Working after 5 on Fridays

Like today. And every other week. I know there's a ton of people at happy hour right now (or, at the very least at home doing nothing), and I'm sitting in a cubicle.

Not that my cubicle isn't lovely, it's just that I've had enough of it by this time of the week, and I'm ready for an adult beverage or 10. And since happy hour ends at 7, the longer I stay here, the more expensive my night gets.

On the bright side... it is payday, so that's always a plus.

Helmet-heads

Remember when it was only retarded (um, mentally challenged) people who wore helmets? What happened?

All of the sudden, every kid is riding around on their bikes, Roller Blades, skateboards, etc. with helmets on. And knee pads. And elbow pads. And shin guards. And SPF 185 lotion. Are all the rugrats you people are popping out lately really that clumsy?

Back when I was a kid, my mom sent me out to play... and that's it. I didn't have to strap on 15 different apparatuses before braving the big bad world. I would go out there, jump on my bike, bust my ass like a good girl and report back for a Band-aid and some Neosporin.

And believe me, after a couple good ass-bustings, we'd solve that falling problem pretty damn fast. Ouch, that hurts... I think I'll stop doing that. Tada!

But I don't know. Maybe kids nowadays are a little, well, challenged. Every other one is allergic to peanuts or wheat or sugar or something funky like that. Snack time is officially ruined because Jimmy can't eat peanut butter crackers and Suzie can't have Nilla Wafers. Whatever.

Bunch of wimps we got coming up here. We think we have special people running this country now... Heh. Just give it 25 years. We'll see how it is when this generation is all grown up.

Wet handprints on paper towels

Picture this: A roll of paper towels in a public kitchen, break room, wherever. You wash your hands, you reach for a dry paper towel to dry them off... and there's a soggy handprint on in. Now, surely this person washed their hands, so you can assume the soggy palmed towel is OK -- but seriously.

Gross. I don't want to know that someone else fingered my paper towel right before me.

Let's not be barbarians people. Don't be nasty. When I want to dry my hands, I want a dry paper towel. I don't want to have to go three sheets deep to get to one that finally isn't drenched by your nasty ways.

And if it's not asking too much, you think you can actually tear it off neatly please? That little bit of YOUR paper towel left behind is pretty annoying, too. Thanks.

I'm surrounded by office monkeys

They file, they staple, they Post-it.

They answer emails with excited (and annoying) exclamation points. They live for meetings, and are generally the first one to pop out of their cubicle and bubble, "Hey, are we still having that meeting?!" Answer: Yes, but you're the only one that can't wait. I'll be there as soon as I'm done filling my Netflix queue.

They feverishly take notes (about what?) and then file their legal-sized sheets outlining hours of worthless meetings away (never to be seen or referenced again, but hey, they're office monkeys -- that's what they do).

They hover around, anxious to discuss the same thing they always discuss. The same drone office talk. They have fake laughs. They strain to keep obviously ended conversations going (leave already, I'm trying to check my Myspace).

The casual Friday uniform: Jeans (pressed), dress shoes (tassles likely) and the predictable college-I-graduated-from collared shirt.

And they're just not that smart. They have a routine (see above), and God forbid it changes, they can't handle. They can't help you with anything extra, but will be over-enthusiastic about offering to (which you will politely decline because you don't want to have to do it over).

Office monkeys get my panties in a bunch. But they have their OK days, because at least you know who to hand off the drudgingly boring tasks to (which they'll happily take on with an exclamation point)...

Why exactly ARE my panties in a bunch?

"I can't do the same thing every night, the same gestures... it's like putting on dirty panties every day." --Brigitte Bardot

Welcome, panty bunchers!

For starters, let's be real here: My panties are technically always in a bunch. Such is the life of a thong. I can't stand granny panties, so the little coverage I do wear is indeed always bunched up my butt. I guess I'm just used to it by now.

Anyway, the glory of why my panties are in a bunch is that I get to be a Bitter Betty, and I'm supposed to be. Not that I'm always bitter... Sometimes my panties get bunched from getting excited about something and jumping up and down to celebrate one too many times (you try squirming around in a thong and see how that works for you).

I'll probably be airing out some dirty laundry. We'll see how it goes.