Re: Ode to Joan Holloway.

When people ask me what I do for a living, I'm fairly coy about the subject. Sometimes I tell them I'm a writer, which is a lie, because I can't live off my writing. Occasionally, I go so far as to say I work in marketing, but then I change the subject. It's very hard for me to admit I'm an Office Manager. In fact, it's pretty embarrassing for me...or rather it was...until I fell in love with Joan Holloway.

Joan Holloway is that amazingly gorgeous, snarky, confident Office Manager with the ridiculous knock-out curves, and stunning red hair at Sterling Cooper. I'll admit Don Draper definitely gets my knickers in a twist, but it's Joan Holloway whom I adore most. She's the femme fatale head minion of all the silly secretaries who are just working in the hopes of landing a husband (oh, the early '60's!). Granted, the era in which Mad Men takes place doesn't allow Joan to fully flourish, but can you imagine the force Joan Holloway would be if Mad Men were taking place in 2009?! 

Despite the weather, I went out last night. I was celebrating successfully beating a couple of mild misdemeanor type offenses after an evening of debauchery back in May with former coworker and favorite NYC partner in crime, Swede. My celebrating last night was interrupted when my friend and I were approached by a lovely lad and his equally lovely friend. When one of the lovelies asked me what I did for a living, I actually said: I'm an Office Manager. 

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I told the truth to a handsome stranger...and why? Because Joan Holloway makes being an Office Manager hot...her snug sheath dresses, her strut, her hips, and the glorious way she can level any man or woman with her gaze...Joan is a gd inspiration!

Joan Holloway has breathed new life into the lowly position of Office Manager...thank you, Joan. I heart you.

xo. Mandy.

(please note my martini and fancy hat above, courtesy of AMC)

Re: I Heart R2-D2.

I'm not sure of the exact dimensions of a United States mailbox. I know it's shorter than me, and has always sort of reminded me of R2-D2. In fact, when I saw those R2-D2 wrapped mailboxes for the 30th anniversary of Star Wars a couple years ago, I all but had to physically restrain myself from wrapping my arms around everyone I saw and trying to pull it out of the sidewalk so I could lug it home with me.

So when I sigh and roll my eyes when you people pile your personal mail on the outgoing mail pile, it's not a disdain for having to drop by these lovely little mailboxes. Instead, my rolling eyes stem from two simple facts:

A) there's a mailbox right downstairs on the corner of Prince, so the offensive laziness on your part actually makes me want to throw up in my mouth a wee bit;

B) your abhorrent disregard for the size of the mailbox combined with your offensive laziness makes me want to kick babies.

For the last time: 24 x 30 inch packages are not going to fit in the mailbox! So quit "sneaking" them onto my desk when I'm not there...I'm NEVER going to take it, because it doesn't fit. The fact that I hate you has NOTHING to do with it! So quit stomping your feet and shouting "BUT WHY?" whenever I tell you this fact...I don't know why! I didn't invent mailboxes...it's just how things are!

The next time someone drops a too-large package on my desk to go in the regular mail, I'm going to take it with me...but I promise it will never make it past the garbage chute by the freight elevator...

Do I make myself clear?

Mandy vs. Crazy Lady Who Thinks She Called a Hotel.

Me: Hello, ____ Promotions.

Crazy Lady: Hello there. I'm wondering how late you will keep my room open. I'll be in the city around 6pm, but I want to go to dinner first. So I probably won't be checking in until around 9pm. Will you still have my room available?

Me: I'm sorry, but I think you've dialed the wrong number.

Crazy Lady: Oh, is this not reservations? Please transfer me to the front desk.

Me: No, I mean you must have completely mis-dialed. You've reached a marketing company in New York City.

Crazy Lady: What do you mean? I know the number I dialed. Please transfer me to the front desk.

Me: You're not understanding me...this is the front desk, but we're a company...I'm assuming you want a hotel...

Crazy Lady: Listen to me, you're being very rude. I know what number I dialed! I'd like to speak to your supervisor.

Me: No...for the last time, you dialed the wrong number! And if anyone is being rude, it's you.

Crazy Lady: This isn't 212-------?

Me: No, it's not...it's not even close.

Crazy Lady: Well, I guess I owe you an apology.

Me: Yes, you do...but unfortunately, I'm not accepting apologies today.

(hangs up the phone)

Re: Neatly Stacking Empty Boxes 101: Part Two

Wow.

I'm going to assume it was the word "paramount" that threw the majority of you for a loop. I sent that email out about what to do with empty boxes and less than two hours later several boxes are strewn in the middle of the shipping room yet again?! It's like some of you are so stupid, you should be studied by scientists.

My apologies for using a word that you didn't understand. It was wrong of me to think any of you have a reading level higher than a third grader. It won't happen again.

The next time I see boxes that aren't under the table in the shipping room, I'm going to drag them down the hall and pile them up in the bathroom. It's gonna be a real pain in the ass to crawl over a stack of empty boxes the next time you need to pee or throw up your lunch.

Thanks.

Re: Neatly Stacking Empty Boxes 101.

EVERYONE!

On average, we get anywhere between ten and twenty packages a day delivered to the office. I distribute those packages, because if I didn't most of you would sit on your asses and call UPS to question their whereabouts because getting up off your ass to check the shipping room (rather apropos name, isn't it?) for them is a concept that most of you haven't been able to grasp (kinda like replacing the toilet paper when you use the last piece).

I'm not sure how many times I've had to address the issue regarding the placement of empty boxes in the shipping room, but I'm pretty sure it's well in the double digits. I know it might seem strange to some of you that leaving empty boxes in the middle of the shipping room is rude behavior, because you suck so much at life that you're unable to see outside your sad world, but it is. In order for the shipping room to be used effectively, it's paramount that all empty boxes are neatly stacked under the table in the shipping room. You see, when you neatly stack something and put it under something else, it then means it's out of the way. When things are out of the way, work becomes more efficient. It's really as simple as 1+1=2, isn't it?

Great. Thanks.

Re: Turkey with Legs.

I realize you are all super duper busy with pedicures and babies and weekends in the Hamptons and yoga classes for your dogs and shopping for swimsuits that don't flatter your figures at Bergdorf's...however, I need you to focus yourselves over here for a second:

The refrigerator and I just spent some quality time together (oh, it's so wrong to have a meaningful relationship with something that plugs into a wall?), and we've made some changes. This means that when you're looking for that rock hard bagel tomorrow morning, it probably won't be there...that goes for the deli turkey that had a May expiration date, the low-fat cottage cheese that soured on up in April and several other things that are a mystery to me...

Yadda yadda yadda...I know you're all sooo busy being sooo fabulous, but please try to remember what food you have in the fridge and what nastiness could potentially being growing on it. Honestly, I never knew turkey could look like that and now I'm scarred forever.

xo.Mandy.

Stupid Coworker's Quote of the Day.

Coworker Karen: Did you go back to the doctor yet about your bronchitis?

Me: No.

Coworker Karen: You do realize that you can get pneumonia, right?

Me: No.

Coworker Karen: Well you can.

Me: Yeah, maybe if I'm 80 years old...

Coworker Karen: No! Even at your age...don't come crying to me when you're on your deathbed with pneumonia.

Me: I won't.

Coworker Karen: And just so you know, I think it would be really selfish of you to die before I can lose this baby weight and fit into a great dress for your funeral.

Me: Dude, it will be a long drawn out dying process...I won't die until October or November...so you have plenty of time to get into a nice dress.

Coworker Karen: Well, that's nice of you to prolong your dying...

Re: Fresh Ink.

There are certain things in this life I will never understand, like:

What is bologna actually made of?

Why is Zooey Deschanel not my BFF?

What purpose does Howie Mandel serve in the grand scheme of things?

How many more times is TBS going to play Music and Lyrics this month?

Why, oh why, would someone take a used printer ink cartridge, stick it back in the box, tape it up, put it in the supply closet and try to pass it off as new?

People, this is the fifth time this has happened: a printer runs out of ink, I go to retrieve a "new" cartridge and it's not new, it's empty and used up like a dirty toothless whore. So what if that analogy doesn't make sense...I'm pissed, so I'll say what I want!

When a cartridge is empty, it's not a shameful thing like having sex with your first cousin or voting for George W. Bush twice, it's actually just a fact of life...like breathing...one just can't avoid it. Please, the next time you run out of ink, don't try to hide the fact by taping it up and hiding it amongst the new toners, either properly dispose of it, or give it to me. You people are so fucking weird!

xo.Mandy.

Obnoxious Use of Inter-Office Message Pal.

Mandy: Tina, please note that I'm compiling a list of people in the office whom I'd never like to speak to again. I will print out a copy, give it to you, then you can tell these people to refrain from speaking to me.

Intern Tina: Okay.

Mandy: Also, is there any coffee back there? I may need you to make me a cup as I'm quite busy up here now that I'm working on this list. You know how I take it.

Intern Tina: Sure.

Mandy: Tina, you seem to be placating me. Is it safe to assume you are not understanding my dire need to work on this list and put it into effect ASAP?

Intern Tina: What's placating?

Mandy: Please refer to m-w.com. Again, I'm really busy working on this list and really can't give you definitions at the moment.

Intern Tina: Okay.

Mandy: Tina, when you don't cater to my needs, it gives me a complex.

Intern Tina: What do u mean?

Mandy: Tina, on a scale from one to ten, how pretty do you think I am?

Intern Tina: Listen to urself - u sound crazeeee.

Mandy: Tina, I'm ending this conversation now. You've not only given me a complex, but you can't spell.

Intern Tina: I'm not giving u a complex. omg. your soooo weird.

Mandy: We're in a fight 4eva...

Stupid Coworker's Quote(s) of the Day.

As I’m walking through the front door first thing this morning, with my iPod headphones still in my ears:

Stupid Coworker W: Did UPS come yet?

Me: I don’t know - I just got here.

Stupid Coworker W: Well, if UPS had gotten here and I got a package, you would’ve given it to me, right?

Me: If I were here and I saw a package with your name on it, yes, I would give it to you…

Stupid Coworker W: Because I’m expecting something.

Me: That’s nice.

(ten minutes later)

Stupid Coworker W: Did I get a package from UPS?

Me: No.

Stupid Coworker W: I just checked the UPS website – it said my package is out for delivery.

Me: Okay.

Stupid Coworker W: So that means it’s on its way?

Me: Yes, one would assume that would mean it's "out for delivery."

Stupid Coworker W: Now when a package comes in with my name on it, you’ll give it to me, right?

Me: W, what else would I possibly do with it? Seriously…you think I’m going to throw it out or something? Maybe stash it under my desk for fun or sell it on the street to make some extra cash?

Stupid Coworker W: Haha. No, I just want to make sure I get it.

Me: Well, if you keep asking me, your chances of ever getting it are going to decrease...just so you know.

Stupid Coworker W: Huh?

Me: Whatever. When it gets here, I'll give it to you, okay?

Re: The Soul Patch.

I’ve been assured by most of you in the office that my idea of beauty is wrong. My penchant for starving artists in perfectly snug jeans is wrong. My love affair with unwashed hair, and ironic facial hair is wrong, too. Oh, and it’s wrong to fall in love with alcoholics…who knew?

I have met most of your significant others on several occasions, but sadly, when they come into the office to visit you or drop off something, I have no idea who belongs to whom – that’s how much all your boyfriends and husbands look the same to me…they’re all 5’4” clones of each other as far as I'm concerned.  (Not including Laura’s fiancé, who looks like a friendly bear cub, for whom I actually need to make a mix CD.)

But despite all this, I have to admit I was shocked at the way you guys fell over yourselves in the presence of today’s vendor. Not just one, but several of you, told me the vendor was the best-looking guy you’d ever seen. Seriously? EVER?! Like better-looking than that Brad Pitt who all the girls are crazy about!? One particular coworker took off her engagement ring for the meeting and flirted shamelessly with the vendor.

The fella was probably 29 or 30, and average height; he had dark brown hair and one of those wretched soul patches that was never cool, FYI. He wore a generic Ralph Lauren Polo knock-off button down (which I'm sure was hiding a puka necklace and a tribal arm band tattoo) that was tucked into his khaki pleated pants…yeah, fucking pleated…my dad doesn’t even wear pleats. He had dark hair, a tan and teeth…I don’t even think they were perfect teeth at that.  His eyebrows practically met in between his eyes, and I’m pretty sure he had a limp…which probably means one of his legs is longer than the other. AND, if all that weren’t enough, he was almost an hour late! You really want to date a guy who’s going to make you sit around in your f.s. party dress for a whole hour before he shows up? Probably not.

As I told Ali, I think you all have the worst taste in men EVER in the history of the world…there I said it. Now you can no longer make fun of my taste in boys…even if he is the indie rock-listening kid in the cardboard box on Houston…at least he doesn’t have a soul patch and a fucking puka necklace. ’Nuff said.  

Re: In the Closet.

People!

It's July 10th. We haven't had coat type weather in almost three months, yet our closet is full of winter coats and jackets; and for reasons I can't comprehend, a plethora of fleece jackets, too. Fleece jackets are something I see in abundance when I head out west to visit my sister. In fact my sister, her husband and her son all own several fleece jackets a piece by Patagonia (The North Face is for sallies, she tells me). My sister refers to these fleece jackets of hers, as "bear suits." I have one, as well, but I keep it in Colorado, and I refer to it as my "ugly house-coat." 

I guess what I'm getting at is I'm surprised by the fleece jacket situation in the office closet. I don't even know the last time I saw a fleece jacket on someone in New York...oh, wait, yeah I do, it was a couple years ago: a frumpy woman asked me for directions, and she was not only sporting a fleece jacket, but a scrunchie and white socks with sandals, too. After I gave her directions, she practically took out two innocent hipsters as she was too busy to look up from her map of the city...yes, that was the last time.

I'm not going to ask to whom these fleece get-ups belong...I'm not even going to guess, because frankly, I can't picture any of you wearing one...OMG...I just complimented you guys. Either way, if you have any clothing in the closet, please remove it ASAP. Whatever is still there on Monday will be donated to charities here in the city. However, the fleece jackets will be packed up and shipped out to a charity in Utah, of course.

Thanks in advance.

Bisous,

Mandy.

Stupid Coworker's Quote of the Day.

Ali and I are discussing our 4th of July when Alex walks by my desk in a skin-tight, low-cut dress...

Me: Look at you walkin' around in your scantily clad-ness, Alex!

Alex: What does that mean?

Ali: Yeah, what does that mean? I've used it before, but I don't know what it means.

Me: It basically means she's dressed like a tramp...

Re: Pretty in Pink.

This day is so awesome so far! My sunburn is still in full effect, so I took a cab to work for the second time this week, because walking on these sunburned legs, is quite an effort...not to mention my low tolerance for pain.

Then I hit up the coffee cart out front of my office building to score myself my usual large iced coffee, when I was confronted by a person who reminded me why I don't like people so much. I stood in front of the cart patiently waiting for my coffee, when Shit for Brains stepped in front of me. "Sir, Sir, Sir, Sir, Sir, Sir," he said repeatedly like an annoying child trying to get its mother's attention, "Sir, Sir - I'm in a rush and need to pay for this juice now."

The coffee cart man ignored him, as I was clearly there first and my order was the priority of the moment. So again, "Sir, Sir, Sir, Sir! Please, just take this five and give me back my change - I'm in a rush!" yelled Shit for Brains.

"Oh, I guess you're the only one in a rush, huh?" I asked him.

I'm always surprised when people who are acting douchy seem surprised when their douchiness is pointed out to them. Shit for Brains looked somewhat shocked: "Yeah, I am the only that's in a rush," he said. Okay, first of all the pronoun in this case is "who" and not "that" unless of course he was acknowledging the fact that he's more of an "it" than a "person" - which would be good for him...because admitting it is half the battle.

Shit for Brains then grabbed a straw, bit off the end and let the paper (read: trash) fall to the sidewalk. "Oh, that's nice...you litter too," I said to him. At this point, Shit for Brains just stared at me with his mouth agape. I half expected him to call me a "bitch" or a "cunt" or something else equally unoriginal. I had flashbacks to that scene in Pretty in Pink when Molly Ringwald's character puts James Spader's character in his place and he quips, "You're a bitch. You know, you should really see a doctor about that condition of yours..." but no, Shit for Brains just stared at me. I immediately recognized the stare as one that was supposed to be intimidating, and had he been even remotely attractive or worthwhile, I might have been mildly intimidated, but the portly fella in his cargo shorts and Nikes just didn't scare me.

The coffee cart man finally gave Shit for Brains his change so the round puff could finally leave...he was in a rush after all. Before he left, Shit for Brains looked at me again, "You have a blessed day," he said.

I couldn't believe he was bringing God into this before noon on a Tuesday! "Yeah, I'm sure Jesus is a big fan of you," I said. After he left, I picked up his trash and threw it out. I paid for my iced coffee, scratched my sunburned legs and headed into the office building.

Yeah, this day is gonna be awesome...

Re: Wear Sunscreen.

It was a rough weekend. The vacation I took in NH wasn't quite up to par courtesy of Mother Nature. Next I caused a public breakdown of an old college acquaintance when I submitted his silly Facebook updates about his kids to STFU, Parents - I submitted them two months ago, but he just discovered them. Drama ensued, as things do with this particular fella. By the time all was said and done, I had agonized over the situation for a total of 28 hours out of my life, and we were no longer Facebook friends. Oh no! And to think I had a crush on this boy for like two years or something in college, all because he had the most extensive knowledge of music of any human being I had ever known. However, that was 12 years ago, and in those 12 years I've managed to find others (2, actually) who rival his vast music intelligence, and in doing so I have been able to quell my need to have deliciously picky music snobs in my life.

When the sun finally came out on Saturday, I made a beeline to the beach, sans sunblock, so I could make up for the last several days that had rained on my parade. Now, as I sit here writing this, I'm softly wincing at the pain I'm experiencing on my ass and legs after I dosed off in the sand. One would think I would've learned after a lifetime of sunburns, some of which that actually blistered, to smother myself in sunscreen, but no...I am a person who does not learn from her mistakes...

Another example of this was when I reached for a box cutter in the shipping room this morning and sliced open my hand...yet again. The blood was hard to decipher from my bright red sunburned hand, but since I was in even more pain than just seconds before the incident and there was blood all over the table, I was able to deduce what had happened. So perhaps I did weigh the pros and cons of suicide this morning so I wouldn't have to come into work today, but since I'm here, this means I opted against killing myself...today anyway. 

On one hand I'm glad the box cutters have been returned by whoever stole them weeks ago, but on the other hand, I'm kind of annoyed that no one thinks to not only close the cutters' blades, but also put the blade side down in the canister. I mean, I know I don't have a ton of fans in the office, but this is the third time I've almost sliced and diced my hand off since being hired last August. 

So let's try really, really hard to handle and put the box cutters away responsibly, okay? If I did end up being offed by a box cutter slice up, at least I'll get to relish in the fact that one of you would get nailed for manslaughter...food for thought...

xo.Mandy.