P-P-Poker Face at the Workplace

Riding the escalator
with Gandalf the Grey -
just an average occurrence
on a normal workday?

I think, "Isn't he fictional,
pals with Frodo and Sam?
So why am I lucky enough
to see this great man?"

Later on that day
I take a short break,
walk myself to the restroom
and for goodness' sake,

I spy an older man in a onesie,
a member of the cleaning crew,
sporting the world's greatest mullet,
a most surprising corporate hairdo.

And on my way home that day
as I'm walking out the door
a man whooshes past me
and I think, "When it rains it must pour."

For he too had long hair -
How much more can I bear?
He had a dreadlocked ponytail
and I couldn't help but stare.

Maybe it's not so weird after all,
and I should try to keep a straight face,
when I encounter men with long hair
at the workplace.

My Stupid Mouth

My doorman, Umar, is the nicest guy. He's a little older than me, from Nigeria, and always has the hugest smile on his face. He's the only one of our guards that I ever talk to.

"Hi, Malanie," he says, as I walk in the door on Saturday afternoon.
"Hey, Umar," I say, "what's up?"
"Nothing. Nice day," he says.
"Yeah," I say.

I approach his desk and notice that he's reading a thick, hard-covered, dark blue book that's missing its jacket.

"Hey Umar, what are you reading? The dictionary?" I ask, then laugh aloud at my own joke.

Omar looks perplexed. "Ackshilly, Malanie, yes. Yes I am. I read it so I can read the English newspaper," Umar says matter-of-factly, as he lifts up his dictionary to point out what's spread open beneath it: the newspaper.

Aggggh! Shit, I am such an asshole!, I shout inside my own head.

"Oh really?" I ask, attempting to save myself from yet another unfiltered remark, "I was just kidding, I didn't really think you'd be reading the dictionary!"

"Heh. Heh. Heh." A nervous giggle escapes my mouth. Umar joins in, and grins widely. I take that as a sign that he doesn't hate me. Phew!

"Have a good one," I say, as I walk away and head for the elevators.

I look at the ground, and shake my head back and forth. My stupid mouth almost gets me in trouble once again.

I Do Not Wish I Could Quit You

Are these things random? Or is the universe trying to tell me something?



Because I really do have a sweet spot in my heart for Italy - the language, the culture, the food... is this the universe's way of telling me that it's time to let go? But I can't!! I love Italy!

Or is this mere coincidence? I can't seem to figure it out!

WTF?!

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.