Salmon, you disgust me.

Dear Salmon,

Hey there, pal. How are ya?

Not too good I hear. I'm doing well though, but I'll save that for another time. I wanted to bring up something very important, and I hope you're willing to hear me out. Remember how we used to be really good friends and hang out all the time? Well, this has caused me to question my loyalty. And quite frankly, I'm not sorry. My own well-being could be at risk, and it would be all your fault!

Please explain to me how some dude in Chicago ate one of you and got a 9-foot long tapeworm. That is just plain guh-ross. Can't you keep it together, Salmon? I'd hate to stop ordering the raw version of you every time I go for sushi. Seriously, my selection will become extremely limited. You're one of the few raw fish I enjoy, so please stay clean.

Also, they say that tapeworm resonates in your muscles, so maybe if you worked out a little more they wouldn't be able to burrow deep inside? They also say that tapeworm comes from dog shit, but I don't even want to go there with you right now.

Please get your act together, Salmon, or else I don't think we can be friends anymore.

I hope you understand.

Regards,
Mel

Haiku Monday: Elation

This is the place where I passive-aggressively talk about stuff that bothers me. And there's a lot of little things that peeve me. The list is endless. So, hooray, it's Haiku Monday!

thank goodness for malfunctioning workstations // there's cause for celebration // today i barely notice your mastication, AMEN

Fantasy Friday

Cue dream sequence.

It's near sunset. I'm sitting on a purple and white striped beach chair, 20 feet from the shoreline of Waikiki Beach. The beach is deserted. I'm staring out at the water, sipping on a really strong cocktail that barely tastes like it contains any alcohol. I dig my toes into the sand, until the cold, damp particles envelope both my feet. In the distance I see a figure walking towards me. I can't really tell who it is. He looks strangely familiar, wearing a fedora-type hat, sunglasses, a brown t-shirt, and plaid shorts; he's carrying a brown messenger bag and a green beach chair. When he gets about 30 feet from my chair, I gasp. It's Jason Mraz!

"H..hi," I stammer tipsily.

He comes closer and extends his hand.

"I'm Jason," he says softly.

We shake hands.

"Mel, my name is Melanie. Well, Mel. Or whatever you want." I nervously giggle.

"Cool," he says. "Okay if I set up my beach chair right here, Mel?" he points to the space right next to mine.

"Sure!!!! I mean suuuurrreeee," I say.

He sets down his messenger bag, unfolds his chair, and casually sits down. He removes his fedora and places it on top of his messenger bag. He turns towards me, removes his sunglasses, and says, "So whatcha drinking?"

"Oh, it's nothing," I say. "Just 'Sex on the Beach'."

You idiot, Melanie!! That's awkward!! Why would you say that!! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

But Jason just looks over at me and says, "That's cool. My favorite drink is actually 'Sex on the Beach' with you."

I spit out my mouthful of 'Sex' in a hose-like spray.

"W..what did you just say?" I stammer.

"You heard me," Jason says.

And he grabs my hand and...

SNORE!

THEN I WAKE UP.

Oh, shit!!!!! I just dozed off at my desk again. Damn it, Melanie! Damn it! I hope no one noticed.

I look around just to make sure and luck for me everyone seems to be immersed in their work. Close one. Phew!

That's what I get for sleeping on the job. TGIF.

Hooked on'a Peelin'

I suck at peeling bananas. I just can't seem to get it right. I end up either splitting the banana peel on the side or squishing the top by ripping the stem in the wrong direction.

Does this mean something?

I went to ask.com in hopes of finding the answer to my peeling problems, and came across this article. As I began reading it, my eyes slowly started closing, and I drifted into a banana daydream. I quickly snapped out of it and realized, "Oh God! I'm reading an article about peeling bananas!"

I sped-read the rest of the article and started to shake my head back and forth. "How can someone write a whole article about bananas and peeling methods? And who the hell would read it?" Oh, wait, that would be me.

All in all, I gained very little from this experience. I have learned that some people peel the banana from the top which is actually the bottom (trippy), some people have issues with the "stringy" pieces left over from the peel (please go see a shrink), and some people peel bananas from the middle and scoop out the seeds (freaks), but there's no mention of people like me. People who just end up mushing the hell out of the banana, and getting sticky banana guts all over their hands. I guess there's no hope for me and my poor banana peeling techniques.

But the show must go on. I will still eat my daily breakfast banana. I might not peel it according to conventional (or unconventional) methods, but... I think I'm okay with that.

WTF Wednesday: Music to My (F)ears

Watch, listen, enjoy (?), and learn a valuable lesson: frogs are not born singers. And this guy's not even a frog. Ponder that.

Greta and the Staredown

I take late lunchbreaks. Everyone knows that. Even Greta, which is probably why today she tried to take advantage of me.

As I'm walking back to my desk today, I see Greta from afar, shuffling about near my desk. As I get even closer, I see that she is dusting my desk. I approach my desk and Greta turns to face me.

She looks at me.

I look at her.

She looks at her garbage can and back at me (which I did not take offensively at that point in time but now, looking back on it, could be kind of insulting).

"Sorry, so sorry," says Greta. She smiles, nods her head ever so slightly, grabs hold of her can, and drives it away.

"That's right, Greta," I think to myself, "Walk away. Walk away and never come back... unless you come before 8am or after 5pm."

I smile satisfactorily, pull my chair out, sit down at my desk, and stare right at today's afternoon snack: a green apple. Mind you, an exposed green apple.

Did you dust it today, Greta? Did you!?! Damn you, Greta. Damn you.

Finally! A practical and OCD-friendly bathroom accessory!

Are you obsessed with Purell? Hate dealing with your personal hygiene day in and day out? Do you wish that you had a bidet? Ever have that not-so-fresh feeling? Well Comfort Wipe has come along to assuage* your worries. Finally, a solution!

If you'd prefer a stick up your ass to your own hand, this product is for you.

Do you think that, in the "olden days" people used a stick with leaves wrapped around it? NO. They probably just used a leaf because no one had thought of using a stick! The Comfort Wipe inventor is going to totally strike it rich. Lucky bastard. Wish I'd thought of it myself. I can't even comprehend the mind-boggling-ness! To put it simply: it took thousands of years for someone to finally invent a tool that makes ass-wiping easier, cleaner, and more-efficient. This is one for the books, kids! A HISTORICAL BREAKTHROUGH!

It's official. My mind is blown.

I am so excited I could pee. Actually, I have to pee. Wish I had my very own Comfort Wipe at the office, stowed away in my desk drawer, alongside my paperclips. If I had my very own Ass-Wipe (for short), I'd take it right out of my drawer, carry it the 200 feet to the bathroom, whilst beaming with pride. "That's right, assholes," I'd think to myself. "I have a 'Comfort Wipe' and you don't!" Then I would cackle to myself, walk past my coworkers, down the hall, and all the way to the last stall. "Chumps!"



[*Assuage: one of my high school vocabulary words. My friends and I used a very special mnemonic to remember its meaning. "Assuage. Kind of sounds like 'sewage'. Sewage is soothing. Assuage." I kid you not. So it was only fitting for this word to be used in such a circumstance.]