Tuesday, December 14, 2010

S-s-soooo Cold

I don’t think you understand how cold it is in my office. I work with a group of Europeans, and I blame them. (Naturally). They are used to these Arctic temperatures. I’m pretty sure they thrive in it. They’re born with labels that say “Performs best at 20 to 40 degrees. For maximum performance, place in sub-zero winds.”

But me? No sir. It slips below 60 and I’m all “Where’s my footie pajamas? No not the blue ones…the red ones. Thanks. Please pass the down comforter. And turn up that space heater. No no, the one on the left. Hold my gloves while I open this thermos of hot chocolate”

I hate being cold. Rawr. I’m all for a productive work environment, and I understand that warmth leads to sleepiness. But there has GOT to be a happy medium between alert workers and hypothermia.

Let me just give you a quick glimpse into a typical Monday: Our building is Energy Star certified. I don’t know what that entails. There’s a plaque that hangs (crookedly, oh my gosh) on the wall in the lobby that tells us this. What I realized it means is “turns off heat on the weekends”. Definitely plaque-worthy.
Anyways, so on any given Monday in the winter months, the temperature in the building is hovering in between “snot icicles” and “death”. So I go to my desk and start to work. I put an extra sweater on. I chug my coffee. I put my coat back on. I put another sweater over my lap, like a blanket. I put on my fingerless gloves. By now, I’m looking less like an employee and more like a homeless person.

At a certain point (somewhere between “I can’t feel my fingers” and “We did everything we could to save your nose, ma’am. The frostbite was just too extreme. I’m sorry”) I go from miserably working in an Arctic environment to flat-out survival mode. Fetal position under my desk. Umbrella open and used as a wind shield to block the blasts of cold air that assault me from the main walkway. Licking Chick-fil-a sauce packets for sustenance. Don’t worry, I have about 30 of those in my desk drawer, so rationing is not necessary. Yet. Laptop cradled in my lap; my only source of warmth.

All this, and yet they still think a Company Snuggie idea is “unprofessional”.  I think they’re starting to warm up to it though (Do you see what I did there?). Come on now, would you rather have me huddled under my desk or happily working with full mobility in a Snuggie with our company logo slapped on it? That’s golden. The epitome of business in the front, party in the back. It’s the perfect solution to this problem.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Seriously this time...

I've written about this before, but this time I'm serious. For real.

I have to start learning to cook. There’s really no way around it. I can’t eat cereal and pasta forever. (But WHY NOT!? Because you’re an adult, Katie. That’s why)

The problem that I find myself encountering is that everything I TRY to cook usually contains pasta (or cereal)… Beef Stroganoff. Baked ziti. (Rice crispy treats).  I think it’s because I’m afraid of cooking meat. This may or may not be directly related to an incident of chicken potpie gone wrong. Side note, apologies to Natalie and Jonnie. Seriously you guys, I still feel bad. I think all of us walked away from that one a little scarred for life.

What I’ve discovered is this: I need to stick with dishes that only require the assembling ingredients. You guys, I DOMINATE a veggie platter. I can make the best 7 layer bean dip ever. Do you see the theme? These things only require assembly, not actual talent or measuring or cooking or crying. So I think my cookbooks should fall somewhere in the  “478 Crock-Pot Meals” category. Buy ingredients. Ingredients go in crock-pot. Walk away from crock-pot. Return hours later and voila! Dinner. This method is especially appealing because crock-pot dinners are the one thing that actually tastes better the longer you leave them cooking. Something about flavors and whatever. I think it’s actually impossible to burn a crock-pot meal, so there’s another one for the “pros” column. Cons? You have to plan ahead. You have to start making dinner at, like…breakfast. Which probably means waking up early and yeah…no.

So you see my dilemma. Branching out is hard to do.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Christmas list

It’s no secret that I love, and I do mean L-O-V-E, all things Christmas. Here are two things that I have decided for this Christmas season.

1) I’m going to try to accomplish 90% of my Christmas shopping online.

Here’s why: 
       a) I don’t have to GO anywhere. Except from my couch to my chair. Maybe. Maybe I’ll just stay on my couch. Who knows.
       b) Chances are, there’s a gift wrapping option. This eliminates a problem I have that is called “yes, I wrapped this by myself. Sorry. But did you like how I used aluminum foil to cover that one spot?”
       c) I like getting packages. So what if I know what’s inside isn’t for me? I just like coming home to a box on my doorstep with my name on it. Whatever.

2) I’m going to go ALL-OUT with Christmas lights. Colored Christmas lights, to be exact.

Here’s why:
       a) There may or may not have been a near relationship-ending fight with my boyfriend about colored vs. white lights.
       b) He likes white lights and is not willing to budge or compromise on this matter.
       c) Therefore, while we’re still single and not living or decorating together, I will passive aggressively throw colored Christmas lights on  any and everything possible…including, but not limited to, headboards, closets, dressers, mirrors, and toilets.

There’s a possibility I’ll add a 3rd thing to this list and that the 3rd thing is “I’m going to get everyone Snuggies for Christmas.”
The great thing about #3 is that is also satisfies most of #1…minus the gift wrapping. But still…

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Sunday evening thoughts

First things first. If I had too much money, I would pay someone to put blankets and clothes in the dryer so that they are completely warm by the time I want to put them on me.

The next-door neighbors have a giant, pink, Princess castle bouncy house in their driveway. It's taking a lot of self-control to not go jump in it.

I am watching What Women Want and I'm not sure why. I hate this movie. The remote control is right next to me. Yet I have not changed the channel.

The main thought that occupies my mind November through March is this: Is it too early to get in bed? If so, how much longer do I have to wait until I can get in bed?

Thursday, November 11, 2010


Here’s the thing. I WANT to get back into blogging, but I’m feeling a major lack of inspiration. I like to blame it (and everything else) on the fact that the love of my life lives 3000 miles away. No, but seriously. It’s become a major crutch. It started out innocent enough. “I’m weirdly attached to my phone because I miss him and he might call”.  It started to go downhill…“I’m not going to go running today because I’m sad that he’s not here”.  Then it really snowballed…“I’m not going to get out of bed today because life is too unbearable when we’re separated”. And then it took a turn for the ridiculous…”I am going to listen to all of my Christmas cds in September because I miss him and Christmas makes me feel better”.  Don’t worry, it’s a totally healthy relationship. You might think “codependent” but that’s just another word for “love”, right?
So there’s that.
And then there’s the lack of really good material that’s leading to this inspiration-less fog. As much as I could fill pages and pages up with “TRUE LIFE: This really IS my job”,  I’m hesitant to do that for multiple reasons. But seriously you guys…it is unreal. Also, I feel like a lot of bitterness would spring forth if I opened up the floodgate that is  the “My new boss sits directly across from the break room so now I feel really self-conscious about the number of times I make trips to the water cooler every day” issue. BUT, I have an obligation to my readers that I have not been fulfilling, so…we’ll press on.

THEN there’s the fact that there’s just not enough hours in the day. Thanks to the end of daylight savings time, my body is calling it quits right around 7:30pm these days. The sun goes down and suddenly my brain is all “well, it’s been fun, but that’s about it for me!” as if he were stuck in the farming days where life and death depended on the rising and setting sun. [yes, my brain is a he. Whatever] So that leaves a pretty small window of opportunity between “getting home from work” and “collapsing into bed”. And I’m sorry, but it becomes more important to fill that small window with the really essential things like “eating” and “watching The Biggest Loser”.

Enough excuses, Wirth. Time to get back on the wagon. Or off the wagon. I never remember the correct use of that metaphor. I would google it to verify, but I really miss my boyfriend.

Friday, October 8, 2010

Am I the only one...

Who sees a low-flying plane and thinks, "Hit the deck, she's going down!!!"

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Sauce Stress

I love Chick-fil-a. I eat there at least twice a week. I used to work there. I gave them my best years of high school.
My point is this: I am pro Chick-fil-a.

Side note: I am not pro Spicy Chick-fil-a sandwich. This is the one area they fall short in my eyes, and it's ok. It's ok. But I'm just saying...Wendy's has them beat on this one. End of side note. WAIT! Back to side note: I don't care if you don't agree. Let's not argue. You're probably wrong. End of side note, for real.

Anyways, the crux of the matter: Chick-fil-a sauces, ready?... GO!
Buttermilk Ranch, Polynesian, Barbeque, Honey Mustard, Chick-fil-a, Buffalo, HONEY ROASTED BBQ (hello, grilled chicken sandwich, WHO'S YOUR DADDY?)

I just did that from memory, people. (then I googled it for accuracy. That’s neither here nor there.)

I know my sauces, ya'll. So why is it, WHY?! I ask, that when I'm at the drive-thru and faced with the question "Would you like any sauce with that?", I am absolutely paralyzed and rendered speechless--unable to think, let alone form words!

Immediately I break into a sweat. It's lunch rush...cars are stacking up behind me, the 15 year old at the window is holding onto my bag of delicious and unwilling to let go unless I use the password to attain my lunch treat.

What's the password? Name a sauce, Wirth. ANY SAUCE!!

If I really had my wits about me, I'd just throw up a Hail Mary and resort to "No, thanks" or "ketchup, please". Right? But have you met me? Do I have wits about me? Would one say about me "Now there's a girl with her wits about her!"
I digress.

Usually there's an awkward, oh...4 seconds of extremely nervous eye contact on my part before I finally manage to spit out "ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm" for another 4 seconds.
Usually the kid at the window lets their mouth drop open juuust a little bit, as if to help me pronounce an actual word. As if by demonstrating, maybe I would catch on and mimic their actions. Sometimes they lean forward a little bit as if to WILL me to speak. At this point my mouth usually will catch up with my racing thoughts of "COME ON, WIRTH! SAY SOMETHING! SAY ANYTHING!" and I'll blurt out something like:
"buttermilk...honeys polynesian!"


"No! Buffalo!"

*sinks back in seat, relieved. accepts food without further eye contact. peels out of parking lot*

Am I the only one? I think I just demonstrated that I do, in fact, know my sauces. So what happens? Is it just that I’m that bad under pressure?
We may never know.

Hiatus? Good-bye atus!

So, I took a break. And now I'm back.