Taking Up Hope and Giving Up Weakness

As I write this I am exhausted but I know not nearly as exhausted as some who enjoyed last night's Reading, Writing, and Rhythm concert with me. It's a concert Chely Wright puts on each year to raise money for schools and this year it was for one of our local elementary schools that lost everything in the flood...nothing but walls standing. It was an awesome night started by a silent auction and then lots of performers. Buxton Hughes, Jamey Johnson, SHeDAISY, Justin Moore, Bucky Covington, and special guest, Trisha Yearwood. However, aside from Chely, the real special guest for me was Jann Arden. I became a Jann Arden fan in college, 1994. She is a wonderful singer and songwriter and has written a couple books, too. Her humor is OFF THE CHARTS! She is just so dry and extraordinary.

Some of you know that I used to work at Opryland and then for the Grand Ole Opry. I've been around many music stars, talked to them, escorted them, wanted to slap some of them... I have never been star struck. In Nashville, it is very common to run into a singer in the grocery store or mall. The only fan club I was ever in until now was the Judds, in high school. I actually sent a tape cover to their fan club with a self addressed stamped envelope, along with a letter asking for an autograph. Months later, after forgetting about it, I actually got it back and was thrilled!

I ended up moving to Nashville, attending school to be a publicist, but secretly only wanting to drive a tour bus or sell t-shirts. I hated school and that's when I went to Opryland to work and eventually the Grand Ole Opry. To this day, it was the most interesting, exciting job I ever had. Sure beats the engineering world I'm in now.

Anyway, I went all the way around that to say this. I had hoped to meet Jann Arden last night to tell her that a couple of my Twitter peeps want to be on her radio show. I don't even know their real names but their creativity and enthusiasm is catchy. I didn't get to meet Jann but the most amazing thing happened when I returned home at 2:30 this morning. I opened my email and I had a message that she was now following me on Twitter. How cool is that? Again, I do not get star struck but that was effin' awesome! I am honored.

Back to not being star struck..... Several of my friends had come with my mom to visit me here in Nashville in 1995. They were doing the whole tourist thing and one of them was hanging out the window with a video camera while stopped at a traffic light on Music Row. This pretty young girl pulls up beside us in a Saturn and starts talking to us. She tells us her name is Chely Wright and we should go buy her tape at K-Mart. She talked to us until the light turned green, and while it was cool, we really didn't believe what we had heard. Eventually we made it to K-Mart and sure enough, it was Chely Wright, and on that day she made a carload of fans.
Aside from seeing her backstage during my Opry employment I never met her again until a couple weeks ago at a book signing. And you know what? I was star struck. I told her the story and she remembered the car. But what else I told her, I can barely remember. You know in "Notting Hill" when Hugh Grant meets Julia Roberts for the first time and he says it was surreal? That's exactly how I felt. I couldn't tell anyone because I couldn't remember the moment myself!
Anyway, I thought when I met Chely again last night I would be much cooler and know exactly what and how I wanted to say it. Nope, choked again. Aside from explaining an "agape" tattoo, I did get out that I was very thankful she didn't pull the trigger. She said, "I'm glad you're glad I'm still around." Honey, you have no idea.

Again, I'm not going into deep thoughts in my notes, they are best saved for personal conversations, but I'm using a line from Jann Arden's song "Free" to title this note... I'm taking up hope and giving up weakness. I'm using the lyric as a testament to the life of a wonderful woman who has changed so many people's lives by saving her own.

Peace my peeps

Lamenting A Brother

On Sunday, April 4, 1993 my world changed.

It was the typical Sunday morning. I attended church and afterwards dropped my friend Lee off, then rushed to the nearest mall. There was a pair of shorts I just had to have at Champs and I knew I had a short time to get to the mall and get home before my mom did. I would catch her wrath for spending the money and going to the mall period, so I had to make it quick. I rushed back only to see cars parked in front of our house and for a very short moment I wondered if we were supposed to have company.
I pulled around the back and there was a man in a Marine uniform standing beside a white 15 passenger van. I don't even remember what my first thought was but when I stepped out of my car, and he asked if I was Jennifer, I knew something was very wrong. He told me I needed to go inside and see my mother.
I ran to the door and as I opened it and stepped in I saw my pastor standing at our dining room table. He told me my brother had been killed in a car accident and grabbed me in a strong embrace. I remember screaming "No!" and I heard my mother screaming in the hallway. She came in the kitchen and grabbed me, crying, "Billy is gone."
That moment was so unreal. I remember thinking,"this cannot be happening".

Our community was very small so it didn't take long for the word to get out about my brother's death. In what seemed like minutes hundreds of people were coming in and out of our home. I remember standing at the back sliding glass door, staring out, and hearing those behind me saying I was in shock. Maybe I was. I was heartbroken. I was angry. I was absolutely crushed. The person who had been with me since the womb was gone.

To those that don't know, Billy and I were twins. My mom, nor her doctor, knew she was pregnant with twins. It wasn't until her blood pressure dropped dangerously low and the nurse screamed to the doctor that there was another one that anyone knew. Thru all the tests available in those days, there was only one heartbeat ever heard. Unexplainable.

Billy and I were constant companions. When we lived in South Florida we were always seen riding our bikes and building forts; skateboarding; swimming until we looked like little Latino raisins; playing ball; wrestling....you name it and we were doing it together. When we moved to Central Florida we became even closer because there weren't many kids around to play with. We had to be very creative out "in the country". We were city kids, used to lots of other kids and open streets....not cow patties and barbed wire. We had to keep each other entertained. He taught me how to ride our dirt bike and how to shoot his B-B gun....he even shot me with it once.

Our childhood went by so fast and before we knew it we were driving. At that age we weren't so close, unless he had brought a handful of his friends over and wanted me to make hamburgers and fries for them....then I was his best friend again. He had all his beautiful girlfriends and buddies to keep him busy. I was busy playing softball, working a part-time job, and hanging out with my own set of friends. All we really seemed to talk about was what route each of us would take on the way to school and then race each other to get there. He always seemed to win even though I had the faster car. I let him win. ;o) And of course, when he would come home at night and ask for his messages....the girls really liked him.

Next thing we knew graduation was upon us. He had decided to join the Marine Corps and I was headed back to South Florida for college. We didn't see much of each other but wrote one another often, or when Mom would get on us to write each other.
He really enjoyed the Marines and I was hating college so I moved back home in December '91. I couldn't have made a better decision, for over the next year I would develop some incredible friendships; those that would make what was soon to happen a little easier to bear.

I remember the last time I saw Billy. He had come home to buy a new truck and I went with him to the dealership to pick it up. I'll never forget riding home with him, looking out the side window, crying. I remember worrying that he would be sent off somewhere and having this awful feeling that I may never see him again. He didn't see the tears falling...thank God. He would leave within a couple days to go back to North Carolina and as it turned out, my greatest fear came true.
In March '93 one of our great uncles passed away and Mom didn't want to tell Billy because she knew he would drive home for the funeral. She was and still is always worried about us traveling. When Billy found out he missed the funeral he was so upset. I remember talking to him on the phone, explaining what happened and why we didn't tell him. That was the last time we ever spoke. Who knew?

In less than a month he was gone.

While standing at the sliding glass door that Sunday afternoon our whole lives went thru my head. I relived our last moments together and the last conversation we had. I thought this was so very wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen in our family. My mom had already endured such a terrible marriage and now I was wondering how God could possibly put this tragedy on her.

Over the next few days those incredible friends I had wouldn't leave my side. My Mom had friends constantly with her, as well. They would stay the night with us so that we wouldn't be alone. I remember listening to my Mother weeping in the middle of the night and wondering how in the world she would ever get through this.

April 8 was the day of the funeral. I had asked to pick a few songs that would play as people filled the church and one of those songs was "Heaven" by Michael English. I had listened to that song many times in the months before Billy's death for no other reason than its beauty. I ask that each of you who read this note get that song on your iPods and listen to it. It is a beautiful, peaceful song.
I remember sitting at the service between my Uncle Ken and Aaron, one of Billy's closest friends who had joined the Marines with him. My cousin, Todd, gave the eulogy and while I'm sure it was beautiful, all I remember during that time was praying, "help me be strong". Before the end of the service I was to place the last letter I had written to Billy in his casket. I needed to be strong for that moment...I needed to be strong for my Mom.
I can tell you everything about that week but I cannot tell you what was in that letter. I do know it was everything that I carry in my heart.

I share these moments with you because so many of you knew Billy. So many of you shared with me that week that is forever engraved in my memory.
I've often wondered why there was only one heartbeat ever heard during my Mom's pregnancy. Sometimes I get carried away in my thoughts and think that God put me there at the last minute because Mom would need me. Sometimes I think that it's because Billy and I were one even before birth.
It's been 17 years and aside from only seeing him in pictures and very often in my dreams, it's like he's never been gone. I guess that's because we really did share one heartbeat and it still beats in me.

Beauty and the Beasts

I've mentioned in my notes before how I'm the only woman in a department of men. Fact is, in my building there are only 7 women and a little more than 100 men. Some optimists may think those are incredible odds for a woman looking to get a little lucky.
Not.

I'll be the first to admit there are some lookers (well, maybe 4 or 5) and I do my share of flirting but the majority are funk-E and/or neurotic. Let me share an example of each demonstrated to me just today.

The first example is that of funk-E. This guy comes in my office today and wants to ask me a few questions about some work I do. He pulls up a chair beside mine so that I can show him some examples and suddenly I feel that he is much too close and within my personal comfort zone. I take a deep breath and decide to tough it out. It's close to lunch time and he shouldn't be around very long.
As I'm explaining a process he starts to dig in his ear. I'm used to these men burping and making odd noises with their bodies so this digging didn't really take too much of my attention.....UNTIL he took whatever it was he was digging for and flicked it on my floor. I just looked at him. No, I'm pretty sure I was looking thru him. He just kept on talking as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
It's one thing to do that in the privacy of your own office but to do that in front of someone else, and to flick the evidence on the floor is funk-E.

The second example happened this afternoon when the most neurotic person I know came to my office. He too pulled up a chair right beside me, invading my comfort zone. The difference with this man and the other is this guy smells really nice and dresses really sharp. However, scent and fashion cannot help those that suffer from this disorder.
He asked me the most simple question. I gave him the most simple answer, one that I had been answering the same way for the past 10 years. He stood up, put his chair back, and WENT OFF. I'm sure there was pure disbelief on my face but my mind was rapping a Will Smith song....swallow your pride, don't let your lip react, you don't want to see my hand where my hip be at.....

He continued to rant for about two minutes when he made the most incredible statement. "I looked for that for four hours today!" Keep in mind his voice is loud and rising. If I wasn't already aware of his neurosis condition I would have sworn he was yelling at me, but I know better. Let me rephrase...HE KNOWS BETTER.
I asked him why he didn't come ask me this question when he first started his search and he responded by yelling and shaking his fist, "There is nothing I hate worse than asking for help!"

My previous look of disbelief was overtaken by a smile. A very large smile. Actually, it was probably a smirk that he wanted to slap the sh*t out. I then calmly stated, "You are such a man."
And as a man would do, he stood there and fed me a line of crap about how he intends to make my job easier.
I wanted to let him know that there is help available, whether it is in the form of a licensed professional or by simply asking me before wasting half his day on his ego.
Men....

Peace my peeps

Changing The Drapes And Ripping Out The Carpet

Warning: This note may embarrass.

Drapes.....the hair on our head.
So many of us color our hair. I've been highlighting mine for years and recently decided I wanted to go back to my natural brown color. I had it changed back to brown a couple weeks ago and absolutely love it! I was very unsure at first because I've heard so much over the years how good highlights look on me. I have to say that I feel as if I look younger with just the brown color and have had just as many compliments in this short time as I did with my highlights. Shout out to Leslie, my beautician.

That is me changing the drapes. Now it's time to rip out my carpet.

Carpet....hair below the belt.
I've taken on an ideal that I can't write about the things I don't know anything about so I have to experience them first. The sad thing is, the things I actually know about....I can't write anyway due to who my readers are. But I will continue to push the envelope!

So many of my friends have had bikini waxes. I grew up in Florida so it was nothing to hear of girls having waxes to accommodate the cute swimsuits. I've never had one and never really thought of getting one. I figured I could manage trimming my own stuff.

That changed a couple of months ago when I decided I wanted a wax. Not just any wax, and not a bikini wax. If I was doing it, I was doing it big......a Brazilian Wax.
Let me save you from having to go Google it. It's the removal of all hair in the pelvic area, front and back.
Needless to say, it took me a bit to get up the nerve to even call and make an appointment. I hemmed and hawed for nearly two months. I asked around for places that would do this type of thing. In my mind it was wealthy, skinny women who had this procedure done. Some of my friends were joking, telling me it was probably more common in the stripper community. Well, I do like to be naked.....

I had to mentally prepare for this moment. I was a nervous wreck all week, anxious in a scary and excited way. I couldn't get out of mind what would happen to me and what positions I might be put in in order for this waxing to be successful. I read about it online and the common denominator was pain. I even read that you should take a couple Advil prior to the procedure. I was thinking I may want a pretty stiff drink before going in but I couldn't do that and drive myself there. My only logical solution to dealing with the pain was my iPod and a mouthpiece.
I made sure I had soothing music on my iPod and went to WalMart to buy a football mouthpiece to bite into once the ripping of carpet commenced. You laugh.... but I did. I even put it in boiling water for 30 seconds as was stated in the instructions and then placed it in my mouth to form to my own bite. I had a feeling I was going to be doing some serious biting.

Well, Friday finally presented itself. I gathered my personal comfort items and headed to the office. I wasn't there two or three minutes when my aesthetician angel took me in. Jeanette. How could anyone so sweet cause anyone pain?

I was sweating like a whore in church. I told Jeanette that I was doing this so that I could write about it as an experience. Of course I did want to do it to satisfy my own curiosity, too. I told her how you guys enjoy reading my short little notes and that I was going to share it with you. She thought that was great.

Time for business.....She told me to go ahead and get undressed and pointed out where my rear needed to be on the table. You laugh but it's no big deal to me. It's not the first time I've been naked in front of a woman. Heck, my gynecologist is a woman.
Anyway, it wasn't long and I felt the warm wax being smeared on my pelvic area. We were just chatting away like it was nothing and the next thing you know.....RIP!
It didn't even hurt! I don't want to say I was disappointed, but I felt like a complete moron for all the worrying I did. My eyebrow waxing hurts worse than this!!

Well, I just kept chatting and she kept ripping. She would tell me to move my legs in certain positions and I would, but not once was I put in one of the compromising positions I had imagined over and over in my worries. She was wonderful....almost therapeutic. We talked about marriage, kids, parents, religion, cussing, etc. I could have talked to her all day but there was only so much to rip out. I felt like we were instant friends. Of course, she might have been longing for me to shut up, but I just felt very comfortable with her.

"All done." I couldn't believe it! In no time we were done with my first Brazilian wax and I never felt the first bit of pain. Jeanette asked if I wanted to see and handed me a mirror. "Look at your bald kitty."
Wow! I touched it and it was as soft and smooth as a baby's bottom. I've never felt so free!
This is the perfect look for an "experience" I have planned later in the summer.

I have had a permanent grin on my face since the moment I walked out of that office. I feel as if I am gliding when I walk and I can't hardly wait to have another one done!
I strongly recommend this to any of you who are interested, and for those in/around Nashville, let me know and I will give you the info to get an appointment with Jeanette.

I need to give a shout out to my aesthetician, Jeanette. She was perfect! She made me feel so comfortable and at ease that I never needed to break out my iPod, and made me completely forget about needing something to redistribute the previously imagined pain (my mouthpiece).

Peace my peeps

Mandatory Day Off

Warning: This note contains obscenities, sexual references, and will most likely offend.

I came to the conclusion today that it should be mandatory for women who are experiencing PMS to have the most severe day off, away from work. I wanted to spit fire at everyone who came in my office or called my phone. Well, not everyone. There are a couple that can camp out in my office and I would be oh so happy.
Anyway, I know you women have experienced those days when the smallest thing will set you off. Guys don’t get it. If they did, these idiots I work amongst would stay far, far way.

Let me give you some reasons why I need a mandatory PMS day off.

The “cougher” across the hall. ALL day long he coughs. He smokes every half hour…clockwork. I realize you can get cancer from breathing certain things but I’ve caught myself hoping I’m not breathing this shit he’s coughing up… ALL day long.
He was behind me at the copier today…..coughing a lung up….and I turned and gave him the look only a woman experiencing PMS can give, and his response was, “I know, I know, I’ve got to quit. They are putting some kind of flame retardant in the cigarettes and I must be allergic to them.”
You think? Without risking not sounding enough like Rush Limbaugh and offending Sarah Palin……nah, I’m not even going there.

The moron next door. He’s like a small child. For example, today he heard our boss in my office and comes in, waves a piece of paper in the boss’ face, and turns around to walk out. I’m surprised he didn’t say “nah-ny nah-ny boo boo”. What grown man does that?
He will send emails, copy me on them, and immediately come to my office, asking if I read it.. He gets to my desk BEFORE the email even shows up in my in-box.
DUDE, come on.
He does so little and is so excited when he accomplishes something, he has to run to my office and display it proudly. You want to know the super, most sad part of it? He is technically considered my supervisor. And don’t you know I’m made fun of because of it.

The “pleasureless” rolly polly. He checked a manual out from my office this morning, marked “Book #1”. He brings it back to return it this afternoon and looks absolutely lost as to what to do with it. I point to the bookshelf behind him. There are nine more books, marked “Book #2, Book #3, etc. He says, “No, I’m pretty sure I got it from that drawer behind you.”
I let him go on as if he possibly knew what he was talking about. He gets to the drawer behind me and is uttering something about needing his mentor across the hall to help him. He then said he couldn’t find the sign out card he used to sign the book out. I said, in only a tone that a woman experiencing PMS could use, “You mean the one there in the open slot of the bookshelf, beside “Book 2”, where “Book 1” would be?”
Geez.

I realized today that it’s been almost a year since I felt the warm touch of a man.
Who am I kidding? I didn’t “realize” it today. Hell, I’ve been counting the days since March 29, 2009. To make it worse, I kicked Buzz off the bed by accident and he broke into pieces.
My friends here at work tell me the obvious…”go get another”. They don’t understand. I don’t need one that runs on batteries. MARCH 29, 2009. I need one that runs off a utility pole!

You know the one other thing that could help me get thru this crisis called PMS? Chocolate.. But my dumb ass gave up sweets for Lent. Lent isn’t practiced in the denomination I grew up in…I’m doing it to support a friend that is practicing this self-deprivation exercise. This is only the first day…..and I want to bed Willy Wonka!!
I can hear my mother now. How can you talk about religion and say all the things you’ve said?
It’s called forgiveness. God knew I was going to be bitter and lyrically uncontrollable the day he made me a woman.

Maybe tomorrow will be better. For the sake of this little humanity I work with….they better hope so.

Peace my peeps.

A Crack House

You know, some of you have said, “Jenny, write a book”, and I often wonder what in the world I would write about. I’ve come up with an idea and I think it’s a pretty good one. My only concern is, if I hit the big time with it, and quit my job to write a sequel, where would I get material without having to show up at my present place of employment?

You’ve read some of the things I’ve said about work. Each day is something completely different. For instance, a new contract person was hired a couple weeks ago. He and another contract person were discussing their wives….in MY office….the day after this guy was hired. I’ve said before, my office is where these men seem to congregate. I’ve wondered if it’s because of my pleasant personality or my boobs, but regardless, they gather. If they only really knew what I was saying under my breath they wouldn’t come anywhere near my office.
Anyway, they were talking about the wives and how each was married to the best cook. The newest one said that he’s got the best wife ever (it’s his third)….she’s a stay at home wife, does whatever for him, and then he states, “but she doesn’t pleasure me anymore…we’re past that”. I could have thrown up.
The other one gets this disgusting grin on his face and says, “We’re not past it”. I could have gone FOREVER without hearing that.

What would possess two men that barely know me to talk about their sex life in front of me? They are both in their late 50’s/ early 60’s and the last thing I want to hear about is their “pleasure” in life. If I’m not gettin’ any then I don’t want to hear about what they get or don’t get.

Well, today, the third contract person was in the office across from me with one of the other guys. This one isn’t married and is one of the weirdest people I’ve ever met. In fact, he’s down right creepy. When he first started he was put on second shift and would come in about the time I would head home. I had to start shutting my door because he would come in on nights I would work late and just talk to me….in ways that made me uncomfortable….and it takes a lot to make me uncomfortable.
Anyway, this guy is on days now and hangs out some across the hall. He was telling the other guy about some strip club he went to last night and what the dancer was doing to the pole.
I KID YOU NOT. They were having a conversation about a pole dancer and the way her leg was holding her up, and how amazing her leg strength was.
Where else could I work where that is acceptable talk within earshot of a woman? Don’t get me wrong. I’m NO prude and I do my fair share of smack talking with my friends….but they are my friends. These are grown men, talking with their outside voices about a pole dancer and what they’d like to do with her.
I know what I’d like for her to do to them.
I’d like her to take those long, sexy, strong thighs and wrap them around their heads, squeeze…the way she does that pole….until all the air is out of them. That would render them unable to talk.

In general, it’s funny to hear men talk about women. It can be the grossest, most disgusting guy and he will see a woman, tell his buddies what he would do to her, how he would treat her, etc…when in fact, this said woman doesn’t know he exists, wouldn’t give him the time of day, and would rather find a lesbian lover than even THINK of bumpin’ nasties with him.
They are so funny. They think just because they’re packin’ that any woman would want to hit it. Actually, “hit it” might be the correct term, only in a different context.
Some men think they are just that slick. Oh, to have their confidence.

But then I have one coworker that visits every afternoon who I wish had some of this over the top male confidence.
He travels every weekend, more than 300 miles one way, to visit a woman with 4 children, no job, on food stamps…..and when he gets there, has him watch the kids while she goes out with another man. Wow.
And he says he’d marry her in a heartbeat. Perhaps he needs his heart beat.
I’d like to introduce him to the creep with the pole dancing story. At least he’d get him out to meet a woman with a job.

This place is a bouillabaisse of literary material because it’s festering with the preposterous. Simply stated….a crack house.

Calling on the Holy Ghost

I made a very bad decision today to eat lunch in my office. Here's why....

After finishing a lunch I didn't enjoy, I took my bowl and utensil to the ladies room to rinse in the sink. That's disgusting, I know, but I have no other place to rinse. While rinsing I could hear a man's voice in the men's room thru the wall. Oh, no. It sounded very familiar and again, I had no warning. I tried to finish rinsing as fast as I could, splashing water everywhere and all over the front of my pants, desperately trying to get out of there before he did.

I quietly shut the door behind me and raced back to my office. I have two office doors. One has a security key pad that the few people who know the code can use to access the documents in my office. The other one is a regular door with a regular lock so those that don't know the security code can enter by using a master key....which I find so stupid that it's funny....but that is a different story. I shut the security door and pull the other door to, but not all the way.
Oh...now I need to look busier than ever. If it was him he will surely stop in here and I don't want him to think he has an invitation to hang out. I gather some things I need to make a phone call and dial the number. While I'm on the phone with Wendy, a pleasant employee helping me handle the fraudulent charge against my credit card at the the GameFly she works for, I hear panting outside the door.
Now, I know I've got it going on and men pant at the mere thought of me (sarcasm) but this is ridiculous.
I can only hope dear Wendy doesn't hear what I'm hearing. I look up with disgust and sure enough, it's "sPEEster"

I have yet to disclose this person's occupation or employer, only stating that I met him casually and he shows up here every now and then. Due to the confidential materials I work with I am not at liberty to say what he does here, only that his behavior is NOT what one would think is acceptable of a man in his position.
He continues to stand in the doorway of my office, staring at me, while I stare back, saying all kinds of expletives under my breath. I finish the call with Wendy and say "Hello" to him. He comes in and asks what I'm doing. I respond with what is so obvious and then he pulls up a chair at the end of my desk.
Good grief.

I don't know how it started but he begins to talk about the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost and I was hoping any one of those three would show up and escort him out my door....preferably the Ghost.
He tells me the story of him having to get another tire (refer to Blindsiding Jesus note). He goes on to say something about me having so much money I don't have to work. I let him know that although I'm not there yet, once I finish the book I'm writing (in which he unknowingly is a character), I will have plenty. He responds that he's going to write a book on romance. I somehow wonder if it will include peeing on his woman to mark his spot.

A friend of mine came in to get a book and shook hands with "sPEEster". I gasped inside. They exchanged pleasantries and my friend headed back to his office.
Then, thank goodness "sPEEster" gets a phone call, only he doesn't leave. He says, "It's Hank", his co-worker, and puts him on speaker phone. Like I really want to hear both of them! Anyway, "Hank" is another one who is not at all a shining representative of his company. He used to talk openly in the halls, telling dildo jokes and talking about mating activities of gay men. In any company but the one I work for, this behavior would not be tolerated and he would be told to never step foot on the property again. Again, that's for a different story.
While "sPEEster" is on the phone I send my friend a quick email, reminding him that "sPEEster" shifts his stick without washing his hands....and he just shook it. I won't repeat the response I got back from that one!
Anyway, the two are discussing where they want to meet up once "Hank" arrives and "sPEEster" suggests a spot. He then asks where "sPEEster" is presently and about some other people he refers to as "jerk offs". I look at him and tell him he needs to leave.
He doesn't. Worse. The moron that sits in the office beside me comes in and waits for "sPEEster" to get off the phone. They start talking about what "sPEEster" is doing here and what's going on. They chit chat casually until I've had enough and tell them both they will have to take their conversation somewhere else.
I find it so incredibly rude that people will have a conversation in another's office without any regard to the person trying to work. Or coming up with notes for her next story....

Oh, how I long for the days I used to get the voice mail, "Jenny, Jenny...who can I turn to?" and WARNED that he would be around. At least then I would know to go out at lunch, and to lock the secured and unsecured doors to my office.

I begin to pray....Our Father/Son/Holy Ghost who art in heaven...... Help Me!

Peace my peeps.