i swear some people have never heard of google

My workplace is a freakshow.

This week I was talking to a friend when another colleague walked up to chat. The friend is obsessed with weddings and the other colleague just got engaged, so the conversation switched rapidly from 'Look, it's Santa Claus - no, wait, it's a reviled perpetrator of genocide - arrest him' to a discussion about wedding planning. Oh joy.

The colleague getting married was explaining that they were having difficulties finding a reception hall next summer because only three dates all summer fit their schedule. Here is the conversation that ensued:

Friend: But I don't understand, you're only available to get married on three weekends all summer next year?

The Betrothed: Yeah, well, my fiancee is on the pill and she worked out when she's going to have her period next year, because she doesn't want to have it on our wedding day or during our honeymoon. So that really limits the possible dates.

Silence.

Friend: Ummm... does your fiancee realize that that's the whole point of the pill, that she can just keep taking them for a while to change her schedule and have her period on whatever day she wants?

The Bethrothed: What? Really?

OK, so I know there are a lot of people in the world who are not what I would call curious, and who feel no need to understand how things work or why things are the way they are. But don't you think that if you were on the pill, you would ask some friends or maybe your doctor, or even do a google search to find out what the parameters are for the medication you're taking?

Perhaps more importantly, why do people feel the need to share this information with people at work? Way tmi.

news about mark and christine

You're probably wondering who they are. Well, I don't really know much more about them than you do. I used to work with Mark, who is married to Christine. And "news about Mark and Christine" was the title of an email I got from Mark today.

The body of the email actually said, in these exact words: "Mark and Christine are separated as of this past weekend, and they are planning to divorce."

Two things:
1. I haven't tried writing an email about myself in the third person, but I wonder if I'm missing out on something. It might make the email responses I get at work more interesting.

2. Group emails for personal information haven't traditionally been my thing either. When I read this, part of me wanted to send an email to my group contact list about the weird little skin condition in that one spot on my back.

But then I guess I just posted that random little piece of info on my blog, which is kind of the same thing as sending a group email to my contact list. If only I'd written it in the third person. Seriously, wtf?

Rainy

i'm about to blow

I've been holding it all in for 2 1/2 weeks now. I hope you're ready for a LOT of complaining over the next few weeks. I'm afraid to open my reader as the feeds have piled up like crazy. Real life awaits!

Here's a start....

First, why do Americans insist on vacationing with fanny packs, ill-fitting shorts and white running shoes? Has Paris Hilton or some other drivelling waif started wearing a fanny pack and thus granted a rebirth (or should I say "birth" in this case) of cool? Is material bunching up around your bum the new sexy? Is there a loafer/sandal/flip-flop/mary jane detector at the airport that forces all Americans to leave their good shoes in the bin where all the liquids and gels go? Perhaps when I was busy complaining I missed an important update from Mr. Blackwell.

Second, what is it about me that makes people want to dish? Seriously. I meet people for like two minutes and suddenly, I know how they're voting, what kind of underwear they used to wear, what they wear now and what they're considering wearing, not to mention how they miscarried in their junior year. The most alarming story I heard on this trip was from a Vietnam vet who wanted to dish about all the people he killed in the war. I swear I wasn't wearing fatigues, carrying a book about war, burning Country Joe and the Fish albums, or muttering expletives about Asians. At least, no more than usual.

Third, what could ever possess someone in North America to consciously make the choice to live with another adult and five (count 'em, five) children between the ages of 20 months and 10 in a--wait for it--400 square foot condo? So I've been to Asia and I know that that kind of population density isn't exactly abnormal in some parts of the world, but the thing is, the people who made this choice weren't brought up in those necks-of-the-woods. As if that isn't enough, they homeschool the kids in that apartment. The four that are semi-self-sufficient are turning into cats. They roam randomly, sleep in other people's houses (or, at least, I hope they were at houses), and show up now and then to get fed. More than once when I was there, mom was talking to one of the kids and that kid turned out to not be there, or anywhere near there. Puzzling, possibly disturbing.

Finally, what's with the crummy winter this year? We've gotten a record-breaking amount of snow and it shows no signs of letting up. I'm going to keep hibernating with my stack of books, rejoicing in my losing streak at scrabulous. Damn my sister and her tile expertise! I'm also cursing Sunny for leading me down this garden path to intense embarassment. Maybe I can get the six-year-old next door (the one who plays Silent Night) to join me in a game so I can beat someone and feel better about myself. Plus, she can't play the piano if she's playing Scrabble, right?

RainyBow

way t.m.i.

Today I had a conversation with a female colleague I barely know that started with a story about her son being sick. Physically ill, I mean, with a flu or something.

Me: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I hope he gets better soon.

Colleague: Well, he's he only one I've got. I tried to have more, but I just couldn't.

Me [backing away]: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.

Colleague: Yeah, the next two after him I miscarried, and the one after that turned out to be dead inside me. I just went in one day when I was 8 1/2 months pregnant and there was no more heartbeat. You know when you just know something's wrong when the ultrasound operator and the doctor look at each other in that way? But I guess I was older so there was more risk of it or something. So at that point they can't do anything but wait for you to give birth to the dead baby. So even though I had a C-section when I had my son, I had to go through real labour and childbirth for my dead baby. It was really awful.

Me [backing away much faster]: Oh my. I'm so sorry.

Why do people I barely know feel the need to share this much information?!


RainyBow