HA! How very civic-minded of you, Bubbacat! How did they respond to your thoughtfulness?

They had a good laugh, but they didn't put it on the air. I'm not really surprised. I live in a pretty rural part of Pennsylvania where (as we say around here) you can't swing a dead cat without hitting a church. I don't think porn names would go over very well with some of their listeners, particularly the Mennonites.

Hello Ipsofacto.

Enjoy Chiang Mai - it's beautiful. I spent a lot of time in Chiang Rai, about three hours north. CR is also worth a visit - the night market is lots of fun, and the Burmese border is only another hour north.

The Tarflies site has detailed time lines for each of the races that detail the spots visited in Thailand. The racers visited Chiang Mai in Season 2. Remember how Oswald nearly quit on the overnight train from Bangkok?

I can give you a quick run down of the cities they visited:

Bangkok (Wat Arun, Flower Market, Chinatown)
Kanchanaburi (Tiger Pit)
Krabi (Tiger Cave Temple, Raille Beach)
Bor Tor Au Luk (Scuba diving, Pai Plong Beach)
Phuket (fly out - great beaches, really touristy though)
Ratchaburi (bat cave and boats on canal)
Chiang Mai (7 spires, Karen Village, Maeping Village... and a 7-11!)

Hope this helps!

hey can I add to the stupid people conversation story? I just remembered this one...I used to work with a guy—I’ll call him Howard—who basically was absolutely and totally incompetent. But we were hired at about the same time (me as an intern, he as a project manager), and so we kind of got thrown into working with each other where I became his lackey. Now as I said, he was hired as a project manager, so you would think he knew what he was doing, but alas, no. He screwed up every project he worked on and I always had to do all his grunt work, including emailing things because he claimed he could never get his email to work (More likely he was just too dumb to figure out how to attach files). So one day I get this phone call:

Howard: I’m kind of in a panic, and I need you to do me a huge favor, sir.
Me: Ok, what do you need?
Howard: I’m on my way to a meeting with Mr. Client but I’ve just been informed that he doesn’t have the latest set of drawings. If I call Mr. Consultant and give him your email address so that he can email the drawings to you, can you please then forward them to Mr. Client?
Me: Uh, yeah, I can. What do I have to do to the drawings and how much time do I have?
Howard: Oh you don’t have to do anything to them, just forward them to Mr. Client after you get them from Mr. Consultant.
Me: I don’t have to do anything to the drawings?
Howard: No sir.
Me: Well then, wouldn’t it be easier for Mr. Consultant to email the drawings directly to Mr. Client? I don’t understand why they need to come through me.
*Silence on the phone*
Howard: That could work, that could work. You’re right. I’ll have him do that. Thank you, sir. See you in a bit.
Me: DURRRRRRRR!!!!!

Thank goodness he's long-since been fired.

Swimmerboy, this just adds to the fantasies I have about your workplace. I picture it brightly lit with lots of windows, then there's a bunch of dumb men in suits wandering around cluelessly, and you (not dumb, not clueless, and not wearing a suit). Except I also envision a 40-something guy who's probably the one who hired you and who is the other not-inept person in your office. He wears ties in vivid colors.

I don't imagine any women there. At all. In any capacity.

How close am I?

Personally, I tend to imagine swimmerboy's office as pretty much just like The Office (the BBC series). With swimmerboy as Tim.

My office? Lately seems more akin to the one in The Drew Carey Show. We even have our own Mimi. EEK.

Oh, and



Yeah, but who hasn't?? I mean really, now.

My mother is so proud.

For some reason, I've always envisioned swimmerboy's office as having exposed brick walls somewhere, and, as Daria mentioned, lots of big windows. Plus, swimmerboy is wearing flipflops to work. I bet you didn't know that so many people thought about you and your office, huh?

Bubbacat, I was just visiting my sister in western Maryland, and we went to a Mennonite bakery, which I thought was quite cool. Lots of black cars and trucks in the driveway. The donuts were heavenly.

And now I envision skagirl and whereverthefk as attending some sort of seraglio-type fete that requires them to be carried in on satin pillows by burly, sweaty men. I blame all this Troy talk I've been hearing. It's affecting my brain.

My porn name is Happy Higgins. Which is just wrong.

Stupid people stories from the workplace. My 2 favorite responses to "Would you like his voicemail?":

"No...can I just get something where I can leave him a message?"

(angrily) "NO! I want his VOICEMAIL!"

Also, years ago I worked for a medical answering service, which is one of the most thankless jobs in the world. Patients screaming at you because they can't reach the doctor and doctors screaming at you for interrupting their golf game. But you wouldn't believe the number of idiots out there. Some people had no concept of what an answering service was. I'd tell him the doctor wasn't there. "Are you sure? Just go around the corner and take a peek!" I can't as I don't actually work in the office; I'm the service. "Oh, just go around the corner and take a peek!"

Then there were the ones who'd be like, "I don't know the doctor's name, but you know--he's the tall blonde one!" There was this one caller who kept saying, "Oh, you know the one I mean!" over and over before finally whispering, "He's the black one!" I kid you not.

If a patient said something was an emergency, we weren't allowed to second-guess. Therefore, I had to report to a doctor that a woman had an emergency consisting of an eyelash in her eye. But my favorite was the woman who called on vacation because she was "choking to death" and would only speak to her doctor, who was on vacation...she refused to speak to the covering doctor or go to the local ER. Never mind the fact that the entire time she was talking clear as a bell with nary a cough. The final message I took was "Patient says if she's dead when you get back, you'll know why."

Hildy, one of the greatest things about living in this area (I moved here from Detroit several years ago) is the abundance of Mennonite-run stands and shops. Some of the greatest produce and baked goods you'll find anywhere, along with some really beautiful quilts and other hand-made items. I can also drive down to the next county (Lancaster) to visit the Amish shops. I absolutely adore their pies and pickled fruits and vegetables. You haven't really lived until you've tried Amish watermelon pickles.

Something to add about stupid people at work: A while back, I worked at Chrysler in the Chrysler Historical Collection. We provided information, photos, etc. on Chrysler's history, and we also kept information of use to people who owned antique and classic Chrysler cars. I got a call one day from a guy who wanted to know what size engine his 1969 Dodge SuperBee had originally been equipped with. You can tell from the vehicle identification number--the fifth digit indicates the engine. But his VIN had an M in that spot, and he couldn't find anything that told what the M meant. He really wanted to know if his car had had a 440-6 Pack high performance engine; that would make it more rare and valuable. This was a question I had gotten a lot, so I knew the answer off the top of my head. I told him that the M stood for "special order", and for a 1969 Dodge SuperBee, that would indicate the 440-6 Pack, as that was the only engine that could be special ordered for that particular car. The guy was thrilled and went on and on about how great I was and how helpful and how I had made his day, etc. I was feeling pretty pleased with myself, until the guy just had to add, "You sure know a lot about this stuff--for a woman." Ass!

Hee, no I had no idea y'all were wondering what my office is like. Hildy and Daria nailed the environs. We do have exposed brick walls and lots of windows. Typical architecture office. But we do have two women Daria. Our marketing director and the administrative assistant (both of whom are two different types of wacky). We also had another female intern who probably couldn't even spell incompetent. And my boss is a 40-something, but really the only inept person we have now is the 70-year-old I was telling you (Daria)about before. We're all crazy though. I swear, our firm could be a sitcom. I've never seen the BBC Office, so I couldn't compare. But I got a million stories, y'all.

Oh, andHildy, I have actually worn flip-flops to the office a couple times on causal fridays and sometimes when I have to come in on a Saturday.

Well, I will start off with my porn name, it is either Fuzzy Bear Highland(dog) or Purr KittyHighland(cat, obviously=)). I am not sure which pet I had first. If I were to choose one I would go with the cat because she was female.

For people with unfortunate names. I can only think of one for now, Sandie Butts. Actually I think no matter how awesome your first name is, with a last name like Butts you just can't win. No offence meant to any Butts' out there.

As far as stupid conversations with people. I have one that happened just last week. I was at the grocery store in the check out line. It went like this:

Clerk: Hi, did you find everything alright?
Me: yep
Clerk: Good
(a few seconds go by as he rings things up. my kids in the meantime are asking for candy and of course calling me mommy)
Clerk then says: So, how are you doing, mommy? (in a disgusting baby tone)
me: (shoot to him a total WTF? look)
clerk: Oh, that was just my sense of humour
me: that's what you call it? (major eye roll) Ugh!

What!An! Idiot!

Your grocery cashiers talk to you? I can't even get a you're welcome after I've thanked them for giving me change, let alone a have a nice day or some semblence of human interaction.

Can't be any worse than when the guy at Tim Horton's fucked up my order three times (no, I want milk and sugar, not milk and cream you moron!!), looked at me oddly and then asked if I was cross-eyed.

To this day I regret not asking to speak to his manager.

My porn name is Cleo Cartright, I wish I had lived on a more interesting street! At least it has aliteration. You can all call me Sugartastic Deva Love though!

My boss & I were talking yesterday about the joys of annonymity & lack there of. One of the pleasures in NYC is that you can get you stuff done quickly & efficiently - although like ImissEthan, there are many times when a "you're welcome" would be appreciated after I say thank you.
Ahem, anyway, the friendly produce guy at the Vegetable Stand down the street began with the small talk - nice day, how about that weather, etc. Fine. Kosher. Swell. That's what I like for customer service - "nice weather," "we got great yellow peppers in," fine. Slowly but surely, over the last few months it's gotten a little flirtatious on his end - "Can I see some ID? You're too young to buy tomatoes!" (HA! and NO, creepy wants to know my address!), "Having a good weekend? Any plans?" and last week, "Are you Italian?" "Err, no, Polish." "Oh, beautiful women" (make your own jokes). And now he recognizes me off territory, like down the block, on the corner, etc & waves & screams hi to me. But the thing is, I live and work within a block of, well, house & work, so it's so convenient and cheap. Ick. Say "Isn't it humid?" in store, don't wave psychotically as I cross the street.

I can't even start with stupid questions at work, as the majority come from Stupidhead, my co-worker. One day she can publish her memoirs: "Stupidhead: Barely Functional Moron in the Big City."

I have long talks with my grocery cashiers! Not if there's anyone in line behind me, of course, but yeah, I do. I know one's life story, practically. She's just a friendly person. There was a customer who brought her silver jewelry after he went on a trip to Thailand -- he was just being nice, they don't have a "thing" going. I always fuss about how grateful I am that they make it in when there's been a big snow, and they say everyone else takes them for granted, etc. We almost had a grocery strike here like the one in California, so I started asking the clerks about it a couple of weeks before, and I ended up getting some pretty interesting inside stories from one who just happened to be the shop steward for her store.

Now, my neighborhood coffee shop? I'm treated as though I'm invisible, yet they're super-friendly to everyone else. This is something I do not understand. Anyway, I cut way back on caffeine when I cut out sugar and white flour, and quit going there.

I love the lady who works at the coffee shop I got to every morning. She totally knows my order so I don't even have to say anything. I just stand in line, she hands me my coffee, I give her the exact change, and I'm on my way. Throw in a couple pleasant "Good mornings" and a "thank you" from me and that's the extent of our conversation every day. I love it...polite, efficient and as little human contact as possible.

hee! Suga, I have the same glasses for my stuffed chimp that I made at Build-a-Bear.
I didn't come up with a cute "punny" name for him however, now I wish I had. Oliver sounds so pedestrian.

skagirl77, I'm sorry to hear about Creepy Produce Stand Guy. It's just the opposite for me. The produce manager at the large grocery store near my house is SO HOT. His name is Karl (Hi Karl!) and I shamelessly flirt with him whenever I can. Even when Mr. Duchess is with me shopping - I can't help myself. And Karl is always nice enough to flirt back. If I ever saw him outside of the supermarket environment without his apron on? I think I'd faint.

Any of you guys still caring about the Stanley Cup? Go Lightning! Go Flames!

I know exactly which Creepy Fruit Man the lovely and talented SkaGoddess is talking about (we live like 5 blocks apart), and he TOTALLY is skeevy. If I remember correctly, Ska and I went in there once, and he totally was all smarmily familiar. DUDE-- stick to the mangoes and keep your skanky mind to yourself!

My own personal version of C.F.M. is Creepy Housekeeping Guy. The guy who supervises our housekeeping people in my office (the ones who come "after hours" when I, of course, am still freaking working)-- he comes in every night and makes a specific point of stopping dead in his tracks as he walks by my office and giving me an icky ICKY sing-songy "Hiiiiiiii, [Insert My Name Heeeeeeeere]!" Then he stares straight at my chest for at least 15 seconds while asking me some inane question (No, I DON'T know when the heat wave will end, jackass!) before moving on. YUCK.

How about a steel cage match SkaBaby? C.F.M. versus C.H.G. Hopefully neither one of them will emerge, victorious or otherwise!

All over the steel cage match, dahling.

And to follow up the bizarre names, here's a rundown from MSN about celebs.

(and I don't fault Demi & Bruce for being all literaturey & shtuff, but Rumer ... damn.

When we lived outside DC, there was an Amish farmer's market Thursdays through Saturdays in Burtonsville, MD, where we'd go to get chicken (yummmm, chicken) and homemade sausages (yummmmmmm!) and our favorite, homemade dairy products, especially butter and cheese. Fresh curd cheese.....ah, the nectar of the gods! We'd have to ration ourselves; I think we would have eaten enough to make ourselves sick otherwise. I miss that place!!

I've had some weird coworkers in my time, but my dealing with idiots is confined right now to the folks at the Orleans Parish Civil District Court, who between them could not summon sufficient brainpower or I-give-a-shit to keep a fly buzzing around. It's not even funny, just maddening.

On a far more cheery note, Papa Tiger, while still technically laid off, has managed to get a month-long project from his company -- just two days before his last official day on the payroll, whew! -- that will at least buy him that much more time, plus of course income for the month of June! Plus he has a final interview for another job this afternoon, so please keep fingers, toes, and anything else you care to crossed. The stress levels around our house are just reaching INSANE proportions. Nobody wants to yell and scream, so we all bottle it all up. It ain't pretty, folks. At least he got to take it out on the idiots at corporate payroll the other day, which made him feel a LOT better! And I get to escape to the office all day. Thank heaven for office jobs!

HOw about a CNDN? (Creepy Next Door Neighboor). This guy, when he's outside, will call my dogs "baby" and I feel like he might be talking to me and it just squicks me out. He also hangs his underwear on the clothesline...and thats just gross.

I had a Creepy Bagel Guy instead of a Creepy Produce Stand Guy. I used to go to the same bagel place almost everyday and I did notice that there was the same guy helping me pretty often though I didn't really pay much attention. He wasn't greeby or slimy and I was generally clueless about being flirted with. But one day he gave me a package of cookies and it happened to be the same kind of cookies (Hit cookies) that I bought all the time at home. So I was really confused and thought I had left them there and he was returning them to me. I pretty much embarrassed the hell out of the poor lad by making him explain in great detail why he was giving me cookies. OK, so maybe he wasn't creepy. I did flee and find a different lunch joint.

On the cookie note, Daria G has inspired me to make some changes to my diet. I baked a cake yesterday for my husband's birthday. My first cake from scratch. Anyhow, by the time I'd licked cake batter and frosting galore, I felt kinda ill after eating the actual cake. I made him take the rest of it to work and today I'm going to do some research into cutting out sugar and we'll see where it goes. So thanks and let me know if you have any tips.

We have what I think is Delightful Local Store Guy. He's older, and he sings show tunes and blasts big band music on Sunday mornings (We frequently make maple syrup trips on Sun. AM, so I know), and he gives free pretzels to my kids and carries the bags to the car for me when I have my hands full already. Plus, if you buy more than 5 lbs of bananas he will sing 'Yes, we have no bananas" for the edificatoin of the entire store, which is either good or bad, depending on your mood. Now it helps that this is a family-run business, and everybody knows this guy, and he's generally beloved. To a stranger, I can see how this might be construed as creepy.
I'm trying to eat sensibly, too. Stupid college reunion.

Surly, I was trying to find a specific article online for you, but I stumbled across this instead. It's not exactly what I've been doing, but it's close and it makes sense to me.

The only thing I disagreed with was the characterization of some of the "fad" diets. I did not follow the Atkins diet, but I did read the book before rejecting it. Anyone (like their "expert") who says it doesn't include vegetables hasn't even read the first chapter. It includes lots and lots of vegetables. That's just in the name of accuracy; I have my own issues with it, but to say it doesn't include vegetables is wrong.

Cicada update from me. I saw my first live cicada today. It was really cool looking and with big red eyes. Apparently they are all around my babysitter's house and the kids catch them to play with. I also heard them, or a fleet of alien vessels from a 50's movie were landing in the neighborhood. Also cool.

pseudostudent I bet my mom is going to ALA, I should ask her. She's retired now, but I don't think she's missed one in 25 years, and since she lives in Orlando why would she miss this one? I have fond memories of her going as a child because she would come home loaded with all the freebies they handed out and we all loved it. I am sure she loved to go if only to get away from a houseful of kids for a few days.

I had seriously Creepy Taxi Driver once a few years back -- as I fell into his cab out of the pouring rain, soaking wet because I was on crutches and couldn't balance an umbrella, he greeted me with, "Hello, my love!" And it went downhill from there. He was driving around downtown DC with both hands off the steering wheel, gesticulating wildly, turned around 180 degrees to face me to tell me about how he was going to go see this lady after he dropped me off and make several thousand dollars doing something I dared not ask what. I finally had to tell him, "I know you're excited to make all that money, but please, get me back to my office ALIVE first!" That was the cab ride from hell. Thank heavens it was only once!

Omigod, the Burtonsville Amish Market is one of my favorite places in the world!
Whenever I'm back in DC I try to make a trip with my mom who makes the trip twice a month for various goodies for her catering business.
You forgot to mention the mouth-watering delicious pretzels Mama Tiger. I could eat my weight in their buttery warm goodness. And dipping the pretzels in the homemade honey-mustard that they sell? Heaven.
Okay, now I'm really freakin' hungry.

Wow I love this conversation. It's my mission to talk to as few people as possible most days, most work days anyway. There are enough stupid colleagues and "clients" calling in that I don't want to waste my tolerance on morning conversation when i pick up my coffee and bagel. My boyfriend claims I hate people. I don't think I do, all the time anyway. Since I moved, i have not had to deal with Creepy Men in my stores (*yet*). But there are plenty of Creepy Men where I work though, who give me the eye scan (up, down, up, down) daily now that I am in Spring wear. And believe me, I am not about to wear anything revealing or too tight in the testosterone/estrogen heaven of the high school I work in.

Wow, MamaTiger and DuchessKitty. With all this talk about Mennonite shops and Amish markets, now I have to drive down to Lancaster County this weekend and go to the Amish market in Intercourse. (Yes, there really is a town called Intercourse in Pennsylvania. It's near Blue Ball.) I'm in the mood to get some shoofly pie and pretzels and pickles and sausage and scrapple and birch beer and potato filling, etc. Hmmmmmm. Maybe I'll have to talk to DariaG next week about that sugarless diet.

Oh, EW.

*fights college-in-NC flashbacks*

Thanks Daria. My sister is having a lot of luck with the SB diet, so there is more inspiration. Though our farmer's market is starting up here and while we don't have shoofly pie (!!--is that pretty much brown sugar in a pie crust?), I have a hard time passing the kettle corn guy by.

ETA: I guess it's fitting that I hit "Couch Potato" status as I contemplate the size of my ass...

Now, now, whereverthefk. What do you have against scrapple? Or as we call it around here, "the other gray meat". My brother once came to visit me from Michigan, and we went out to breakfast at a local diner. He saw scrapple on the menu and asked me what it was. I hemmed and hawed for a few minutes and finally said, "Well, the first syllable is scrap. Yeah, that pretty much says it all. It's the scraps left over when the hog is butchered." For some reason, he chose not to order it.

ETA: Yeah, SurlyBooty. You just described shoofly pie pretty well.

I've got Creepy Security Guard Guy myself. The one who is supposed to do the rounds in the evening (I'm not sure exactly what his job description actually entails, but for some reason he thinks it requires actually stopping at my office to chat regularly, even though I'm clearly busy (If I'm still there at 9 p.m., It should be obvious that I've got work to do!), and has even, on more than one occassion, "followed" me rather than going in his originally pre-determined direction - Like, I'll get on the elevator at 25 (my floor) and he'll be in there already with the button for the lobby pushed. I'll push 22 to go to the cafeteria, and he'll then proceed to get off at 22 instead trying to talk to me.

Eek. My 2 worst cab experiences were: 1. the guy who asked if I minded if he smoked pot while driving and 2. the (unattractive) guy who, when he pulled up to my place at the end of the ride, was like, "So can we fuck?"

In happier news, I'm now officially a NYC apartment leasing agent! I start June 7th. So everyone who doesn't live here, move here and rent from me!

I had the Creepy Parking Lot Attendant. If I was away on business for a few days or parked underground he'd ask me where I had been and why wasn't I parking there. Then he started asking where I worked and what I did and why I didn't come back to pick up my keys at exactly 5:00. THEN he said he would wait for me to come and pick them up even though he's supposed to leave at 5:00 and.... I never parked there again. Creepy stalker guy.

I had my own creepy stalker guy for a while, even though I never met him. I was working as an editor and staff writer at a national magazine and started getting letters from a guy in jail in Washington State. He had seen my name in the magazine and thought he was getting secret messages in code from the letters in my name. These messages apparently told him that I was his "destiny" and that we were meant to be together. Really scary stuff! I had to change my phone number and get it unlisted, and my mail was monitored at work for a while until the letters stopped. It turns out he was in jail awaiting trial because he had sent threatening letters to the governor of Washington, among others. The frustrating part of the whole thing was that I couldn't get any information about him from the jail or any official channels. Anything I found out came unofficially from a friendly police officer who had worked on his case. The police, prosecutor, and jail told me that they couldn't release any information about this stalker guy because they were protecting his rights. Frankly, I was a bit more concerned about my right not to be completely freaked out by him.

First, congrats Dodo!
Second, AHHHH! Bubbacat! AHHHH!
Third, Mama Tiger just described all of my cab rides in DC. The worst was when I went back last year, I had a severe allergic reaction to my friend's dog so at 2 am I had to go over to another friend's. Taxi was fine at first, and then took the behind the monuments tour from the Hill to Foggy Bottom (like A&6th NE to 20th & F)...which was CRAZY on so many levels. I lost my shit finally because I'm like, it's an emergency, get me there and I was scared that something was going to happen to me, like some fucking lifetime movie. No need to go behind Lincoln's ass and then up past the old Naval Hospital & Watergate and I've seen them all before & my head was the size of Ted Kennedy's. He tells me there's a lot of lights and I'm like it's 2 am! Ahhh...bad memories.

To chime in on the unusual name thing...

My husband's name is Bronce. It's an old family name... his great-great grandfather was the original, then he had a Jr (the second Bronce), and then they skipped two generations before naming my dear husband. I love the unusual name. We WILL have a Junior, I just love the name.

Me? Erin? Named after the ugly sister on The Waltons. Hand-on-a-Bible, that's how my parents named me. Gah.

My brother? James (after my uncle) Robert (after my Dad)... yep, he's Jim Bob. No, that wasn't intentional. Yes, it's frightening.

[OffTopic]
Tomorrow I have a job interview with the regional managers of [Insert Hoity-Toity Well-Known Pharmaceutical Company Here]. It's for a pharmaceutical sales job. I know it's nothing terribly glamorous, but I've really always wanted the job and I'm super psyched about it. I hate where I currently am, and even though they're promoting me and transferring me to Nashville, I don't want to stay here. So please, cross your fingers, say a quick prayer, do the 'finger snaps'...whatever it is that you do for good luck, because I'm sooooo excited and really want this job!

Heh. I can top that. My cousin is named Raegan, after the girl in the Exorcist!

[random off-topicness] I officially hate everyone in my office and want each and every one of them to DIE! [/r o-t]

Bubbacat, that is officially the freakiest one. Someone I used to work with (at my old office) had a similar problem - Our firm posted all of our photos/bios/contact info on their website, and a colleague started getting stalker-mail. To the point where the firm had to remove her bio, even though she still worked there. I think one month when they took a look at the site statistics, her bio had received about 1,000 times the number of hits of anyone else's. Freaky.

I did have a stalker in college (well really, a stalker-lite). He was sort of a friend who became obsessed with me. Must have asked me out about 10-12 times, would only speak to me when I didn't have a boyfriend, and then would show up at my door at random times (he didn't live in the dorms) with roses and such. Guy could not take a hint. I thought I had finally gotten rid of him when he transferred schools, only to come into work one morning about two years ago (mind you, I graduated from college 8 years ago) to find an e-mail at my work e-mail address from him. Now, I never give out my work e-mail to anyone outside of work (or super-close friends) - everyone else, including alumni directories, gets the yahoo/hotmail/mac/whatever account, which means that he had to do a google search to look for me specifically in order to get that kind of information. It freaked me out more than it probably should have. I mean, I've googled random people from my past to see what they're up to these days, but I generally don't start e-mailing them about how much I've missed them...

and erinjsnark, here's snaps to you! good luck with the job.

eta: on the name thing, my parents were the opposite. They went for simplicity, as well as names that could be easily shortened into sensible monosyllabic nicknames - I'm Sam(antha) and my brother is Jeff(rey). I think it was a pre-emptive strike against anyone else giving us stupid nicknames (my mom's name was Carla, and she hated the permutations people would come up with to try to give her a one-syllable nickname). My dad's name is Bob (Robert). None of us go by our full names these days.

I had my own version of creepy guy for quite a while. When I was the manager of a bookstore in the local mall, this older fella came in one night and started chatting me up. I thought he was just lonely...and listened to him way longer than I should have. His wife had cheated on him....he was sad....blah, blah, blah. But then he simply would not stop coming in. He'd come in every day to talk, it was like I was his freaking therapist. Well four years ago we closed the bookstore and I thought that was that.....but no....I ran into this guy the other day at the grocery store. Nevermind that it's been four years since I've talked to him....he was right back into it there in the produce section. When he asked where I was working now, I mumbled the University. Before he could ask me where, I excused myself and left the store very quickly. The last thing I need is this guy in my life again!

On a different note all together, I have the worst porn name ever. It would be BigBoy 143rd St. I didn't live on a street with a name vs a number until I was in high school. So if I used that street and the cat I had at the time it would be Midnight College....lame. I guess I'll just have to stick with my superfantastic pimp name Pimp Daddy Lola Love.

Regarding names, sometimes even seemingly normal choices can have unforeseen consequences. When my father was in high school, someone else with the same name became a famous college athlete. (That person went on to become a pro sports icon and is still a leading figure today.) Needless to say, eyebrows were raised and people couldn't help but make remarks anytime my father played sports.

It gets worse. When he named my brother, he had no way of knowing that a few years later someone with the same name would become a famous...well, "adult film actor."

So far I've been lucky (knock, knock)...

My stalker was one of my students. He used to call me up in the middle of the night, breathe heavily, and mumble threats into my answering machine. For some reason, he was convinced that I spent all my time and energy plotting to drive down his grades - when, believe me, he was earning the poor grades all by himself.

On the topic of creepy people in bookstores: I was once, honest to God, the target of a recruiting attempt by Moonies at my local Waldenbooks while I was in high school. There I was, innocently scoping out the Tarot books next to the Bibles in the religion section, when these two people dressed in suits started talking to me. They were in town for a convention for their church, they said, and did I want to go to one of their services? Politely trying to get rid of them, I asked them which church it was. When told "The Rev. Moon's Church of [whatever]," little small-town me freaked out and made tracks out the door.

Mine is not so much stalker-ish but very much cree.pee.

I am on the small staff of an all volunteer run review website for outdoor gear - kind of the consumer reports of outdoor gear. Because I volunteer my time, I naturally spend more time working on it than my full time paid job, but that's beside the point.

Anyways, I once wrote a review on a pair of sandals that got published on the web. To demonstrate the ickiness of hiking for days in sandals I had taken a picture of my feet after several days on the trail. Not attractive, but the picture made a point. A few months ago we were reviewing the web traffic stats on the site and saw a bunch of links coming in from a foot fetish porn site. Apparently someone on a message board there had linked to my 'sexy dirty feet' picture and people were getting off on it. Ew. Needless to say, I removed the picture from the report.

Hey here's some good news. At my company, we have been working heads-down for months on two software releases, both of which are way behind schedule. So at least week's CEO-reports meeting, I said I wished we could do something nice for everyone, like have a play day at the office.

Today? We turned off the file server (so no one can secretly work), put out sack lunches (for people who wanted to leave), brought several dogs and a hedgehog to the office, and are showing movies and having Mario Karts tournaments downstairs. We're gonna order pizza later.

Somedays, the world works right.

ETA that what I am doing with my free day is catching up on my badly-neglected TWoP reading!

I sympathize with your mother, sparky1. My name is Karla, too (with a K, though), which is actually the most common name in my family. My parents wanted to give us all family names, but we have a pretty old-fashioned (or maybe odd-fashioned) family. My sister's name is Teckla; she was named after my aunt and great-aunt. My brothers are Otto (after my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather) and Brandt (my mother's maiden name). When I was born, they went through all the girl's names in the family, but couldn't come up with any they liked. Which I appreciate, since those names included Rosella, Elsa, Edith, Pearl, and Fredericka. They thought about naming me Thea after my father's middle name (Theodore). They finally named me after my father's Uncle Karl. Guess I got off lucky.

My father hated his first name and his middle name. He forbade either one from being used for his descendants. (Think of Felix's roommate and Kraden's (The Honeymooners) first name, and you'll get the idea.)

I've won two "stupid co-worker" contests thanks to one of my co-workers. He managed to get hired without knowing how to do the job. How is people who don't have the skills can always fake them in the interview process? He did his job so poorly, that they had to hire me. (So, I guess I should be somewhat grateful for his ineptness and total inability to learn.) When I started there, he'd been at the job for about a year and a half and still hadn't mastered some of the most basic concepts. He's been gone for almost a year now and we are still running into the little shit-bombs of stupidity he's left behind. Let's pretend his name was Mark. Whenever something starts acting up, my boss and I look at each other and say, "Is this residual Markness?" My other name for him was "Stupid Boy" - I always wanted to start a website called "The Amazing Adventures of Stupid Boy" to which people could submit stories of their own "Stupid Boy" type encounters.

Example conversation when I was very new to the job:
"Hey, Mark. I was just reading through the medical coverage information. Have you tried the mail order prescription benefit?"

"No, what's that about."

"Well, it seems that if you order your meds by mail, you get 3 months for the price of one co-pay."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if your co-pay is $15, you can get 3 months worth of drugs for just one $15 co-pay."

"So, it's not a cost savings thing, it's a convenience thing."

???? "Well, you get two months free."

"But my co-pay is just $5. So three months would be $15 for me."

"Well, if your co-pay is $5, you'd only pay $5 for three months instead of $15."

"So, it's really just a convenience thing...because my co-pay is only $5."

(And...sorry to say this because I love many an MLS on this board, but he has an MLS. How he managed to get that, I'll never know.)

Oh, please do, Miri! We could play with it while the stupid boys at CBS decide what they're going to do about scheduling TAR. (I was already in a cranky mood today, Mr. Moonves. I did not need your assistance.)

As for Stupid Boy having a MLS, The Zzard had to fire a guy (we'll call him Larry) with a law degree from Harvard, because he was completely inept. Fired from the US federal government, I might add, which takes massive ineptitude of the type seldom found in animals smarter than plankton. But the Stupid Boys of the world can get degrees sometimes. They just can't use them in any practical manner. Of course, I often thought of Larry during TAR3, especially when Heave failed to comprehend the meaning of the word "walk." I wonder how they do with words like "show up for work on time" and "don't use the company credit card on lingerie and parties." Oh, well. I digress.

Catching up:

Bubbacat, you win the creepy stalker contest.

Erin, good luck! Keeping digits crossed.

We do have our share of weird names in my family, because we come from (rural) Alabama and Tennesse and a lot of times it seems like they would just make things up. Like Dewrell (for a girl).

I have one of those last names that always gets remarked on because it is extremely unusual, so hopefully my kids will never have the problem of someone getting famous with the same name. But if someone does, they'll probably be related and then we can borrow money. Snerk.

As a holder of an MLS, I must say there were plenty of ditzes in my classes. Book smarts and common sense are two entirely different things. As the woman I used to work with at a small public library proves: she came in one day and told us the story of how she grabbed a nail polish bottle instead of her mascara. And didn't realize it until she had started on the second eye.

A) How is this even possible?
B) And if by some bizarre chance this did happen to you, would you tell anyone?

This is also the woman who was convinced that both of her daughters (now teenagers) had been switched at birth. Really. But she loved them anyway.