and holding it up to her ear like normal. "I thought it was kind of loud," she said after having it explained to her.

Statistics, they're rarely 100% accurate, right? Not in our group. We all discovered that the only time any of our parents turn their phones on is when they are either making a call or know for sure someone will be calling them (eg. airport pick ups, etc). Ahh the parents, you've got to love them or else they'd drive you crazy ... I think I'll go call them right now ... on their cell phones, where I know they won't pick up.

Funny cell phone/parent story? Jump on in and tell me about it, it's way too quiet in this place! Do I have to sneeze?

Office Dares

I have one of those page a day calendars on my desk at work. Last year's calendar had shots of Paris, the year before had photographs of various islands around the world. This year, a former coworker gave me "Dumb Office Dares." I love it. One of the first things I do during my morning routine is tear off the prior day's page and shout out to the squad what the day's dare is. Today's dare was simple--seductively eat a chocolate bar while looking directly at one of your office mates. No sweat. It was just as easy as the time when we were dared to "during a meeting, announce you have to go number two really bad." Or "when hanging up the phone make kissing sounds after you say goodbye, regardless of who it is." Everyone loves the "what would happen if someone actually did that" discussion, but of course we're way too conservative (read: nerdy) to actually do any of them.

So in talking daily about such craziness, like putting your water bottle in a brown paper bag and carrying it into a meeting, I think my "crazy radar" (craydar?) is being dulled. This is a finely honed skill, created over the past 9 months that I've been working downtown. It's not something that I want to give up, self protection is vital for us young "ladies." But I have to admit that my first thought instead of "crazy person, 3:00," is now "wow, that person must take office dares seriously."

Take for instance the time I almost got taken out by a woman who was walking ALONE down the sidewalk in a full fledged argument with ... herself, apparently. I was so intent on determining if it was a joke that I missed the fact she was pulling off the enormous metal trash can lids from their trash can homes and chucking them like frisbees down the sidewalk. It was a narrow escape.

Or today, when I was walking through the US Bancorp Tower's lobby and a guy with an enormous black eye and about 16 layers of clothing asked me if I could give him "my code" so he could get into the bathroom. My first thought was "there's no way that black eye is real." Second thought of course was "uh, wha?"

See what I mean? I feel like I just moved to the big city from a small town in Kansas.

But the kicker was on my way home tonight while stopped at a stop light I watched a guy walking through the crosswalk. He walked purposfully, strides long, head up, he was focused and obviously on his way to something important. In his right hand was a cigarette and in his left? A brown paper bag that had the not too easily camoflauged profile of a bottle ... of the alcoholic persuasion. First thought? He's obviously going to a meeting.

Is there an AA equivalent for this innocence that seems to be taking over my world? "Hello, my name is Serendipitous Girl and I'm a gulible-aholic." Luckily I won't have to find out. On my way out of the grocery store I got accosted by a Girl Scout selling cookies. I gave her a black eye and made my way home.

(Just kidding. I bought two boxes of thin mints and thanked her profusely. Even if she was six feet tall and had hairy legs, the Girl Scout uniform meant she was okay, right?)