Bad Hare Day

Earlier this week I had a dream that a hot pink Easter Bunny strangled me on my front lawn while my mom photographed it.  This is not surprising since the concept is totally weird.

I stole this picture from a Facebook friend and cropped out her kids. (I did ask her first although she had no choice regardless.)

Not bad.   That costume is good enough to ignore the likelihood of him being a pedophile

Here's the only picture I have of my childhood with me and the Easter Bunny -

I'm surprised I didn't try canceling the entire holiday after this.

WTF is that?  I understand things modernize but I'm sure people knew what a rabbit looked like 25 years ago.  The sad thing is that my parents probably paid for me to attend this event.  I'm actually wearing a party dress. Sorry Mom and Dad but you dropped the ball on this one.  I think you missed the invitation's fine print where it clearly stated they would not guarantee a legitimate bunny.  (I'm 99% certain this guy made an appearance on "To Catch a Predator" since then.)

Maybe I just don't remember, but does the Easter Bunny even have a story?  The Santa logistics are solid (if you are good parent, capable of answering any question a child has) but what is this guy's deal?  At least Santa asks what you want for Christmas.  I highly doubt the Easter Bunny asks what you want in your basket. Does he even speak?  Truthfully, I'm not sure what would be more traumatic - a conversation with a giant talking rabbit or an uncomfortably silent 3 minutes in the clutches of a filthy theme park character?

Parents, give your kids a break if they run screaming through the mall to avoid spending time with him.  And if they question his authenticity, just hand them some jelly beans and pretend you didn't hear the question.

Courage...Confidence...Character?

Enough with the bullshit, Girl Scouts of America.  Do I really need your inspirational words on my cookie boxes?  Just say what you really mean....cash...cash....cash.  Or maybe just cardio, calories and cellulite in my case.

The cookie selling badge.  That image should be replaced with a giant dollar sign.  Or a pig on a treadmill.

I never felt confident or courageous in my horrible scout outfit, especially since it was the 80's and my mom cut my hair super short.  (It's shocking how much a 6 year old can look like David Bowie given the right amount of hairspray.)

Boy, things have changed in the world of developing America's youth.  Being a girl scout back in my day was like training for an Ironman Competition.  We didn't just sit in front of the grocery store selling cookies to people who just bought other cookies five minutes prior. I remember hustling around the neighborhood for weeks selling to neighbors.  My family didn't buy 400 boxes while I sat at home on my ass.  I actually SOLD cookies.  Apparently I sold enough to still remember not one but 2 former names of Samoas (Caramel Delites and Jubilee).  And nobody was afraid of  kidnapping or child molesters.   As long as I made money for their organization, they were totally comfortable having me ring doorbells in a skirt and thigh high socks.  

Yes, that's me.  A trend setter at the tender age of 6.  Only girl with brown socks.

Why was I walking over a wooden bridge while 5 other people watched?   Probably part of a giant obstacle course.  I bet that leader was using a stopwatch to time us all.  Slowest ones kicked out of the troop - can't risk losing out on cookie sales during peak season by sending out a fat kid or one with asthma.  

According to their website -

Q: Who can sell Girl Scout Cookies?
A: All girl members, including Girl Scout Daisies, may participate in the Girl Scout Cookie Activity. Although parents and Girl Scout adults may assist girls, it is the girl who closes the sale, sets learning and sales goals, and learns the entrepreneurial skills that are part of the program.

Really? I bought mine off a colleague's desk.  Her kids didn't even show up to hand them out and thank me for my contribution. 

Apparently each "Girl Scout troop will earn $.55 for every box of cookies the troop sells."   Troops decide together how to best use their proceeds from completing a community service project to taking a trip.

If I am ever a troop leader, it's not a group decision.  Top seller decides. Everyone else either comes along for the ride or stays home.  Bad enough every kid who plays tee ball these days gets a trophy, even if they suck and their team comes in last.


I will continue to support their cause simply because toasted coconut + chocolate + caramel = heaven
But they might be forced to hear stories about my days at Girl Scout camp before it had Wi-Fi.

To All the Girls I've Loved Before....

(No, I was never a lesbian.  Sorry to disappoint readers who assumed this would be a confession about my secret former life.)

I just realized Administrative Professionals Week is nearing.  Great time to reflect on the fact that my track record with coordinators/administrative assistants has been worse than Murphy Brown's.  And yes, I'm dating myself by mentioning a TV show from the 90s but it was one of my favorites.  And for those of you who are too young or lame (sorry to my UK friends who have no clue what the hell I'm talking about) to get the reference - Pee Wee Herman was her 76th secretary and turned out to be the best one.  Get my point?

If Pee Wee ever rode into my office on his big red bike and reported for duty, I'd probably be thrilled. Chances are it would have been a serious improvement from what I was dealing with. 

Frankly, I might even settle for this version of him.  Everybody makes mistakes.

I am not a snob nor do I currently have someone in that capacity.  But there have been times that my job required some coordination behind the scenes.  And when it has, I've typically shared that resource with a number of people equally as unfortunate as I was.

My last coordinator supported a fairly large group of people.  After she had a near mental breakdown in the office, I confiscated her badge and computer and sent her home (with instructions not to come back).  I had absolutely no authority to do this but figured I was doing the company a service.  Nobody ever thanked me but they probably just forgot to. She has not answered any of my texts since that week.  I hope she's okay.

The one before her was, shall I say seasoned?  Is that the politically correct term for someone too old to understand how voicemail works?  She told me it was too complicated to record an outgoing greeting "through the computer".  I'm not even sure what type of logic led her down that path but I guess it was no surprise.  Technology was not her best friend.  She had a folder in her email inbox titled "email".  Aren't they all emails?

This is the actual phone.  Not very confusing in my opinion.

During a conversation about my codeine cough medicine, she actually asked if I had ever been under the influence of a controlled substance.  At least she was thoughtful enough to suggest that I buy prunes because it might cause constipation.  Real bonding moment.

One thing about the two I just described - very nice people.  And I can usually tolerate nice and crazy.  It's the bitchy/crazy ones that I have no time for.  A while back someone told me she was not doing anything that didn't directly affect her life.  If that doesn't scream team player, I don't know what does.  I was bullied into nominating her for awards just for doing her normal day-to-day job.  It's not much different than giving my dog treats when she shits outside.

Another refused to pay any bills.  And her job was to pay bills, by the way.  Anything she was disinterested in dealing with was my responsibility because I made more money than her.  And that is not an assumption I am making.  She used those exact words once when I asked for her help.  I know my boss is reading this so it's a good time to point out that I agree with her logic.  (Hey, worth a shot.)

So to all you people with more than "adequate" level support staff - buy them a present or bake cookies between April 24-30 at the absolute minimum. And if they, like a special person I remember fondly, say they're above receiving a gift on that day,  just offer to buy lunch.  Then spit in it.