Happy Administrative Professionals Day!

For those of you who didn't know, today was Administrative Professionals Appreciation day. So be a dear and give your pee-on a head pat will ya? I can say that because I AM a pee-on. But not just a regular pee on. No sir. Only the finest of executive pee for me. No middle manager pee for this girl. Uh uh. NO way. C-level pee. Corner office pee. Big leather chair and view of the artificial lake pee. Jealous? You should be. I have free popcorn in the breakroom. And all the Mug rootbeer I can drink from economically insulated styrofoam cups. You wish you could be this cool.

Don't hate me cause you ain't me.


Cyndi

What does one write about?

My last two posts were about toilets. Can it be that I am hurting for material? Yes, it can. Indulge me for a moment, if you will, in some total honesty.

What does one write about? It's mostly ephemera, what I write. (Hopefully) Somewhat witty observations that people can relate to. Things about everyday life that I find funny and want to share with the people I wish I could see more of. Giving everyone their long distance dose of quirky Cyndiness.

But what happens in between the spaces? There are places where I feel distinctly unfunny, and unoriginal, and unentertaining, and unsignifi.. erm insignificant. Not in a low self esteem sort a way. In a "what do have to say that's worth saying?" sort of way.

Babies are an excellent source of growth and change to report. Full of progress and promise and adorable vibrant loveliness. For whatever reason, I'm just not part of that club. I do have my beautiful boys. And they too are still full of that glorious crooked child art that delights and challenges. I glory in it when it comes, but all three are fast becoming little men. Change is slower, stories less frequent. I'm down to one cat now. So that rich source of material has been drastically reduced.

What do I write about? I could do a weekly post about a work of art. But that would be much more likely to bore people to tears than entertain them. If anyone out there in the ether has a sleep disorder, let me know. I'll hook you up.

I suppose I'll just have to think about it. But I am completely open to topic suggestions. Of course now this puts the pressure back on me to feel embarrassed when someone reads this post and at the bottom is the "0 comments" tag. Oh well. Risk and reward and all that.

I'll come up with something soon. I promise. Failing that, I will find a way to record myself doing a cartwheel and post it. But I warn you, Depends will be strictly necessary for viewing. It's that funny. For real, yo.

Cyndi

Bathroom Etiquette

I have come to the conclusion that there is indeed different bathroom etiquette for the gents than for the ladies. For the dudes, etiquette is based around the need for manly space during a vulnerable transaction. I'm pretty sure that you never occupy a urinal right next to another dude if there is one available a comfortable one urinal down. I'm fairly sure that conversation whilst one is occupied in urinal use is also a no no. Other than that, all is fair game. Men can sprawl out in the anonymity of the stalls, pants around ankles without a care in the world. Grunts and other auditory expressions are welcomed, nay, encouraged.

No so for women folk. For ladies, most etiquette is based around the desire to avoid embarrassment. To have the restroom to yourself is utterly ideal. No, in fact having it to yourself and having no one to witness your entrance or exit is ideal. In cases where you have co-workers to deal with and a limited amount of stalls, anonymity is not always an option. In the worst case scenario, having someone hear you pee is acceptable, put certainly not desirable. Having someone witness something else is positively off limits.

In fact, should you be in the bathroom about to heed one of these unwitnessable calls of nature, and a co-worker happens to come in, you must then close up shop, pretend you came in only to pee, and vacate the premises as quickly as possible. You cannot wait until after they have conducted their business and left, as they will then know what you were waiting to do. I heed the rules of engagement most carefully mind you.

So the other day, I was walking into the bathroom and happened to feel a tickle on the back of my arm by my armpit. Knowing this was a hair, I immediately looked down and reached around by my armpit to remove it. At this same moment I nearly ran headlong into one of my co-workers coming out of the bathroom. At this point, I am embarrassed. I have been caught with my hand in my armpit vicinity heading into the bathroom. Not good.

After the customary head nod and quick smile, I walk into the bathroom to discover that my coworker has just dropped a deuce. A growler. See at this point, I can now be smug. The embarrassment shifts to her since having a co worker enter the bathroom after you've just bombed it is far more embarrassing than picking a hair from your armpit region while walking into the bathroom. I glow with triumph.

Then, disaster. Just as I am washing my hands, another co worker comes in and registers the smell. Only now, the creator is long gone and I am the one who must be embarrassed, as blame will now be assigned to me. To make matters worse, I blush, which is almost the equivalent of leaping up onto the counter and proclaiming "IT WAS MEEE!"

Now at least one of my co-workers will forever think of me as the girl that bombed the bathroom that one time. : (

Oh the shame,

Cyndi