Well as you may know I sit next to an attention whoring, know-it-all middle child. What you may not know is she has a passive-aggressive middle finger. Two actually. Our relationship dynamic is odd since I’m older and certainly wiser than her, but I function as the over-bearing, demanding, bossy baby of our cubedom. Since she is a power hungry middle child, she uses any chance she can get to treat me like a little sister.
The other day we were razzing each other when her rude fuck-you finger reared it ugly self. Now normally I don’t mind some good middle finger action. In fact, my sister told my niece just to call it Aunt Awesome’s favorite finger instead of referring to it as a middle finger, but I certainly don’t like them being flipped at me for no good reason. I don’t even think she had a reason because she didn’t know she was doing it. There we were talking when she picked up the cup of liquid on her desk wrapping every finger tightly around the cup. All except her middle finger. Clear as day there she was flipping me (ME!) the bird. After a few moments waiting for her to lower her flag, I asked her why she was flipping me off. She swore she wasn’t and switched the cup to the other hand to stare at the offensive finger. Unfortunately the middle finger on her other also refused to grip the cup. Both of her hands wanted to let me know just exactly how she felt about me.
Luckily I was able to hold back the tears.
The middle child I sit next is very competitive. Her sister recently pointed out how she will use any means necessary to try to win. When she plays a video game with her husband she uses whining and evil trickery to try to make him give up, since she doesn’t have game playing skills to fall back on . Naughty naughty.
Her must-win spirit always benefits me at work. I saw from when we first started working together. We’re data dorks who often load (hopefully correct) information into the system in large quantities. Sometimes when there are errors, never caused by either of us, we have to go in and correct the flaws datum by mind numbing datum.
When we get a list of say 100 items that need to be manually correct she’ll start at the top and me at the bottom. She gets all revved up and let’s me know we’re competing to see who can get the most done, showing who works the fastest. Works for me since no matter the outcome I still win. If I complete more than her I win her silly little game. If she “wins” it means she has done more work than me which means, either way I still win. I’m certainly not concerned with who can be the faster robot. She knows I will never try to do more manual data entry than her, but she continues to compete. I’m pretty sure she thinks there’s a trophy waiting for her in the supply closet.
No checking, errors stay.
Today is my birthday. In lieu of gifts, just send messages of adoration.
My friend Beckie has been staying with me for the last few weeks along with her daughter Victoria. Many mornings Victoria has run into my room and jumped into bed with me to give me a very welcome morning hug. Well yesterday she shame-facedly walked into my room covered in duct tape. She had a few long pieces covering her back, one wrapped completely around her arm and a patch of it on the opposite shoulder. I asked her who did it and she quickly pointed out my 7 year old niece Ashley as the perpetrator. I was fuming. I knew it was going to be so painful to get the duct tape off of this little little 3 year old. I stormed down the stairs, hunting for my niece. While coming down I noticed my sister was fast asleep on the couch suffering from a severe case of the Irish Flu neglecting her duties of child supervisor.
I should explain that my niece is a kind soul who would never intentionally cause harm to anyone especially a child younger than her so I was very surprised when I saw Victoria. The more my brain woke up I realized she covered Victoria in silver bandages having no idea what it felt like to rip duct tape off. When I found Ashley hiding in the downstaris bathroom (she could hear me yelling for her) I saw that my thoughts were confirmed. Ashley hadn’t acted maliciously to cause any pain to the poor little toddler standing beside me. Ashley was covered in duct tape too, positioned in the exact same places as Victoria. Then I tought, “Ugh, it never ends.”
Luckily for these kids I knew a trick. Adhesives does’t stick to oil, so I greased up the tape as I took it off. Just as I was finishing up taking it off of Victoria I asked her if there was anymore anywhere and she gave me a sheepish “no”. Then she pulled down her pants to reveal the last piece warpped completely around her leg. It too removed without incident. After I was all done with Victoria I took the tape off of Ashley. Unfortunately my niece was cursed with my pain tolerance and suffered the most having the tape reoved. The oil helped some, but they both sure still felt the pain of having a duct-tape-ectomy.
So I have this co-worker who totally doesn’t understand the concept that not everyone wakes up at 5:00 in the morning. In fact unlike her, I live 15 minutes from work, not an hour or more depending on traffic. She admittedly loves squeezing an extra few minutes of sleep out of morning and will give up a shower quicker than cat just to keep her little peepers closed until the last possible moment. Now I don’t know if everyone else in her life wakes up with sun (we are in the old west afterall), but I do know I have told her several times that I sleep until a much later hour than her. I generally parade around with a crown and septer as if I’m the Queen of Sleeping Late just to rub it in and force her to give me the old stink eye of jealousy.
Well last week she had an insufferable toothache. She couldn’t sleep all night and ended missing work the following day. She usually gets into work around 7:00 am and was afraid she had a million responsibilities that would get neglected by missing the one day. Due to her middle child syndrome she thought the world was going to fall apart without her. If you ask her she will sheepishly tell you how she is the glue that holds the department together. Modesty has always been her strong point (cue eyeroll). Again , I tease. The girl knows her stuff and I’d say if something caught on fire while she was out we’d be stuck stomping back the flames until her triumphant return. Such an event is rare, so why she texted me at 6:30 inthe morning to let me know she wouldn’t be that day will always evade me. I kind of get it I guess. She was just trying to be responsible, but I can be left out that loop when it’s 6:30. 7:30 may even be pushing it, but since she’s always helped me in a jam I figured the least I could do was wake -up and check her work schedule as she asked.
The next day when she returned to work I joked about how if she ever texted me early again I’d choke her. I tried to give her my serious face. She laughed it off. The “I’ll-stay-dirty-for-all-of-the-world-to-see-if-it-means-I-get-one-more-precious-minute-of-sleep” should fully empathize with my need to sleep as long as humanly possible. Well this morning she texted a little after 7:00 to tell me how she was half way to work and realized she had her sister’s keys in her car. Hilarious, right? Problem number one, for the love of all that is holy in Jerusalem, why did she text me again knowing I would still be asleep at that time? Problem two, I already know she does crap like that all of the time. She could prevent a melt down at a nuclear powerplant her first day on the job, but you stick the girl in a forrest with a map and a compass and she would be missing forever. And by forrest I mean the parking lot.
In summation, I hope God is answering prayers today and I never hear from her between the hour of 1:00-8:00 am again. Ever. Even if she loses an arm.
So I joked about blogging about a blog. Now I feel obligated to do so. I sit next to a middle child who insists the world revolve around her, or at the bare minimum watch her as it revolves. It’s so bad she actually owns a T-shirt that reads, “It’s all about me”. Ugh, my days are filled with ego stroking this megalomaniac. I bet she even stopped reading this just to double check what meglomaniac means. Don’t get me wrong, she is amazingly intelligent and wonderfully delightful, but I have to tease her. If I don’t there won’t be room for me and her superego in our cube. True story.
So she wrote a blog the other day about life in the kibbutz. Not really, she tried to make us sympathize with her by expatiating about growing up with a New York Jew for mother. I believe guilt was the focus of the blog. I tried to ignore it for it the most part because I knew what she was doing. She was trying to make me feel bad for her having to deal with the dreaded Jewish guilt. The first step in effectively using Jewish guilt is to make the party involved feel bad for you in some way. Catholic guilt starts in a similar way, at an early age making you feel bad that Jesus sacrificed so much for you. Jewish mothers just tend to remind you of their sacrifices. I digress.
I refuse to fall for the blog. This is just her way of practicing the guilt on the literate population. She wants us to feel the woes of her guilt. Unfortunately for her, I’m like guilt teflon. When people try to make me feel guilty they just get put on a list of people to avoid. Unfortunately I can’t avoid her, she sits next to me and I desparately need her help and attention. I thought I could get away with pretending to have read it, but at lunch she told her sister and me how her BFF “Karen” told herthat her blog sucked matzah balls. She then went on about how the critizism is forcing her into a spiraling depression and she is going to give up blogging forever. What am I supposed to do? The blog was a little wonky, but she is a self-proclaimed blogger on course to become a great and respected master of the literary world. Eh, what to do?