Social media 'R us.

Hiya, peeps! Long time no chat, eh? I was in Vegas last week and have FINALLY recovered. While I'm bizzy organizing my ridiculous set of cell phone pix to share with you, I thought I would give you a little homework.

One of my work peeps needs a little help to build his self esteem. One of his trade show booths is nominated for some big, fancy award and he needs to win said award to prove his self-worth. It might actually help him stop drinking. And smoking. And sucking his thumb at night. So do it for the kids, will ya?

Anyway, if you have a spare moment in your day, please click here and vote! You will get a confirmation email to click and actually register your vote & be entered in a drawing for an iPad2. So really, do it for the iPad.


As always, thank you for your love, support, and beer. Send more beer.

This is how I roll.

Literally.

Don't I wish! That's me in the Fiat 500 with the GUCCI interior at the North American International Auto Show. Yes, I do love my job. Most days, anyway. I also love that car, but it's very impractical for my incredibly lofty goals in life, which include becoming a raging, rampant soccer mom. Also, if Alex spilled his sippy cup juice on that buttah-like interior I would probably lose my shizz and pending Mother of the Year nomination, so we'll stick to the more family-friendly and more American Ford Edge, thankyouverylittle. But it is a hot little number, no?

I also made a new friend. We held hands like awkward 14 year-olds on a first movie date. He didn't try anything fresh on me, though, which was oddly disappointing.

I also took my VIP status to a new level by dancing with the Kia hamster like a total assmonkey in front of my boss, her boss, and basically the entire automotive industry. But I don't care. Because this? Should get me a promotion.

Click here to see the video. 

Workplace 101.

1. Take all personal calls (yes, this includes job interviews) in the hallway. Or a conference room.
2. Do not clip your nails at your desk. Do I really need to say this again?
3. Wear deodorant.
4. Do not wear copious amounts of perfume. Or cologne.
5. Do not make up words. It definitely does NOT make you sound smarter.
6. Unless you literally work in the healthcare field, you are not saving lives. Don't act like you are.
7. Leave your smelly lunches at home. See also: tuna, thai food, questionable meats.
8. Reply when someone says 'hello' back in the elevator. You can even grunt it. I promise it won't kill you. Unless you are a zombie. Then, just stay away.
9. If my headphones are in, it's likely that I'm ignoring you on purpose.
10. If you're not laughing at least twice a day, you're not doing it right.

It really is that simple, people.

I did not eat Puppy Chow for breakfast.

Well, that's a lie. Because I did.

And for those individuals that either live in a hole or only eat things Mother Nature provides, I didn't eat dog food for breakfast. I ate CEREAL covered in powdered sugar, chocolate and peanut butter. So it's totally legit.

In other news, "Operation make Joey his freshly ground coffee in the morning" is going very well. Today is Day 3 and I've officially become a pro at setting the coffee pot to "auto brew" at the witching hour of 6 a.m. Also? getting everything prepared the night before is so efficient. Why have I not been doing this all along?!

When all this to-go coffee brewing is paired with my horrible memory (see also: forgetting to bring my travel mugs home every night), I tend to get low on mug options. Thusly, my 2 favorite mugs are currently in the wash. And by "in the wash" I mean they are in the sink, untouched. So today, I'm rockin' a mug with the mugs of my boys:

I know, right?! Christmas 2 years ago. My how time flies. Please also note how adorbs my desk is. Lamp. Desk calendar courtesy of blue soleil, Mentos gum (duh). Love notes from Joey. Everything a girl needs to survive!

Knee deep.

I'm up to my armpits over here! Literally with Snomageddon 2011 and figuratively with life/work shenanigans. In fact, I had to stay at a hotel close to work on Tuesday night to ensure that I could be at the office on Wednesday. Props to Joe for being superdad this week...

The blog will likely be intensely boring until sometime next week when I will officially launch NIEPHEW WATCH: 2011. He or she will be arriving any day now...Monday marks one week before Kelli's due date, which is exactly when I delivered Alex. As soon as I get the call I'm on the first plane outta here!!! C'MON, NIEPHEW!!!!

Desk decor.

I believe since most people spend more time in the office than pratically anywhere else, the desk area is a personal sanctuary that should personalized as one sees fit....within reason.

For instance, amongst the rampant paper and sticky note clutter scattered about my desk, you'll also find a super cute lamp, 49,285,032,745 pictures of Alex/family/friends, a bedazzled coffee mug, my XM Radio, a poster that says "Who says you can't climb the corporate ladder in heels?" and a whimsical whiteboard that I use for random thoughts and doodles.

Other people have plants. Or those stupid stress relief sandboxes. Or noodle art from their kids. Or space heaters. One guy I know even has a water purifier.

But there is one desk accessory that I find to be superior to all others, and every time I see one I can't help but squeal with delight on the inside: The framed, professional glamour shot of the wife.

I know. You love them too.

Imagine, if you will, a 50-something overweight, poorly dressed engineer that clips his nails at his desk and eats canned soup every.single.day for lunch. In stark contrast, proudly displayed on his desk is an 8x10 framed photo of what, at first glance, looks like a Bratz doll. But in reality, it's his photoshopped-within-an-inch-of-her-life wife from a Glamour Shots session.

And the wife (or wives, as it were, since I've seen many examples of this in my days...) obviously had the following rational conversation with herself at some point in this process:

Self, you should make an appointment for a Glamour Shots session. Yes, that is a grand idea. You shall have perfect strangers coat your face with 12 lbs. of makeup and use at least 3 cans of hairspray to poof your hair circa 1984. Then, you shall get almost naked, delicately wrap a feather boa around yourself and smile for the camera wearing sexy fire engine red lipstick, too much blush and a very, very awkward head tilt. Maybe even lightly graze the side of your face with your pointer fingtertip for that "extra" touch. Then you will get large prints made up and framed and gift them to your loving husband for Christmas (because he will obviously love that more than an iPad or new golf clubs). At which point, hubby will proudly display it on his desk at work for GOD AND EVERYONE to see and compliment.

What part of this makes sense to anyone else? What's more, it's not like the wife will even actually know that you put it on your desk. Put it in a drawer, man, and pull it out the 2 times a year she comes to take you to lunch.

Auf Wiedersehen!

Hi, kids!

I'm hopping on a plane tomorrow for the land of le Germans. For work, not pleasure...but I'm hoping to at least drink a brew (or two) and eat some wiener schnitzel along the way.

I think I'll be able to find a few moments in the quiet of my hotel room in the evenings to post some Halloween pics of Alex. He was basically the cutest Mickey Mouse, ever.

And as a result of this holiday we call Halloween, he now loves Smarties. He will dig through every candy in his pumpkin to find one and and bring it to me and say, "Pweee, Momma" so I will open it for him. As such, he's pretty much running on a constant sugar buzz. What?! I can't resist a good 'pweee'!

See you from the other side of the pond!

Mi Nombre Es Kristi.

I am HUGE on names. Specifically, the spelling of names. I think it stems somewhere from the deep, dark days of elementary school as a Kristi with a 'K' and an 'I 'and all my dummy friends and teachers getting it wrong. Oh, and the fact that even my own Grandmother writes "Kristy" on my birthday cards. I even get the occasional "Krissy," which just sends me right into a tailspin. True story.

A name is who you are. It's part of your identity, your brand, your essence. And it's also just in good taste to spell someone's name correctly when writing correspondence to them. Martha agrees. So does Prudence.

What's more, some companies make it easier than ever to NOT get it wrong. For example, the corporate email address structure at my casa de employment is first.last@company.com. It's freaking spelled out right there in black and white Arial pt. 12.

So why oh mothereffing why do I get at LEAST three emails a day that begin, "Hi, Kristy..."

It grates on my face.

To take it a step further, most people are repeat offenders. I make it a fairly obvious point when I reply to sign my response "Sincerely, KRISTI." But still, the y's keep coming.

In other news, we now have two clippers on the floor. TWO! We have the repeat offender (who was previously outed) and now someone we shall dub "the new guy." I think they operate in tandem just to try and kill me. Offender #1 operates on Monday and Thursday and TNG is usually a Friday afternoon clipper. It's my own personal hell.

Spelling names correctly and keeping your personal grooming habits confined to your home life. I don't ask for much.

Not Today.

No choppy choppy of le hair tonight*. Work hopped in the front seat and pamper-me-salon-time has been relocated somewhere near the trunk. Maybe even falling out the back like rusty tin cans on a "Just Married" car.

Rescheduled for next Thursday. Lock it in with a Sharpie.

*To be perfectly clear, I did NOT chicken out. There was honestly a meeting I couldn't get out of. I have alibis.

Como Say Whaaa?

Yesterday, I heard the following words/phrases uttered from some of the most brilliant minds in the industry:

• Reduplicate.
• Over redundant.

For real. And no, I don't work in the Department of Redundancy Department. But I do think it's fun to reduplicate some over redundancies on le blog. It makes me feel smart, if nothing else.

In unrelated news, today is the day Kelli and David COULD find out le sex of my niephew. But they are electing not to, which is absolutely going to be the death of me. I do not understand how anyone could possibly NOT find out. I'm a planner. A know-er. A do-er. A re-duplicater.

Oh, and their baby shower? I'm attempting to top the greatest wedding shower/bachelorette party of all time, but I'm not sure if it will be possible. Mostly because I can't obsess over all things blue or pink for an over-the-top theme. This gender neutral stuff is really for the birds. A hint, perhaps?

I'm Sorry...

...but it's just wrong to be on the phone while using the loo. So to the lady in the handicapped stall just now (nap culprit? perhaps.), I would like to let you know that you are gross. Really, really gross.

And whoever you were talking to probably didn't appreciate the flush mid-sentence. Or the very annoying squeaksqueaksqueak of the tee pee as it unravels from the roll. Or the zip of your pants. Or the unavoidable conversation echo caused by the cinder block walls. And god forbid you let out a fart when you're chattin' it up about tonight's euchre tourney! Riveting information, truly.

It's kinda like texting and driving. No call is so important that it can't wait 4 minutes for you to whiz, flush and properly wash and dry your phalanges.

And this? Well, this right here is all sorts of wrong.

An Open Letter.

Attention ladies: It is now officially sum-sum-summatime.

This means that the seemingly endless condundrum of 'what is work appropriate summer attire?' is officially on everyone's minds. Well, at least mine. In any event, I'm about to impart some serious knowledge on you. File this one away as top 5 general office etiquette - right behind the NO nail clipping rule.

1. Tank tops are acceptable when you are out to dinner with friends. Or at a club. Or out shopping. However, I do NOT want to look at your poorly shaved pits in the boardroom. It's just not cool. Ann Taylor makes cardigans for a reason.

2. I love strappy sandals as much as the next girl, and as cute and fun and impressive as your Old Navy flip flops in every color of the rainbow might be, they do not scream, "Hey, I take my job seriously!" Put on a professional pair of shoes and respect the office, will ya?

3. This actually pairs with Rule #2: just because the weather says you can wear open-toed shoes doesn't mean that you should. Treat yourself to a nice pedicure before you even dare expose those toes. Nobody wants to see your gangly, disgusting and unpolished feet. It's le gross.

4. Throw this one back to my Catholic school roots: if your skirt/dress doesn't pass your fingertips when you hold your hands at your side, you shouldn't be wearing it. This especially applies to all women over 29 during any season.

5. Kudos to you if you're using your lunchtime to walk around outside and get some exercise. However, if your place of work does not have a shower for you to refresh your hot mess of a self, keep it inside so the sweat stays to a minimum. I don't want to smell your nasty funk in our 2 p.m. meeting, mmkay?

Take those to the summer bank and cash them, y'all. Oh, and the no clipping rule knows no season.

In other news, Glee goes Gaga tonight. AND it's the season finale of The Biggest Loser. Thank the lawd for DVR!

Out. Of. Control.

The mysterious office nail clipper has clipped TWICE this week. Yes, I know it's only Tuesday. I literally had to completely evacuate my presence from the 3rd floor to keep from tossing my Starbucks and Kashi Bar into File 13. So uncool, man. So uncool.

Here's the juicy tidbit: he's no longer mysterious. I KNOW WHO HE IS. I have a name, an occupation and I've seen pictures of his kids. Yes, the same man who has the audacity to clip his nails in a public and professional office setting also, at some point, tricked some poor, unknowing female into reproducing with him. For shame!

I'm obviously far too dramatic and oversensitive on this issue, but something has to be done. Do I send him an anonymous interoffice letter detailing why the clipping is horrifically disgusting and unsanitary? Do I sneak into his desk drawer after hours and steal the infamous clippers? I would wear gloves, natch. Or do I just grow the eff up and let the man perform his personal grooming habits in the adjacent cubicle?

Pretty sure I'm gonna do some creative combination of the above menu of options. He needs to be stopped.

Blah.

There's really nothing worse than the Monday after vacation, is there?

Well, maybe having someone spill their ENTIRE coffee on you in the elevator.

Today blows.

Hair On Fire.

Near the entrance to my last office, there was a sign that read, "Put your hair out before entering this area." It was intended to poke fun at (and hopefully detour) those individuals who were certain that every single project was an urgent, top priroity and must be completed, like, yesterday. Those people are annoying.

Anywho, it would seem that I really, really, really, really, really, really need one of those for my new gig. And let's be honest, here...it's not as if the work I do is solving world hunger or anything like that. Yes, it's important in the here and now and is strategic and aligned and all that other bullshank corporate jargon. But it's not saving lives.

In summary: I am currently too busy being gainfully employed to eat, sleep or grocery shop. Oh, and also to clean. Weekend visitors, take note.

I have no energy or concentration, for that matter, to provide poetic humor for my minions. So instead, here's some giveaways you can enter:

• Address labels from bleu soleil designs
• Sullivan & Sawyer products from Heir to Blair
• A month (yes, a MONTH...like, one a day) of giveaways from Clemsongirl

As always, you're welcome.

Thoughts For A Thursday.

While I think it's a little lame and sort of a cop-out to post a quote as a blog post, this one seems appropriate for today:

"I think every working mom goes through the times when you feel that if you weren't working perhaps you'd be giving them a little more. I've always believed the quality of the time is so much more important than the quantity."

~Jackie Zeman

This was the quote today on my "I Love You, Mom" desk calendar that Alex got me for Christmas. Such a good little shopper! I had to Google this Jackie Zeman chica, and it would appear that she's the actress that plays 'Bobbie' on General Hospital. Who knew? While I can't speak to her mothering skills, I think this particular opinion she has is spot on. I've posted my feelings on working vs. SAHM status before, and today's calendar quote was just one more reminder for me that while I might drag my feet on the way into work a few mornings a week, I'm doing what is right for my family at this point in our lives.

Oh, and just so this entire blog post isn't a cop-out, click here to sign up for a free sample of Purex Complete 3-in-1 Laundry Sheets. You're welcome.

Little Known Facts.

I have a tendency to talk to myself. Yes, it's weird. And yes, I have actual conversations. What? It's just plain rude not to answer back!

Anyway, I find myself doing this a LOT at work lately. Perhaps it's because I'm in at a new division and have approximately zero people in my immediate surroundings that I can talk to intelligently about anything non-work related, but it's really starting to become a noticeable problem.

Like this morning, when I was washing my hands in the loo and mumbling something to myself about the urgent need to make a list, gather my coupons and go grocery shopping right as the crazy plant lady walked in and caught me.

I realize how this sounds. I call her the 'crazy plant lady' (for obvious reasons...she waters her plant within an inch of its life and would go so far as to murder someone with a well-manipulated paper clip should you even attempt to move it one inch to the left to see out the window) and yet I'm the crazy girl who talks to herself in the bathroom. I totally get it.

"Hi, Kettle? It's me, Pot."

Testing, Testing. 1. 2. 3.

The blogosphere is eerily quiet today. Of all the peeps I stalk follow, only about 3 have posted updates.

I suppose that's karma's way of telling me to log off and get the eff back to work.

Hot Mess.

I've just not been myself all week and I can't seem to find my mojo anywhere. My hair? A messy pile of a wash-and-go ponytail. Clothes? Standard sweaters and dress pants with no creativity in the realm of successories. Makeup? Foundation, mascara and lip gloss if you're lucky. Dinner? If it can be microwaved or ordered, I'm in. Exercise? Currently using the treadmill to hold the pizza boxes from Monday's dinner.

Basically, my life is a sight for sore eyes right now. Neverfear, though...'twill be back very, very soon. These funks usually last 4-5 days until I'm back to my cheerful, sarcastic self.

In the meantime, I shall tell a hilarious tale from the trenches of Corporate America. Allow me to set the stage for you: A co-worker (whom we shall refer to henceforth as "Tina") and I are desperately trying to hook a fellow friend and co-worker (whom we shall refer to as "Beth") up with an anonymous young chap from the 4th floor legal department. Yes, a lawyer. Yes, single. Yes, cute. Yes, snappy dresser. No, not gay.

So I'm telling "Beth" of my woes as listed above and she pipes back with, "Well, I personally wore a skirt today so we could go shopping for printer toner on the 4th floor."

HIGH-LARIOUS. I shall now spend my morning wandering to and fro the 4th floor supply room with Bethinaskirt so that we can scope out the goods.

Toot. Toot.

I made this for dinner last night and it was SCRUMPTIOUS. The word "easy" was in the working title of the recipe, so I really couldn't resist. I used about a 2 lb. roast, though, because 4 could feed us for a week. I also added 'shrooms, because we love us some 'shrooms in the VW house. Not like THAT, sillies!

There's just something about walking in the front door (after a heinous day at work) to the smell of a delicious dinner that's ready to eat. If Yankee could bottle that scent up for a candle they'd make bazillions!

In unrelated news, the disgusting and mysterious at-work nail clipper is back with a vengeance. And since I sit mostly near dudes, odds are good that it's a grown man clip, clip, clipping his scurvy nails in my very presence. Seriously. Who does that? Save it for the privacy of your own home, man!

In other unrelated news, I did some more research and it seems that the minimum requirement for Locks of Love is 10 inches, not 8 as I mentioned in this post. Would it be weird to start taking my prenatal vitamins again to help it grow faster?