I am exhausted. I am also at work. This is not a good combination for No Homicide February.
I currently have a houseguest from back home who I'm delighted to have stay with me, apart from his sonorous nocturnal vocalizations. The following is a true list of the voiced onomatopoeia I interpreted last night while waiting for the police to arrive with a noise complaint:
-Engine of a Hummer
-Macaque, in heat
-Gibbon, post-coital (touché)
-Major General, modern
-Dehydrated marathon runner, no Gatorade
-Korean making a toast (This one wasn't snoring but rather a shouting of "Spich!")
-Olympic torch hydraulic malfunction (topical!)
-14 year old girl in labour
-60 year old man in labour
-Shredder (villain, not office machine)
-Call to prayer
-Ritual circumcision (possibly related?)
-A Magic Bullet
So while I was thrilled to have a live rendition of Planet Earth playing itself out at 4am, I am a might cranky here at work.
Now, I believe in ardent professionalism both on the job and on the blog. I recognize that speaking ill of one's supervisors or colleagues in a secretive but public forum could have detrimental results to my livelihood. As stated in previous blogs, I find questions or comments relating to a person's private life (no, being gay doesn't cause me like pink file folders*) to be completely inappropriate. For example, I would never go around asking a colleague the reasons behind vehemence towards personal hygiene, specifically laundry and bodily cleansing. That she smells of no name laundry detergent and four day old body odour is just none of my business. Nor would I ever describe how her likening my frequent misplacement of my LV wallet to her losing the Bluetooth headset her husband gave her for Christmas in a T.G.I. Friday's smacks of so many racial stereotypes that I'm tempted to nominate her for next year's NCAPP Image Awards (deadline was Feb 1st). I do not kowtow to their 1950's-era perception of gender roles or of suburban family units, no matter that upon hearing my colleague proddingly say, "Men are such babies," it takes every fibre in my being not to give her a huge smile and respond that they also make great daddies. And then write about it. I'm just not that kind of blogger, people. The state of their finances (age 37 + employed husband w/ 3 kids + still renting = you're doing it* wrong) is none of my concern. What they choose to do with their lives outside of work (Playstation with their children, getting a part-time job at Additional Elle for the employee discount, not bathing) is so beyond the realm of appropriate blog topics that no matter how awkwardly hilarious they are to me, I would never use this hallowed blog to air someone's dirty laundry. Even though someone really should. Do laundry. For serious.