These silly things are blooming furiously. They seem to like the shady spot they’re in.
And now for a new installment of Mr. Upstairs Theater! I don’t know what the hell’s gotten into him lately. He was pretty good (for him) over the last few months. Yesterday, I didn’t hear a peep out him until I was getting ready for bed, when he turned on some right-wing talking heads and watched TV for a couple of hours. Then he started vacuuming. At 11:30pm. Then he stomped around for awhile. I’m not passing judgment on his fashion sense, but I swear, he wears high heels when he cleans. The clomping noise is distinctive of heels and is very different from his normal thudding. At about midnight, he turned on the dishwasher. A few minutes later, he started playing the same damned song he’s been playing for the past two years on the keyboard. Or maybe it’s a harpsichord. At this point, nothing would surprise me. I finally fell asleep, only to wake up at about 2am to him playing really crappy classic rock and galloping on the treadmill.
And right now, he’s stomping around in the room above my computer room. I think someone would have to really work at walking that heavily. I mean, he’s a little chubby, but he’s not a big guy, so how the hell does he manage to make that much noise when he walks?
Conversation overheard on my way to the bathroom:
“…it made me nauseous…”
More conversation overheard on my way back from the bathroom: “…the nauseousness was terrible…”
1. That queasy feeling in your stomach? That’s usually called nausea, not nauseousness (though nauseousness isn’t strictly incorrect; it’s just kind of awkward). As in “…the nausea was terrible…”
2. Nauseous means to induce nausea. When you say you’re nauseous, you’re actually saying that you make other people sick, which I’m pretty sure is not what people mean to communicate when they say they’re nauseous, but who am I to judge? Maybe they really are sick-inducing? Anyway, the correct word is nauseated. As in, “…it made me nauseated…” or “…it nauseated me…”
That is all. As you were, comrades.
I’ve tried three times to heat up my lunch in the microwave, and each time, there was a line of people. The third time, when I came back to my desk, a coworker asked me what I was doing. I explained. My cubicle neighbor, who sits behind me and who is fixin’ to be named Miss Nosypants, asked me if it was something I had to heat up. Strictly speaking, I guess it’s not, but what the hell business is it of hers, and why would she think I’d want to eat something cold when I’ve repeatedly taken the time and effort to try to heat it up?
Veggies and rice, by the way. Sure, it could be eaten cold, but I think I’d rather go without, thankyouverymuch.
Ugh. I stayed home yesterday, in part because I had a hideous headache. So today (just like the day after every single day I miss work), my cubicle neighbor stopped to ask me if I had “the sickies.” What are we, 1st graders?! No, I didn’t have “the sickies,” ya’ nosy ghoul! I always feel like she’s afraid of catching the bubonic plague from me. Normal people ask if you’re feeling better, not if you’re still sick, onna counta it’s socially preferable to express concern for others’ welfare instead of obsess about your own.
That’s an improvement, though, over a former boss, who always asked me if my “systems” were functioning normally. WTF?! Dude, I had a migraine, which has nothing whatsoever to do with any “systems.” Andalsoplustoo, I’m back at work, so duh, I’m obviously feeling better, but thanks for asking in a way that didn’t make me feel like a vector of disease.