The Cultural Diversity of Potatoes

Today was one of those days at work where the most positive thing I can say is at least I looked pretty while doing it. Such a long day. The left side of my face was paralyzed with a cement block of mucus. The Xerox was in a coma, and I needed to use it, but I was in heels so I didn't really mind the inconvenience of not standing there waiting for it to churn out a 200-paged report. I made a co-worker/friend cry when I started talking about our pets dying, even though I was totally misting up, too, she made me seem all mean. Trust me, our pets will live forever; so there is no reason to get so worked up over the thought of their death, because that is just a LIE. Maybe I'm so cranky because for the most part, I actually had to work today. I even had to make some phone calls and make friendly talk with people. My skin tenses at these memories. I even had to do some physical labor that made sweat pool on my upper lip and forced me to take off my jacket. I used a dolly and dragged 4 boxes down 3 flights in the freight elevator. The whole thing must have looked ridiculous since the dolly went to my chin, and the whole thing obviously weighed more than me. And we were told it would be paperless open enrollment--how are 4 boxes of benefits booklets PAPERLESS?

This morning I spent 1.5 hours in "Cultural Diversity" training. I've had this instructor before, and she's a funny gal who has a penchant for 6" platform heels and dyed brassy orange hair. Really, the only thing that detracts from her serious spunk is her god-awful southern accent. The ways she can torment short words is amazing. She stretches them until they are unsprung. She obviously relishes her way with words. My meds must be working, since I barely squirmed through the whole thing, except when she was discussing things that I felt had strayed outside of being aware of cultural diversity and straight in to hippie bullshit. You know, how we are all the same because we all just want to be loved, so don't practice avoidance behavior, because that person you don't like, she's a person, too. I thought of Twit, and felt that she really is no different than that poo streak Whoopis left on the bathroom floor the other day. That way, she is not just a person needing love, too. She did assure us it is ok to dislike people, but we still have to be nice and make them feel loved. I call some serious bullshit on that. I made sure to spend a few minutes imagining disemboweling Twit with some letter openers I have in a plastic cup on my desk. That was pretty satisfying and I was able to make eye contact with the people on my team, and do some fun team exercises on making up stories about potatoes. Because even though all potatoes just want to be loved, they are also all different with their own stories. I did not take my potato home. I felt his life could go on without me. That will be his story, My Life Without Grumples.