Notes

Sometimes I send myself emails to remind me of things I think of while walking/working/sleeping/ driving that might make a good blog post. Because I have a memory the size of a goldfish, this doesn't always work because my notes are terrible.

Here are a few:

1. Subject of email: Nail clippings
Body of email: the name of the woman who works for me.


I have no idea what she did that made me think of her and nail clippings. The other day she came into my cube and said "I have bad news. And a little good news." And my heart stopped because I thought she was coming to tell me she was quitting or had reported me to HR for being an asshole. When I stopped panicking and started listening, she was telling me about some minor mistake she'd made and blah blah blah.

I then explained that calling something "Bad News" means that someone is quitting, dying, or dead and her little mistake shouldn't be called anything more than "I fucked up." Learn to label things appropriately and my heart will continue to beat in a normal pattern. 

But none of that is related to nail clippings.

2. Subject of email: Melissa - same name
Body of email: <blank>

That was unhelpful. I have no idea what I was thinking or how it was funny.

3. Subject of email: Sent from snipping tool
Body of email: just a map of a small portion of Canada

There's nothing funny about Canada. Except maple syrup. (just kidding... that's just yummy.)

4. Subject of email: noses are weird
Body of email: <blank>

??? I give up. And possibly saved you from a very stupid story about noses that I can't remember.

In other news, the skinny jeans that gave me crisis on Sunday were a big hit on Monday. Marty, who I've mentioned before and is a super bigwig, was chatting up WC about some drama so I stopped by to ask them to speak louder for better eavesdropping. Marty looks at me and says, "Wow, you look healthy today? What did you do this weekend?" And I couldn't decide if "healthy" was a compliment and so I told him that and just said I worked out a lot. "No really. You're glowing." Okay... why do I think "healthy" and "glowing" mean that I look ample and pregnant in my skinny jeans?

Marty to WC: "You, on the other hand, look like shit. What is wrong with you?" I thought he looked handsome... although a little stressed, but Marty was just being a shit anyway.

WC last night told me I looked super amazing this week (especially skinny jeans day) and to quit thinking Marty was calling me fat and there was just a glowing aura about me. (Ummm... my redneck not-boyfriend just said my aura was glowing... Don't.tell.anyone.)

I guess I have wasted a lot of time being afraid of the word "skinny" in my jeans. Which seems exactly like something I would do. Remember the 90's? I still own a men's XL flannel that I wore in High School. Men's XL!

Happy Independence Day. Be happy. Be safe. Be free.