Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Passover passed over

What is it about funerals that draws the Baby Boomers out of the woodwork? Where they are concerned, they loves them a good funeral! And the more they can attend, the happier they are. I've noticed this particularly with lawyer Baby Boomers. They don't even care if the dead person's someone they know. They're showing up, business cards at the ready, and aiming to chase that ambulance (or hearse, as the case may be) as far as their slimy little feet will take them.





Gilligan comes in this morning all a-flutter trying to tell me something in that mumbling way of his, far too excited to enunciate properly. I had to ask him three times to repeat what he was trying to say. What sounded like, "Imgoongzoozimzdadsfunnerillevvennn" turned out to actually be, "I'm going to Jim's dad's funeral at 11."





Well, why didn't you say so?





I've been to two 'official' funerals in my life (I say 'official' because one was really more a wake, held in our high school at the death of a fellow student). Having made it to just over the age of 40, I'm happy to say that I'm not a funeral veteran by any stretch of the imagination, though giving the eulogy at one probably earned me more cred than I desire. With any luck, those two will be the only ones I have ever attended, however unlikely this may be. For the record, I plan on being more than fashionably late for my own funeral, and even then, for the record, I do not want a funeral. Instead, I expect everyone to drink, laugh and share their funny stories - all in copious degree.

Friday, October 29, 2010

Raised in a barn

A long-standing pet peeve of mine is anyone who can't properly latch a door or, in this case, a drawer, closed. I feel that the way they leave something hanging open or ajar is really a metaphor for their non-committal attitudes toward life in general (also a major pet peeve). Gilligan continually does this and honestly, I don't think he's smart enough to be doing it on purpose, but rather he is genuinely that inconsiderate and obtuse.

G: Will we get registration on the Smith* file today?

L: (Blank stare.)

G: Has it been submitted for registration?

L: (Blank stare.)

G: It's just that they want to close the deal as soon as possible and...

L: Close that drawer.

G: (Scrambling) Oh, sorry...

L: You were saying...?

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

"C" is for Cookie, "J" is for Jam




So…after the offering of cookies this morning, this afternoon, a client walks in with jars of homemade jam which Gilligan then passes onto me. I tried to get him to keep all of them, but he insisted on ‘spreading the wealth’. Siiiiiiiigh. Am I really that much of a deity, or diva, as the case may be? If so, y’all need to tell me ‘cause I was not previously aware that I gave off the impression that I could be bought-off so cheaply.


Even if I cannot avoid the offerings, I think I should still try to up my game. Not saying I can't be bought, it's just going to take much, much more is all.


And in case you were wondering who would win the Death Match between the Cookie Monster and Keebler Elves, I took the liberty of researching same and invite you to follow this link:


Etiquette 101

[For the purposes of this blog, my employer shall be referred to as "Gilligan". As necessary, all other names are also pseudonyms to protect the insulted.]

Gilligan: I went to the bank and there was this lady there. I asked her when she was due.

Knowing I will regret asking, but my curiosity for the morbid gets the better of me...

Lisa: And...?

Gilligan: She's not.

Cookie Goddess...or Monster?

There are days when my life at work feels like some kind of weird and only vaguely funny sitcom. Today is already one of those days. After a brief but not uncommon verbal altercation with my employer yesterday afternoon, he came in this morning bearing cookies, claiming he'd stayed up all night baking them just for me. While I appreciate the gesture, it's a shame only one of us realizes if he'd just let me do my job in the first place, he wouldn't have to make these vain attempts to appease my nature by bringing me baked goods.