Magical Fruit

We made beans last night. And I have meetings all day. And the office bathroom walls are made of paper mache. I might explode.

In the event that I do in fact explode, I want to give something to each and every one of you to remember me by.

I've given Bryan permission to auction off these items in remembrance of me:

- our 14 year old 36" tube tv. This 50 lb. beauty will break any tv stand you put it on. (Just like I would if you sat me on one.)

- a small collection of My Little Pony's. (I always wanted purple, plastic-like hair that melts together when you curl it.)

- an unused broom

- and finally an empty bottle of beano with the words "if only..." written on it.

Wish my co-workers luck. I'll let you know if I make it through. And in case I do, the TV and broom are still for sale...

O.B.P.

I hate office birthday party's. I really do. I'm pretty sure hell is an employee-only birthday party at a dentist office with cream cheese icing cupcakes and NO water.

Anyways, we had this birthday party today at work for the new girl and boy was it fun. Just kidding, it wasn't. So 25 awkward minutes later we all start to move towards the trash can and back to our work when I turn to the new girl and offer up my best "happy b-day." she then turns to me and says the best response i have ever heard to a happy birthday:

"Thanks! It was really good to see your face today."

A slow "okay" came out of my mouth as she hopped along on her weird little way. I love that this girl thought that I actually wanted to come to her office birthday party and then thanked me for coming. I then felt bad that I didn't bring a gift. I might leave one on her desk tomorrow. But what to give someone you don't really know?

I know! I"ll leave a headshot of myself. That was she can say "It was really good to see your face today" everyday.

What's in a name?

I like my name. I really do. It's always been a source of identity for me. It always set me apart, made me immediately unique. I always knew that I would be the only Kendi in the room. Unless I was at a Kendi convention and in that case, I've never met a Kendi I didn't like.

However, there are things about my name that are starting to not only annoy me but haunt me on a daily basis. Such as people spelling my name wrong on an email. A reply email. Specifically a reply email from someone who I've been emailing with for this past 4 months. "Kendee", while phenotically right, it is so very wrong.

Number of times my name has been misspelled while using all the right letters (kendie, kindi, kendee, kindie): 459

Number of times my name has been mistaken for "Candy": 1,207

Number of times people who have never met me have said "I thought you'd be black": 3

Number of times my name has been mispronounced as Kenzie, Kendra, Kennedy, Cindy, Mindy, McKenzie, Karen, and Ricky: 4,800

Number of times in a normal 5-minute conversation I have to correct my name to someone new: 4

Number of people who ask me on a monthly basis if my name is short for anything: 15

Number of times I want to say "Yes, it's short for Celeste" to those inquiries: 15

Chance that anyone will get my name right tomorrow: 67%

Chance that I will be annoyed at these mistakes: 100%

One Week till Vacation (One Week till the Kennel)

This has quite possibly been the longest shortest week I've ever experienced in my life. In one sense I thought Friday would never get here, on the other I can't believe it's already Friday. Ahh, but I've never met a Friday I didn't like. Bring it on, weekend.

T.G.I.H.B.F.Y. (Thank Goodness I Haven't Been Fired Yet)

Another interesting week in the office. layoffs here, nail clippings there.

Nail clippings? Surely not, you say. Oh yes, that distinctive sound of whatever protein a nail is made of being sliced off by a minature machete from the flesh of a hand unmistakenly interrupted my morning. Twice. I, by the way, do not work in a salon, therefore this is not normal nor is it okay. And did I mention this happened twice? I'm thinking the first time was a manicure, the second was a pedicure.

Of course it doesn't stop there. I also heard the scheduling of a "much needed" mammogram and gynocology appointment, then someone mistook the phrase "Accounting Department" as "Kenny Departno" on the phone and couldn't understand why I didn't have their phone number (I never fully recovered that conversation), and I heard the ongoing's of the women and men's restrooms all week long. I think the stomach bug must be going around.

Oh and did i mention layoffs? Hello Friday, I thought you'd never come.

How to Tell a Co-Worker "You're Talking Much Too Close to My Face"

Dearest Close-Talking Co-Worker,

I don't know what I did to deserve your hot breath in my small face, but I regret it. I am not sure if I need to draw a ruler on my hand and hold it out 6 inches to serve as a reminder that anything less is much too close. I don't know if I should wear a face mask like dentists wear in order to keep from vomiting at the end of every conversation we have. Please tell me what to do. It's not that I don't like you, in fact I never know what you are saying because your breath spells out G-R-O-S-S and that's all I can see or hear until you close your mouth and stop the violation.

Tell me, co-worker, what does your family do when you come around at holidays? Do they wear garlic around their necks because that smells better than what did in your throat? Do they start cooking onions, bell peppers, and fish when you arrive to curb your breath's effect on the air? I'm going to need their contact info if our work-only relationship lasts much longer.

Look, we could be friends, best friends, if only you would stop talking into my face. And you keep your mouth closed. Just think about it.

xoxo,
K

How to Tell a Co-Worker You Don't Care What Her Daugher Did Last Night

Dear Co-Worker/ Single Mom of 1,

I. Don't. Care.

Sincerely,

Kendi

It's-a Never Too Early For-a Spaghetti!

My office always smells like spaghetti. No matter what time of day. It always smells like someone has just warmed up left over Fazoli's. I go to my desk hoping to find a breadstick in my chair. Alas, no breadsticks, no italian sausage, no spaghetti. I just can't figure out who's popping open the Spaghetti-O's at 8:00 am. But I've got it drilled down to a couple of culprits:

1. Mario
2. Luigi
3. Chef Boyardee

I'm thinking it's the latter choice.

So Chef Boyardee, stop with the italian food so early in the morning. It's not a good way to make friends.