This and Thats

Broke as a Joke

V-Shaped Mortgage Banker Will is still remodeling his house. He stayed with his mom for one night, but he felt so bad that she was waking up at four in the morning to serve him coffee with cream that he ended up taking his family to a hotel. At this point, he has spent more money on the hotel stay than his new floors. I was worried that if I told y’all that you’d think he has tons of money and doesn’t need your business. I voiced my concerns to him. Turns out we don’t have to worry about that because now that Will has lived at the Omni Hotel for five nights in a row, he’s broke! Enjoy those new hardwoods, buddy.

Bullying Training

Our new guy, Britt, has big career plans. But for now, he’s just here so that Jason and Hayley can bully him teach him the ropes of mortgages by giving him lots of work to do and scolding him when he completes it. I tried asking Britt about his new haircut and Jason and Hayley went berserk telling me “Britt is busy! Leave him alone!” I don’t know when these people are going to learn that I don’t listen to them.

Britt’s hair before:

Britt's Hair Before

Britt’s hair after:

Britt's New Hair

Britt’s bullies co-workers:

Bullies

Chewing the Fat

Straight Shooter Shane thinks he’s fat. He saw a picture of himself at the Save the Blog party and went into a mild depression. (For the record, the dude is totally not fat.) Anyway, he just spent seven minutes in front of the break room refrigerator with the door open, scowling at the fruit and lunch meat. Always helpful, I pushed him out of the way and pointed out exactly what he can eat. “You can have those strawberries, any of those carrots, one piece of bread but only the whole wheat kind and – ”

“I can have that yogurt at the bottom,” he offered.

“Nope. No dairy.”

“What!? What’s wrong with dairy?!” Dude was about to lose it.

“You cut out dairy for a month and you tell me how you feel. That’s all I’m saying.”

“ROAR!”

Okay he didn’t really roar, but he was close, I tell you. He then proceeded to make a cheese sandwich and then went back to answering the phone and talking about loans.

Shane's Cheese Sandwich

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle…Everything

Our processor Nikki is about to lose it. She asked us all to start recycling about a month ago and the Bosses even bought her a recycling bin. Boy are we recycling now. We recycle everything. Spinach? Yep. Hummus? Yep. Paper bags? Nah, we put those in the trash. Pickle jars with the juice still in them? You got it! Nikki is now spending half of her days rummaging through our recycling bin to sort out the moldy raspberries from the canned goods. But last week James gave her a corner office with a view so she really can’t complain.

recycling

Alright readers, I’m off to ask for my own corner office (the cube I’m sitting in now has ants. Seriously.) Oh, and before I go, I have 94 subscribers (famous bloggers have thousands, millions even). Please subscribe on the right and con five of your friends into doing the same so that I can use that to convince the Bosses I deserve an insect-free cube.

 

Schemes

Our wonderful maintenance man Juan is here fixing our broken lights today. I guess the Bosses had been trying to save money by making us all work in the dark for a while, but enough is enough, people. Online Dater Mortgage Banker Jason Bates is trying to loiter underneath Juan in hopes of having a drill dropped on his head so he can sue the building. “Then we’d change the name of this place from Midtown Plaza to Bates Plaza!” Jason hissed as he tried to weasel his way beneath Juan’s ladder.

Jason and Juan

A few people have been asking me if the ole Bosses were really going to take me down had I not delivered 50 readers to the Save the Blog party. Even my brother thought I was going to get fired. I have to say, I think it would have been totally hilarious if only 49 of you showed up, and then the Bosses could have dramatically pulled the plug on my laptop and shooed me out of the bar. Then y’all could have booed me and threw your free beers at my back as I slunk to my car…

But y’all, come on. Isn’t it obvious who runs this show? (That would be me.) I’ve got these ole Bosses eating out of my hand. I say jump and they say, well, they say something to the extent of “I seriously can’t believe you’re still here. Did you ever figure out how to use the copy machine?” And I’m like, “Not really.”

Speaking of jumping, the Bosses took us on a bowling excursion last week (most of us jumped up and down upon not landing gutter balls). Some of us handled ourselves nicely. Some drank shots of tequila upon arrival. I’m not saying who’s who.

Below, Spanish-Speaking Richard (he also speaks English, by the way) after nailing three pins. I don’t know why he always wears a nametag, but he’s so nice I feel like I shouldn’t make fun of him even though the nametag thing is a make-fun-of-worthy characteristic:

Richard

Online Dater Jason tried to teach Sandra to bowl. I think Sandra is better off ignoring Jason.

Pick up that Ball

But I can't see

Throw it!

Straight-Shooter Shane ended up winning. I can’t say we’re not nervous about Shane having yet another reason to gloat.

Shane the Winner

The bowling deal was spun as a team-building gig. Team building my eye, I say. An hour into it, the ole Boss Chad pulled me aside, in a bowling alley, to tell me how he didn’t like one of my recent posts. I squinted my eyes at him and asked, “Why are you telling me this in a bowling alley? On a team building event. You sure aren’t very buildy, Chad.”

Just So John wasn’t at the bowling soiree (and good thing since Chad was so rude). Instead, he was lounging on a Hawaiian beach. He’s back now (in a Hawaiian shirt). Said Just So John: “Do you think it’d be too gross to put my sunburned belly in your newsletter?”

Yes, John. Yes it would. And it’s a blog, not a newsletter. Get back to your loans.

Just So Hawaiian John

Okay folks, I’m out of here before Jason gets hit by a screwdriver, Chad tries to “build me up” again, or Just So John tries to give me any more ideas for my newsletter.

Welcome Back, Gobe! (Kind of)

The ole Boss Chad is getting nervous (what’s new?) about the Save the Blog party (that y’all better come to or I swear I’ll lose it).

Ole Boss Chad: What if, like, 200 people show up?

Just the Assistant: Ha! That’s your problem, buddy. This wasn’t my idea. Ha! I hope I do get 200 people.

(I’m at forty but I didn’t mention that.)

He has other reasons to be nervous though. He’s about to lose one of his best mortgage bankers if he doesn’t pull out a vacuum and learn how to organize a bit better.

Here’s the thing. Hollywood Insider Gobe is back. Y’all might remember that Hollywood Gobe was pregnant a while back, and while she was busy giving birth and raising an infant, she took a few months off. Well, not only is she back, but she gets a big swanky office! (I think she closed like a thousand loans or something and it’s her reward).

Doesn’t that sound great? A nice office with a view of downtown? (A very distant view, mind you. We’re not rolling in the dough over here.) Hollywood Insider Gobe thought it was going to be great, too. She probably kissed her baby goodbye that first day back and whispered, “Mommy’s getting a swanky office! Now gimme some sugar!”

Too bad Gobe came back to a big old copy machine and an overgrown dead plant and about a dozen other pieces of crap (specifically a three-hole punch, this giant stapler, a stack of paper for the copier, four rolling chairs and an exercise ball) piled up in her “office.”

Oh, and the lights don’t work.

lights out

The ole Bosses made a big to-do of presenting it to her too, thanking her for her stellar performance, and she was like, “Um, thanks.”

The thing is, the ole Bosses had stuck the copy machine and anything else they didn’t know what to do with in Gobe’s new office while she was gone, thus turning her office into the copy room. Let me poll you all. Do you think it was a good idea or a bad idea for the ole Bosses to leave the copy machine and a bunch of other junk in their top producer’s new office once she came back? (Mind you, the reason Gobe got this office is because she does tons of business.)

Spanish-Speaking Richard enjoys the new resident in the copy room.

Hacienda las copias!

I managed to squeeze into Gobe’s new office to ask her a few questions:

Just the Assistant: Nice office, Gobe! How did you close so many loans last year?

HIG: I don’t know. I just worked.

JTA: Well that’s just fascinating, Gobe. Our readers will be thrilled, I swear.

HIG: I don’t know. I just worked and followed up with clients and got deals done on time?

JTA: Girl, you need to take some bragging classes from Online Dater Jason. So what’s your plan now that you’re back?

HIG: I’m just building up my business again. And I’m going to have a happy hour for my realtors in a couple of weeks.

[Realtors go nuts over this lady.]

JTA: That’s so fun! Realtors go nuts over you. They should send you leads to welcome you back! Okay, you get back to work and I’m going to make some copies, okay?

While Gobe gets back to work (in the dark), you all comment below and tell me you’re coming to my Save the Blog party. Now, off to screw something up to ensure the ole Bosses never “reward” me with my very own office.

Up Your Nose

The Bosses and the rest of the team threw a marketing event a couple of weeks ago. They rented out a movie theater (the kind where you get to eat dinner and act like a big shot while watching a movie) and played The Great Gatsby for all their referral partners. This event was a really big deal. We’re not a giant branch here with loads of money lying around (or at least I haven’t spotted it), so to rent out a whole theater was all the talk at the office. We even dressed up like gangsters and gangsters’ wives for it.

The next day, my ole Boss Chad got busy sending me frantic emails. “Are you going to write about the Gatsby event?” he asked. I wrote back, “Hadn’t planned on it, but you’re the boss.”

Later, he called me into his office and went bananas. “Of course I want you to write about it! It was the biggest marketing event we’ve ever done! Blah blah blah…”

Chad doesn’t get it. I told him, “People read this blog because they think it’s funny that Jason is an Online Dater and Nikki pilfers through the trash, they don’t read it to see pictures of our fancy events. That’s boring. We’re not like one of those socialite magazines.”

Oh, well don’t you know that just burned the Boss up. He squinted his eyes and glared at me, shaking his head. And then he said I had to write about it anyway. Pah!

I can’t win ‘em all, folks. Some highlights from our event…

My husband has a trick that he thinks is hilarious. Anytime he can get a hold of someone else’s camera, he likes to take a picture up his nose. He also likes to make his eyes look like a psycho-killer’s when he does this. Then after whatever party we’ve been at, the hosts will get a great surprise when they go to upload their pictures to Facebook and find a “Crazy Up the Nose Benson” shot waiting for them. He has done this at every gathering we’ve ever attended for the past twelve years.

Sometime during the Gatsby event, some poor soul spied my husband not doing anything useful. “Hey Benson, will you take over camera duty?” Always helpful, Benson took the camera.

Well, a few days ago, Front Desk Wonder Lady Christi sent an email out to the whole branch. “Here’s the pictures from Great Gatsby. Enjoy!” Today, I got around to looking at those pictures. Pictures that were sent to our whole branch.

Here are some shots taken BEFORE someone ignorantly gave the camera to my husband:

Oh look, normal pictures of people having a good time and winning giveaways…

great gatsby - andie and jason

Great Gatsby - Hayley

Great Gatsby - Winner

Great Gatsby Carol

Here is a picture taken AFTER my husband took over camera duty FOR MY COMPANY EVENT THAT HE’S NOT SUPPOSE TO ACT CRAZY AT:

Great Gatsby - Benson's Nose

And here are some pictures taken after I grabbed the camera out of my husband’s hands and gave it to someone else…

Notice the ticked off guy in the front? That’s Benson realizing that he can’t take anymore booger shots…

Great Gatsby - Benson

Here’s me and Sandra. Sandra is smiling because I haven’t started making fun of her on the blog yet.

Great Gatsby jta and sandra

Here is my evil ole Boss Chad who wants to take me down. Oh, and his wife. I don’t think she wants to take me down.

Great Gatsby Chad and Rachelle

Here’s my other mean ole Boss James.

Great Gatsby mc

Great Gatsby group

Great Gatsby group blooper

There were lots more people there, but unfortunately another one of my husband’s “hobbies” is taking up the nose shots of other people, so in efforts to not totally mortify those people, we’re going to have to leave them out.

By the way, I’m at 28 people for the Save the Blog event. I need 50. If y’all don’t come, I’m going to lose my job and I’ll end up starting my own blog about my cats, and then you won’t have anything funny to read and you’ll get totally depressed. Help a sister out! (Here are the details). RSVP below, or email me. Off to send an apology email to my entire team for the booger pictures on the shared drive.

 

Things Fall Apart (Seriously)

I came in the office today and walked directly over to Online Dater Jason to inquire about his love life. Instead of finding a smiling, noisy Jason like usual, I found a gloomy Jason all hunched over his desk wearing a visor and glasses (he doesn’t wear glasses). Here’s the thing. Jason woke up in the middle of the night with his allergies going haywire and eyes itching galore. Two hours later he woke again, scratching at his eyes like a wildcat. And this morning when he finally got up, the guy was nearly blind. “Jason,” I said, “I think our readers need to know what you’re going through.”

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“You above sympathy loans?” I offered.

Not above sympathy loans, after all.

Not above sympathy loans, after all.

That got me thinking, maybe I could play up everybody’s ailments here. I passed Hottest Mortgage Banker in Texas Hayley’s cube. “Got any ailments?”

She thought for a while, and then lit up. “I bumped my hand on the door!”

“Perfect!”

Please send us loans.

Please send us loans.

After seeing the attention everyone else was getting, V-Shaped Mortgage Banker Will offered to drum up a flesh wound by smashing his head into his desk.

Ailing Will

Okay, y’all, I’m not even kidding about this next part. As I was prancing around the office asking people for their ailments – “Anybody got any bursitis?” – the ole Boss James walked in. He’d been at the doctor. An orthopedic surgeon. And he was wearing this giant leg cast! I may have physically pushed Jason to the side when I saw James’ ailment. “Sorry Jason. You just got upstaged, buddy.”

Thankfully, James isn’t above trying to score a few sympathy mortgages either.

Help this man. Send mortgages.

Help this man. Send mortgages.

Turns out, James has been experiencing mystery foot pain that resembles, as he says, “someone shoving a knitting needle into my ankle.” (I’ve not had that experience so I’m not sure what’s going on with the ole feet.) He’ll be in the boot for three weeks, and after that, well, we really don’t know. I’ll keep you posted.

UPDATE

What the heck is going on? Y’all, I know I stretch stuff here, but I am not making this up. Just So John just showed up. Half his face is swollen – he just had a tooth pulled! He said the dentist offered him laughing gas for $130 but he said he’d rather buy a new mermaid shirt with that money because it’d make him happier in the long run.

Here’s John demonstrating how he can slap his face and not even feel it.

Help a guy out, y'all.

Vicodin rocks

UPDATE # 2

Jason is back from the optometrist. Poor guy has an ulcer. On his eyeball. Caused from contacts or something.

It’s official. Jason wins. Jason has the worst ailments. Send him the loans.

Okay readers,  please remember to tune in to 700AM in Houston tomorrow evening at 6:00 and listen for my breathing in the background of the finance show (because that’s cool, right? Listening to AM radio on Friday nights?).

Now, I’m out of here before one of my co-workers drops dead. Have a great weekend!

Why this Office is About to Brawl

‘Tis a double feature, dear readers…

Radio Star

Okay y’all, big news. While the rest of you will be spending your Friday evening sipping martinis at cool bars or watching movies on the sofa with popcorn in your laps or wandering around Ikea, you know where I’ll be? I’ll be on the radio.

Sort of.

Here’s the thing. One of the founders of our company, David Zugheri, apparently does this radio show on Friday evenings where he talks about money. I think people call in. I really don’t know because I haven’t gotten to a point in my life where I listen to AM radio on Friday nights. Well, guess who he invited to sit in on the radio show this Friday? Guess! Come on!

Me. ME!

Now, he hasn’t told me that I’ll get to say anything. I think he literally invited me to sit in a chair and listen to him give money advice on a Friday night on AM radio (which is kind of weird), but I’m just thinking maybe, maybe he’ll mention to the listeners that I’m there. And I’ll be like, “Hey listener(s)!” I’m not sure that there is over one listener. I’ll ask beforehand to ensure my greeting is accurate.

I’m fairly certain this means that after Friday, everything changes. Paparazzi knocking on my door, galas to attend, the whole deal.

Or it may just mean that I’ll be sitting in on an AM radio show on a Friday night. Either way, y’all should listen to see if I get/give a shout out! I mean, unless you’ve got other plans, which I hope you do because if I find out one of you sits around listening to this show Friday evening, I’m going to get totally depressed.

The scoop: This Friday, 6pm-8pm, radio station 700AM

Kitchen Slop

There is a stink going on in our office now about keeping the kitchen clean. About a month ago, the Bosses started keeping the fridge stocked with lunch foods so that we could all make turkey sandwiches throughout the day and laugh and have a grand old time. Since then, I’ve received roughly forty-two emails from various team members telling all the other team members that if they don’t start keeping the kitchen clean, there’s going to be a fight.

Here’s the first email. So it’s like this person is going ahead and saying upfront, “Hey – it ain’t me slopping up the kitchen.”

“Also, moving forward…any glass, mug, utensil, etc. that you personally use, please make sure to rinse off & put in the dish washer immediately after use.  No items should be left in the sink or utensils left in any jars in water in the sink.  They tend to sit in the sink & then have a very non pleasant smell the next day or over the weekend.  It is not fun for anyone to clean up…YUCK!”

Then came this email a week later. This dude’s like, “I’m not the slob either and I’m about to lose it!”

“The kitchen is becoming a source of real irritation for ME.  On a daily basis I hear from someone in the office about how gross it is because no one seems to know how to pick up after themselves.

I am counting on everyone in this office to do their part and pick up after themselves.  When someone recognizes the dishwasher is full of clean dishes then please empty it so we can then fill it with dirty dishes.”

Then I did some sleuthing. I asked everyone, “Who makes the messes?” In hushed tones they told me; it’s the ole Boss James. I confronted him via email. Here is his response:

“I am definitely not the mess maker.  First, I recycle my coffee cup and use the same one for most of the week [Just the Assistant note: Gross].  Second, I had lunch outside the office yesterday [Just the Assistant note: I didn’t say that all the messes happened yesterday, now did I?].  Third, do you have any idea how many dishes I clean outside of this place???!!!!  I could do the tiny quantity of dishes this place generates while I’m in my sleep [Just the Assistant note: Seems like a good reason not to want to do them at work.].”

Then I wrote back and was all, “They all say it’s you.”

And he got all crazy defensive and was like,

“LIES!  The most I do is dirty a knife and occasionally put a glass in the sink.”

Hmm. Did y’all know I read sociology-type books all the time? And did you know I recently read one about criminals and they said criminals will eventually admit to “some” guilt but not the whole “I’m the murderer” guilt? But if they admit to some guilt, they’re probably the murderer. Bam. James is the mess maker.

Alright folks, you go ahead and set your radios (do people have radios anymore?) to 700AM in preparation for Friday night, and I’m off to make a sandwich and blame the mess on James.

Birds, Dog, a Horse, and My Co-workers

I may have caused a bit of a mini-panic to settle itself on my Houston readers concerning the dead birds falling from the trees outside our office. Y’all are so touchy, I swear. Listen, at this point, nobody in the office is running a fever, and our front desk receptionist, Christi, even exercised for the first time in her life yesterday (I made her go on a walk with me and you would have thought it was the SEALs training),  thus proving that all our lung capacities are still optimally running.

Here’s what’s happened since Thursday. The Humane Society finally showed up and took “samples” (dead birds) with them to run some tests. After they left, birds kept on dropping, and Juan, our awesome building maintenance man, had to run out and scoop them up as they fell. But then Juan had to go run an errand, and for two hours the birds piled up. Otis watched nervously from his post inside the building and directed visitors around the “samples.”

Meanwhile, until Otis hears back from the Humane Society, he’s busy trying to find out what’s up by frantically searching the Internet, which worries me because I don’t want Homeland Security tracking his searches and thinking he’s a lunatic. Hey Homeland – Otis is a really great guy! I swear!

Enough of the bird debacle. This week I’m working on writing bios for the team for some website we’re going to have (why this website isn’t enough for us, I do not know). I’ve been pulling the mortgage bankers into a conference room and asking them all their hopes and dreams. Here are the highlights:

  • When I asked Richard about his dog, he abruptly got up to go fetch his phone to show me pictures. On his way back to the conference room from his desk (like, four feet away) he was so engrossed in the dog pictures that he passed the conference room and walked into some random office. I was like, “Richard! Hey Richard I’m in here!” Dude loves his dog. He also loves everything else about life and I’m having a hard time coming up with a snarky nickname for him. More on that later.
  • When I sent Straight Shooter Shane the rough draft of his bio, which included the phrase “frat house” because he used to be in a creepy fraternity, he actually wrote back: It’s never a “frat house” always a fraternity lodge or house…. Otherwise, I love it! That’s so weird. It’s just so weird. What is a “lodge” anyway? Lodge. It sounds like throat lozenge. I asked him if he still wears his letterman’s jacket, and he frowned and gave me some lip about not having a class ring. And he still won’t show me the secret frat house (d’ya hear that!?) handshake. Also, I have changed his name to Straight Shooter Shane because the guy totally tells clients what’s up. Not a coddler, that Shane.
  • V-Shaped Mortgage Banker Will, forgetting it was an interview for a professional bio, ended up telling me some horrible story about a horse getting killed (he didn’t kill it). Y’all, come on. I’m trying to bring you business here. Don’t go telling me about the night an axe murderer broke into your house.
  • In Just So John‘s interview, he told me about a loan he did for a transgendered person, and Just So John had to file all this paperwork to prove that his client was one person and not two people since the guy/girl’s W-2s from one year said Bill and the next year said Veronica. And you thought you had a tricky loan?

Oh, and by the way, apparently nobody listened to me last week when I said to get a loan somewhere else, because our business is exploding this week. Two borrowers in the past hour have called Online Dater Mortgage Banker Jason asking for loans, and I know this because he’s all, “BOOM!” and singing and giving people high fives. (Dude loves mortgages.) Then he made a big sandwich to celebrate.

That must've been one big loan...

That must’ve been one big loan…

Alright folks, I promise I’ll let you know as soon as we hear from the Humane Society. While you all be on the lookout for falling parakeets, I’m off to edit these bios and try to make this group of people with whom I work appear fairly normal. Wish me luck.

The Office Stink(s)

I’m kind of wishing I’d gotten my flu shot now. I walk in our building today and Otis, our beloved front door man, stops me. “I think I’ve got something for your blog. The birds.” Then he points outside and I’m thinking, Sorry Otis. You’ve got to give me something better than bird watching, pal. I smiled politely and nodded, about to walk away, and then Otis tells me more. “They’re falling from the trees and dying.”

“What!?” I asked, shifting my laptop bag from one shoulder to the other.

“You want to see them?” Otis offered.

“No! What are you talking about, Otis? Are the birds flying into the building? Because you know I’ve seen stuff like that happen.”

Thankfully, Otis is a patient man. “They’re just dropping from the trees. I called the Humane Society, but they just said to leave a message. Health Department’s here now though,” he said, pointing out the back door of the building toward a truck.

Then he pointed out front, indicating a woman in a business skirt and heels. “See those wings at that lady’s shoes?”

Oh my gosh. I might throw up.

Y’all, there are dead birds falling from the tree outside our building. I thanked Otis for the scoop and told him we’d check back in with him later to find out if we’re all about to catch bird flu or whatnot. (If this picture shows up small and crooked, refresh your page, because I worked for like an hour on this. My janky blog site has been making my pictures small for some reason, but it’s important you fully understand the bird situation.)

Dead Birds

Then I come in to find out one of our processors (Colorado-Bound Nikki (she’s constantly threatening to move back to her home state of Colorado)) has been pilfering through the mortgage bankers’ trash cans to retrieve any recyclables. I’m not making this up. She got so tired of asking everyone to place empty cans in her cube (she takes them home to recycle) that she gave up and began garbage diving. Next thing you know she’s going to tie herself to the dead bird tree outside in some sort of green protest.

Y’all, I know the grand purpose of this blog is to make you all fall in love with us and eventually get mortgages, but today is just not a good day. Don’t call. Don’t fill out a loan app. Don’t email. I don’t care how low interest rates are. Just don’t do it. Stay home. Enjoy your apartment. Lay out by the pool. Call the crappy Big Box Bank if you want a loan. Things are too bananas here for guests.

Alright readers, you all go get a shoddy loan from somewhere else, and I’m off to rent a Hazmat suit (and then give it to Nikki to recycle when I’m done).

Underwear, Boobs, and a Robbery

My husband and I moved into our new home last week. On our first night there, after hauling boxes up stairs all day and making four failed attempts at assembling a bed together and generally pushing our marriage to the limits of what is considered bliss (turns out, we’re going to make it), it was finally time to go to sleep (on a mattress on the floor since we couldn’t figure out the bed). Then we held pillows over our ears and harrumphed through the night as one of the cats paced the hallways of our gorgeous new home loudly mourning the loss of our old house. The next morning I awoke to my husband with a towel around his waist rummaging through the suitcases scattered on the floor. “Hey hon, have you seen my underwear?” he asked.

I scratched my head and thought back to the previous day. Packed the teapot? Check. Packed the dog food? Check. Packed water bottles and scarves and frozen peas and our wedding album? Check. I packed the whole house.

Except for his underwear.

We’d left our old house the day before empty, save for a small bathroom drawer that contained a neat stack of folded undies.

“Uh, I thought you packed your underwear.” Thought I’d try the ole “it’s all your fault” trick.

“No, I didn’t pack them. I guess they’re still in that drawer at the old house?”

“Um. Mm hmm.”

I didn’t have the heart to ask what my husband’s plan was, whether he was going to wear dirty undies or none at all or try to make a pair of mine work. All I know is that he went to work, and I drove to the old house and found the underwear.

So that’s the news on my personal life. Now, on to office scoop.

It’s Just So John’s and Richard’s (I haven’t nicknamed Richard yet) birthdays this week, and some title company brought in like a whole birthday party for them:

John and Richard and The Mermaid

I’d like to remind that title company that my own birthday is August 24th and I’ll be delighted to take some flowers and candies off their hands at that time.

I asked Richard (on the left) how old he’ll be and he proudly told me 50. “Hey! What a great birthday!” I said. Richard is a nice guy and I’m glad he’s been around 50 years. Then I asked Just So John how old he will be and he mouthed out his birthday number (which was his nice way of warning me not to splash his age across the whole internet (43ish)).

Hold up. I just realized John’s shirt has a mermaid on it with shells over her boobs.

Mermaid Boobs

I don’t even know what to say about that. If you get a mortgage with him, please inquire about it and let me know.

Other office scoop: Hottest Mortgage Banker in Texas Hayley witnessed a robbery last night! Oh yes she did. She heard a noise in the night, peered out her window, and watched some dude with a long beard pilfering in her neighbor’s car and putting things into a sack. And then get this. The neighbor had apparently left a drink in the cup holder, and as the thief was stealing everything out of this guy’s car, he paused to take a drink. Out of an old stale Coke! What the what? While Hayley’s husband called the cops, Hayley pushed her own car’s alarm button to scare the crook off.

Well, you know what the crook did? Run away? you ask. Nope. Slowly walked away, and ever so slyly slipped behind a tree. Call the creepy police. That’s nuts! And you know what’s funny?  I got so freaked out and screechy when Hayley got to that part of the story that I didn’t even ask what happened next. And Hayley didn’t say. She just kept going, “Isn’t that creepy!?” and I kept going, “Oh my gosh, yes!” while we grabbed each other’s arms.

Finally, I had a meeting with my ole Boss Chad in which he acknowledged that it appears I will never make this blog what he wants it to be (he wants me to make it some stupid mortgage info haven that nobody will read). I thought he might be about to fire me, but instead he kind of shook his head in disappointment and walked away.

Finally, stay tuned later this week to meet another new guy, Shane. Shane thinks he can sass me. Shane thinks wrong, sucker.

If any of you would like to wish Richard and John a happy birthday, provide Hayley with a home security system, gift my husband some new underwear, or send your condolences to the ole Boss Chad, please comment below. I’m off to stick some duct tape over those mermaid’s boobs.

Peed Off

I had a panic attack yesterday, a real live panic attack. Between moving (into a large house I do not deserve), marriage (to a man who brags on my cooking to his co-workers and sometimes comes home with Anthropologie dresses as gifts) and writing (my dream job) I somehow ended up writhing on the couch yesterday clutching my chest and gasping for breath while my husband stood over me in his own panic asking, “Do we need to go to the hospital?!”

“My breath hole – it’s closing up!” I wheezed as the pain in my chest slid down and burrowed itself into my ribcage. We opted not to go the hospital, mostly because the thought of explaining my nerves to a doctor (“And we’re moving into this beautiful house, and I have to write this article…and life is just so hard…“) mortified me, so instead I tried violently cuddling my cat for a while since I’d heard pets lower anxiety.

I told my BFF about it this morning. She’s a therapist, and I’m telling you, having a therapist for a BFF is so handy. “It sounds like you had a panic attack,” she told me. I had thought I’d had a mini heart attack, so now a panic attack doesn’t sound too bad.

Speaking of problems, one of our new guys, John Frels, is having a particularly interesting conundrum that we need to discuss. See, John is a tidy guy who likes things just so (which is good for his clients – trust me, you want a mortgage banker who likes things just so).

Well, readers, things certainly have not been just so in the men’s bathroom on the fourth floor in our building, and John is peed off (get it?). Last week, Just So John strolled up to me holding out a sign he’d just printed.

John's Pee Note

Peed Off John

What is 5225 Katy Freeway coming to? First of all, a lady offices in the ladies’ room, and now this hoo hah in the men’s? I followed up with Just So John today to hear any developments.

Just the Assistant: Okay John, you hung the sign last week. What’s the scoop now?

Just So John: Oh, somebody took it down.

JTA: Took it down!? We’ve got to find whoever took it down!

JSJ: It was probably the Sprinkler!

JTA: Good point. What’s the “situation” in the bathroom now?

JSJ: Oh, a bit better.

JTA: Do you have a plan B?

JSJ: Not really because I don’t know who’s doing it. It could be a client or a visitor in the building.

JTA: Dude, it better not be a client. That’s gross.

JSJ: It is gross. At one point, I was just like, “Really?”

JTA: Totally. Don’t worry John. We will publicly shame him on the blog and maybe things will clear up. I don’t care if it is a client.

All together now – “Tsk tsk tsk. Hiss! Boo!”

Okay folks, you all have a lovely weekend. If you see the Sprinkler, slap him upside the head for us, will ya? But if you happen to see me over the weekend, slip me a Valium.

Off to pack the cat.