Moving, Muppet Babies and Purging Your Facebook Friends

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What is it about moving that sucks so bad? Oh wait, everything.

This weekend we helped my father-in-law pack and move his apartment near Virginia Beach. It's not that he was unprepared to move or didn't have a plan, or anything else. Moving just sucks and I have done my fair share. I have move one time (actually twice in 2008) every year for approximately 9 years.

One would think that with all my experiences with moving, I might enjoy it or be proficient in the science of it. One would be wrong on both counts. Moving, or even helping someone move is painful, stressful and sweaty work. It absolutely brings out the worst in me. I hate a mess and disorder makes me a grouch! Not to mention, packing away someone else's stuff is nothing short of awkward. It puts you in situations like, "sure I'll pack your flight simulator and wireless walky-talky headsets." Then you find yourself deleting this person from facebook and cell phones because you can't believe how WEIRD they are. If I hadn't helped you move, we'd still be friends. Such a senseless loss...

But I suppose being weird is no real reason to cut someone out of your life (although creating a little healthy distance between you and your bizarre-o buddy might be a good idea). We all have our weird stuff! I admit to owning a collection of old 80's happy meal toys. I don't have them at my place, they are with my Mom and Dad and I will not allow them to be discarded. Somewhere in my mind, that McNugget dressed like Crocodile Dundee has real value and should not be disposed of. A little irrational, I know.

Hey, in my defense, my nieces and nephews love to play with them in the bathtub though they have no idea about these weird characters I keep naming off. Fozzy Bear? Miss Piggy? Gonzo? I'm thinking, "come on, they're the Muppet Babies! They're classic treasures! Kids today... If the character doesn't have their own iphone, they're not cool." Then I promptly call myself an old curmudgeon.

I'm sure a day will come, maybe soon, maybe in the future, when I part with some of the knick-knacks of my childhood. Perhaps I will simply tire of them or perhaps I will lose so many acquaintances by asking their help in moving them in the next few years (because I'm sure I'll be moving more than once), that I'll be forced to be rid of them. Either way... moving sucks!

Lunch Hour Confessions: Part Deux

Remember Bobby Salesguy? My gregarious co-worker from my first installment of Lunch Hour Confessions? The one who is cheez-wiz personified? Well he has struck again today, much to my disdain.

The only thing that is cheering me up at the moment is the fact that I'm working on a Disability Insurance case for a guy named Rusty Nipple. No kidding, that's his name. The jokes that have come from this have been my salvation from Bobby Salesguy and helped me to repress urges to poke him in the eye with my letter opener!

So here's the deal. I am on my lunch hour (thus the title), enjoying my healthy choice chicken and rice soup and yogurt feast, reading the blogs I occasionally read when I left my book in the car and simultaneously writing an email to a friend. Here comes Bobby S. all fired up off some great sale or something stupid, into my cube to look over my shoulder to no only READ MY EMAIL, but asks EXACTLY WHAT I'M LOOKING AT ONLINE. What is that?

I give some explanation to him of what I'm looking at, as I eye my letter opener, on my lunch break and tell him "You are the nosiest person I've ever met." This then solicits a slew of apologies, ranging from, "I'm not going to steal your soup" to "I didn't mean to invade your space." You can't help but tell someone it's ok when they grovel like that! But in truth, it's not ok. Because this nearly fifty-year-old man has not learned ANYTHING from this interaction.

He didn't learn that he was wrong to pry into my private email (not sent from the company address) or that when you are on your lunch break, eating in ze cube (depressing) because you forgot your freggin book, maybe you should just be left in peace.

RAWR! Sometimes it'd be nice to have a dinosaur-like roar that you could let out at moments like this. Bobby Salesguy would soil himself.

Lunch hour confessions.

So today is Monday. I find myself thinking of lines from "Office Space" that apply directly my workplace. Everyone who has done work in an office for a company has experienced the "Office Space" effect too. We all have our own version of the TPS Report and things about our office and co-workers that drive us nuts.

All in all, my current workplace is good! A small company full of interesting characters that certainly keep things interesting. My own axe to grind has to do with lunch and our breakroom/kitchen where folks eat.

Axe 1: The hot pocket. I often bring my lunch to work and try to always (with one marked fishy exception) be concious of the way what I bring will smell like after being heated. Not everyone in my office remains aware of this.

Take the hot pocket lady. She brings a hot pocket or lean pocket to eat every single day she's in the office. First of all, that is disgusting. In the words of Dane Cook, "I have never eaten a hot pocket and afterwards looked back on it and thought 'that was a great decision.'" She heats up that chamber of processed meat goo and cheese yuck and eats it. And it always stinks in a way that permeates the office for an hour at minimum. The smell makes me think that someone's kid has come to visit and brought nasty "kid food" with them. Ok, I feel better. Moving on.

While in this vein, one more thing! Then I promise I will make a list of all the things I have to thankful for and quit complaining:

Axe 2: The loud phone talker. My office sells products directly to consumers, so we have a sales staff. Some of our sales staff are very loud and boisterous and talk on the phone in a manner where everyone can hear them. Every word, every call.

"Hey... how ya doin? Bobby Salesguy here. I was just thinking about your TPS report and I wanted to call and shoot you straight on this and that and the other....Right back atcha big guy!" This goes on all day and at volume that can be heard by anyone who cares to listen. While this seems like no big deal, lighten up and join the Bobby Salesguy party; it becomes grating. This person also has the habit of announcing their inner monologue of thoughts, songs, limericks, jokes, sayings, etc out loud.

But I am no different from anyone else at work today in their office/cubicle/workspace. Every co-worker has their qualities that seem unbearable, but the same person can really cheer you up on a day when you're more in the right frame of mind to laugh along.

As for the hot pocket - it will take me longer to come up something that redeems this habit. Maybe I'll just bring in an extra sandwich and leave in the refrigerator with this person's name on it.