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Things not to say to the accounting manager at your company:

Hmm. Your department usually smells like Cheerios, but today it just smells like rubber doll heads.

As if I was expecting her to gesture broadly to a box in the corner of her office, filled with rubber doll heads, and say, “Thanks! I just got rid of my box full of Cheerios last week and it’s taken a while for the smell to clear out.”

What the hell, mouth? Do you not have internal conversations with the random-shit-filter in my brain before you start moving?

I mean, seriously. I hear a lot of stupid things at work, but — sadly — the stupidest things seem to come from me.

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Overheard in the elevator after work…

Corporate Attorney:  Wow, Missy!  You don’t look like you’ve gained any weight at all during your pregnancy, except in your belly!

Pregnant Missy:  Are you kidding?  I’ve gained 23 pounds so far.

Corporate Attorney:  You’re gonna have a 23 pound baby?!?!

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Towards the end of a long phone conversation today with one of my field reps, I came across this conversational gem:

Rep:  …so, anyway, the reason I ask is that his daughter’s pregnant and the doctor’s office is saying that the insurance won’t cover the pregnancy.  Do you think it’s because she’s fifteen?

Me:  Her age doesn’t have anything to do with it.  Since she’s under the age limit, the plan will cover her pregnancy.  However, once her child is born, there will be no further medical coverage for that child.  She will have to insure the child herself.

Rep:  Well, then why did the doctor’s office say that?

Me:  I’m guessing that they didn’t call to verify benefits and just assumed that the pregnancy wouldn’t be covered, since most medical plans don’t offer maternity benefits to a dependent child.  It’s quite a controversy in the health insurance world, so we’re a bit unusual in that aspect, as we do cover it.

Rep:  Hey!  What a great benefit!  I should tell our employees that!  You know, that we cover dependent children’s pregnancies and most other places don’t.

Me:  No.  Please don’t do that.

Rep:  …oh, yeah.  I guess we don’t really want to encourage teen pregnancy, huh?

Me:  Pretty much, nope.

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Am I the only one who’s noticed a subtle uptick in the number of “personal lubricant” ads on television lately?  I thought it was just me.  Either that or the “personal lubricant” industry is flush with earnings and is blowing them all on skeezy TV ads just before Valentine’s Day.

And then, this morning, there it was.  A “personal lubricant” ad that confirmed my suspicions: the ad slyly suggested that with their brand of lubricant, you are guaranteed to have a “Happy Valentine’s Night” (emphasis theirs).

Ah, yes.  Valentine’s Day.  That happy day which has gone from a celebration of the martyrdom of two Roman priests who were burned alive in the street, to a hypercommercialized card-and-candy industry, and finally to a not-so-subtle suggestion that you will need personal lubricant in order to celebrate with your loved one, because — apparently — all the cards, candy, flowers, dinners, jewelry and foreplay in the world are simply not going to be enough when it comes to consummating Valentine’s Day in proper fashion.  You will need lubricant.

Eeeeew.  And also?  What a lovely sentiment.  And, again…eeeeeeeeeeeew.

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Because of doofuses like this…

Me:  How are you doing today, Mr. Doe?

John Doe:  Fine.  But I have a big problem with my retiree medical insurance.

Me:  Okay, and what seems to be the problem?

John Doe:  I’m afraid that I’m going to lose my coverage.

Me:  Well, I show here that you’re covered through the end of this month.  The only reason that it wouldn’t continue past that point is if you didn’t send in a check for the next month.  Is there a reason that you’re worried about losing your coverage?

John Doe:  I received a letter in the mail from Giant Company You Work For that said that since I was 65, I had to do something about Medicare.

Me:  Hmm.  That doesn’t sound like something that we would send out.  Do you still have a copy of the letter?

John Doe:  No.  I threw it away.

Me:  Okay…  Can you tell me what the letter said?

John Doe:  I don’t remember.  Something about being eligible for Medicare and having to do something.  There were some instructions.  I think they wanted me to send something in.

Me:  Did you follow the instructions on the letter?

John Doe:  No, I threw it away.  I told you.

Me:  Alright, well…  Do you remember anything else about the letter?

John Doe:  It just said that I needed to contact someone if I had questions.

Me:  Who did it tell you to contact?

John Doe:  There was a phone number.

Me:  Did you call it?

John Doe:  No.  I called you.

The conversation went on like this for a few more minutes, until I finally managed to get Mr. Doe off the phone with a promise that I would try and figure out who sent the letter, what is was and what is needed of him.  So I’ve spent the rest of the afternoon calling and emailing people both in and out of the company, pestering them over a letter that doesn’t even exist any more.

I love my job.  I love my job.  I love my job.

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Dear “Beauty Advisor” at Walgreen’s:

I might be more willing to entrust my beauty needs to you if you had eyebrows and did not have a laryngectomy.  So please let me buy my $1.99 tube of Wet ‘n’ Wild lip gloss in peace.

I promise that I don’t need your assistance in selecting a shade and I also don’t need to know about your nail polish sale.

I’m not trying to be an asshole, but your mechanical larynx is really freaking me out and I really have to go now and I probably won’t be coming back.

Love,

K

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Photo Of The Day

Joaquin Phoenix has apparently become either so drugged out that he can’t spell his own name, or that frog in his hair he was so worried about a few years ago has finally nested inside his brain and the frog’s name is actually “Joaqin.”


joaquin.jpg

Your call, readers.

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