A man in a linen suit and flip flops, calling people turds. Yup…these are my kind of people.*

Today the air conditioning is broken on my floor at work.  When confronted with this news, I pretended to be sad and commiserated with my co-workers, but on the inside I am celebrating.  Working with menopausal ladies can be hard on us young folks who are still capable of maintaining regular body temperatures.  It is  ridiculous that I sit shivering in my office wrapped like a monk in my Slanket** while the matriarchs of the office waddle around in their sleeveless tunics and {shudder} open-toed sandals, fanning themselves with their TPS reports as they adjust the thermostat and complain about the humidity.  WTF, ladies, this is North Carolina in the summer.  Get a clue.  If I have to hear one more time about some one’s “personal summer” or “power surge,” I’m going to start slapping some bitches right across their sweaty, jowly faces.

Wow, can you tell it’s Monday?

I am full of hate.

Moving on…this Saturday I attended a Kentucky Derby party.  I know, I know, madras and seersucker and debutantes, on my!  While not typically a Bad Mutha Fudrucker-friendly event, my girlfriend Julie was catering the event and scored a pair of VIP tickets, which she waved in front of my face and said the magic words, ‘bottomless mint juleps.’  A $17 sundress and a borrowed straw hat later, I was eating fondue and throwing back Makers’ and water with the best of ’em.

I realized several hours in to the event that my dress was not, in fact, the black that I thought it was in the dressing room, but in the sun proved to be rather a dull brown color, which did not exactly match with the black hat and heels I had chosen to complete my look.  Another julep and I was care-free, too busy people judging watching to pay much attention to myself.  I asked a couple of older gentlemen in matching suits and straw hats if they took requests, but alas, they were not, in fact, one half of a barber shop quartet, but two elderly southern gentlemen sporting their Huckleberry Finn attire in earnest.  The twisted, sarcastic part of me was at a loss when faced with this much sincerity.  Grabbing a glass of wine and kicking off my shoes, I joined some stogey-smoking good ol’ boys in a friendly game of cornhole, which was more fun and not as gross as you would think.
*Credit: Kristin Hains, 5/2/2009, re:Mint Julep Jubilee
**“It’s not product placement, I just like it!”

10 thoughts on “A man in a linen suit and flip flops, calling people turds. Yup…these are my kind of people.*

  1. Ugh I feel you on the office thing. They “fixed” our a/c the other day and I almost froze to death, and everyone else was all “Oh it feels so good!”

    I’m the only one under 30 and one of 3 under 40 that works here. Sigh.

    Do you have work related tampon-disposal anxiety, too? I feel like the janitors are judging me and keeping tabs on my menstral cycle. Paranoid, table for one?

  2. I hate office temperature battles. In my experiences, women that are in a constant state of hot flash always try to displace blame on the situation. “I can’t believe you’re cold. Are you anemic?” When I was pregnant and hot, I knew that I was hot because I was fat.

    More importantly… cornhole! LMAO. I wanna play!

    I hate all the cutesy names of hot flashes. Personal summer, my ass!

  3. Damn Mondays, they always suck. Your Saturday sounds a lot better than this Monday. Perhaps a rewind is in order?

    I wish. Saturdays kick Mondays’ ass all over town.

  4. I’ve been full of hate since last Monday. I’ve decided to just commit and see it through until tomorrow…

    …and beyond.

    One day at a time. It’s as good a plan as any.

  5. My office building is usually ass cold. And it’s no one in our office’s fault. It’s the building’s fault. If it gets extra cold this summer, I’m going to post save the planet letters in very public places to tell them how much $$ and energy they save by keeping the building a few degrees warmer. Jerks.

    I can point to the temperature nazi’s in my building.

  6. No, I flush my tampons. And frankly, I feel like everyone should know when I’m bleeding out my vag, because they might ask me fewer stupid questions.

    Too right. I’m going to start sporting the Scarlett P.

  7. This was very edumacational. I thought I knew all there was to know about the game of cornhole until this post. And Slankets, Kentucky Derby parties, and even TPS reports were all new to me.

    You should get a free Slanket for the plug even if it wasn’t a product placement.

    I find it hard to believe there was anything you don’t know about cornholing, stooge.

  8. Hey, turd! What if I was going through menopause?!

    Then I’d get a fucking fan and leave everyone else alone about it.

    I feel your hate. FU, Monday. HARD.

    With a knife. Too much?

  9. I feel ya. I have to use my space heater YEAR ROUND. The other day someone said “you look like you are dressed for winter” to which I replied “yeah, it’s f’ing cold in here.”

    I am one classy lady.

    Nice work.

  10. Do these same women sweat profusely as they are going through their “personal summer” and then want to borrow a pen or use your phone? Because that would be gross.

    They know not to ask me. I’m not a share-er.

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