The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

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Self Assessment

Recently I completed writing my “self-assessment” for work. For this I have to give examples of how I met particular goals that I wrote for myself for the year. Some of the goals are really vague and pushed down from … yes it’s cliche, corporate.

Here are some items I wrote that I ended up deciding not to use, because they may not positively impact my performance rating.

1

Knock Knock.
Who’s there?
Integrity.

2

I am a self-motivated worker, who takes the time to help others to also become more self-motivated. How do I do this? I walk around in their shoes for a mile. Literally. For this reason, my best working relationships are with guys who wear shoes that are my size or bigger.

3

Work is often about trying innovative ideas and seeing what sticks. In the past year, I have tried a number of great ideas that didn’t pan out, but I think they planted seeds that will grow into trees. One example of an idea was to have everyone provide instant feedback in the form of saying, “upvote,” “downvote,” or “mute.” Some great things came out of that, like the very well-written memos talking about a culture of respect.

4

Am I doing well at my job? Yes. Do I ask myself questions just to answer them? Absolutely. Is this what led to my being on a “self-directed team of one”? That can’t be determined. Will I ever get an audience to present what I have been working on? Seriously, will I?

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Stupid Halloween Costume Ideas for … A Couple, With a Dog

Recently I saw my friend Barry at an awesome Houston event, Grown-Up Story Time. (People submit stories, other people read them, you drink a beer, you chill, you laugh, la la lovely.)

After the event, Barry informed me of her and her boyfriend’s Halloween costumes. She’s going to a party with the theme, “A Night in Tijuana” and their costumes will be that the boyfriend is a cowboy, and she is a giant pistol. They’re odd, which is why I like them.

I suggested, because I have a dumb sense of humor, that her dog be a giant shell from a gun. Her boyfriend could pick her up, pretend to shoot, and she would chuck the dog to the floor like a discarded shell. Brilliant addition to that plan, right?

I don’t have a boyfriend, or girlfriend, or dog, but I do have free time. So I took the liberty of informing Barry of other stupid Halloween costume ideas for the three of them. I’ll start with boring, and go quickly to weird …

The dog: A hot dog (clever)
Barry: Ketchup
The boyfriend: Mustard

The dog: A giant joint
Barry: Cheech
The boyfriend: Chong

The dog: Spiderman’s web spray
Barry: Mary Jane
The boyfriend: Spiderman (Just because it’s funny to me to picture him randomly tossing the dog as though he’s web slinging)

The dog: An orca
Barry: Free spirit activist
The boyfriend: A native American hunter

And to still have one with “classic” slutty Halloween costumes …

The Dog: Naughty bodily expulsion (Grosssss)
Barry: Naughty nurse
The Boyfriend: Naughty Doctor

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Armoire

I’m reading Wicked, by Gregory Maguire, and I am enjoying it so far. I enjoyed this little passage, which inspired today’s blog post.

“She has become addled. Ama Clutch, on occasion, gets confused as to what has Life and what doesn’t. She will sit and talk to, oh, say, a chair, and then relate its history back to us. Its aspirations, its reservations -”
“Its joys, its sorrows,” said Madame Morrible. “How truly novel. The emotional life of furniture. I never.”

Armoire

Ugh. This is ridiculous. Unbelievable. Just atrocious.

It’s my own fault, really. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up so high.

But then again, it makes perfect sense that I have high expectations. I was built in 1754 by a craftsman that has not seen his equal! Am I being over zealous in saying that? Perhaps. Perhaps. But then again, for the past six years I was surrounded by discarded Ikea furniture (gag me) in a forgotten about antique store in Payson, Arizona.

the worlds classiest furnitureThat would be like Frank Sinatra being holed up in Payson, Arizona, depriving the world of his talent. Oh, hey self, why Sinatra? Oh, gee, self, maybe because the stupid shop owner played the same Sinatra songs EVERY DAY. My God woman, do you have no short term memory? Three Coins in a Fountain is good, but please, for the love of my ornately carved self, cut out that music.

And then … and then well dressed man in his fifties appeared. He had immaculate taste. I could be subtle and leave it at that, but I won’t. He had immaculate taste: which is why he noticed me.

Two days later I’m in his home. Life is finally looking up. I kept daydreaming about the various treasures he would store in my storied, beautiful cabinet.

And then … and then … then came the tiny guns. These “Nerf” guns. Some “super soaker.” Abysmal. Tragic. Disgusting.

It made no sense. Why would this person, who clearly recognized my talents, be doing this? He knows better! He knows how beautiful I am.

Then I got it – I was some weird trophy dedicated to the word “kitsch.” I was kitsch, personified. I was here as a joke. The nail was really hammered into the coffin the first time he hosted a party after having “decorated” me (I shudder to use that word considering what he’s using me for).the worlds classiest gun

Someone said, “wow! What a beautiful armoire!” (I admit, I had been waiting to hear this. I was very delighted when the words were finally spoken.)

“Oh,” the host said casually, opening the cabinet doors to display the gaudy toy guns inside, “you mean my armoire-y?”

The laughter. Oh, the laughter.

I hate this man.

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