Archive for December 19th, 2005

Top 10 Reasons I Don’t do the Gift Exchange at Work

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on December 19, 2005 @ 4:10 pm
in bitches, games and work
. 13 Comments

10) The rules are stupid and they want everyone to open the gift before the end of the game. How is that exciting? Everyone knows what they’re fighting over!
9) Someone gave away junk from their house, i.e. a glass hurricane candle cover thing
8) An exercise ball- What. The. Fuck?
7) A gift certificate to Starbucks with a mug
6) Another gift certificate to Starbucks with a mug
5) A gift certificate to Blockbuster with some popcorn
4) Another gift certificate to Blockbuster with some popcorn
3) A third gift certificate to Blockbuster with some popcorn
2) A fourth gift certificate to Blockbuster with some popcorn
1) Someone gave away a “personal massager” from Conair. Who gives away a dildo at a Christmas party? I’m all in favor of dildos, but there’s something kind of skeevy about expecting to open a box with a bottle of wine in it and getting a “personal massager”.

I hate people so much.

Reindeer Games

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on December 19, 2005 @ 11:44 am
in Mrs. ACW, contests and games
. 11 Comments

Apparently at some point I became a grown up, and the Christmas parties I go to are now less candy and cupcakes stacked to look like snowmen, and more beer and wine and liquor. However, this past weekend we spent some time hearkening back to the days of old where games were played to keep the rowdy children entertained, and their fingers out of their noses.

ACWF is a second-grade teacher, and on Friday we went to a party with other teachers in her school. When I arrived I was given a clothespin. I was told that if I touched my nose and someone else saw me, they could take my clothespin. If I saw someone else, I could take theirs. If they, or I, had more than one, all would be taken.

I was under the impression that school had ended for the day, but apparently I was mistaken. And rather than having to sit in the corner and do busy work, I opted to play the clothespin game. And by “play,” I mean, “Not give two shits about the clothespin game.”

At first it was fine. I was rubbing my nose with abandon, and nobody seemed to care about it one way or the other. But then I found myself quickly scanning the room. My eyes were darting from face to face, never stopping for more than a moment unless I saw someone moving their hand.

Then I started thinking about all the ways I could trick someone into rubbing their nose. I could be bold about it and tell them they had something on their nose, or I could be subtle and simply crinkle my nose while talking to them until they absentmindedly reach for their own nose in a psychological trip-up. Or I could continue to nurse my beer and scan the room.

Then I realised that I had been tricked! How had it come to this? How was I suddenly actively participating in this stupid game? This was a grown-up party, damnit. People shouldn’t be spending the evening trying to get stupid little colored clothespins off of other adult guests. It’s ridiculous, and I won’t be taken in by such childish games.

Single Bathroom, Full Bladder

Published
by
mokiejovis
on December 19, 2005 @ 9:18 am
in potty humor
. 11 Comments

Did you know that the full bladder of a largish human male can hold well over one liter of urine?

Wait, wait, wait - I’m getting ahead of myself.

Might-as-well-be-a-mail-order-bride’s father was staying with us recently, before we had moved out of our apartment. He is currently living and working in Australia, so it’s always a treat to have him in town.

Anyway, he’s very particular about his schedule, and we’re all typically early risers, so I tend to give him a little more room in the morning because he’s my guest and I like to keep him happy.

One morning, I woke up after having downed a glass of water before going to bed and another over the course of the night. I had to pee. I had to pee real bad. Unfortunately, my father-in-law was in the shower, which of course occupied the singular bathroom in our tiny, single-bedroom apartment. Crap. Well, not actually crap. Whatever. Shut up.

Either way I had to pee and I wasn’t going to be able to hold it for the scant remaining minutes that the bathroom was going to be unavailable, so I did what anybody with a near-to-exploding bladder would do: I grabbed an empty two-liter soda bottle, walked out on our balcony (which faced I-83), whipped out my twig and berries, and peed right into the bottle. And peed, and peed, and peed. And continued to pee. I cannot express in the written word the degree of relief I felt. I was as happy as a puppy with two peters.

Then I was left with a slightly-more-than-half-full bottle of urine, with no toilet to dump it into. I wasn’t going to dump it off the balcony for the same reason I didn’t simply pee off of the balcony: ew! Kids live down there! Sicko! So I took the most natural course of action. I stuck it in our balcony storage closet and forgot about it. Hooray!

Four days later, when my father-in-law was thankfully not in, I happened to go out to the outdoor closet to get some more paper towels and there, staring me down, was a great big bottle of freshly chilled urine. Whoops.

So I chugged it.

Eck! No, just kidding. I dumped that sucker in the toilet, silently noting how it had gone from a mild amber to a ruddy yellow-brown. Gross.

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