Because living with cats is not enough.

Due to an office re-model (loosely termed—more just a re-paint and a re-carpet; they saved the construction and new furniture for the executive floor), we are required to either work from home or on another floor for the next two weeks.  It’s rather exciting, actually: freedom from CCL for two blessed weeks!  When I informed her that she’d be working from home, her always-positive self said, “I won’t be able to.  Like my boss will let me.”  Her boss, whom I call “Cow” due to her cow-like attitudes and treatment of others, doesn’t exactly have a choice in the matter & I let CCL know this.  That didn’t deter her from finding a whole heap of other issues to complain about, which led to a rather interesting tid bit…

While telling me that her cats don’t like her working on a laptop (she imitated one of her cat’s voices and said they essentially say, “Mommy, play with me” when she’s trying to work), she explained last night’s scenario.  She said she was sitting on her couch and watching YouTube videos on her laptop when the one cat wouldn’t leave her alone.  She was just sure the cat was watching the YouTube videos too.  What exactly was she watching?  Videos of cats playing.  I’m not kidding.  She said she was sitting there with her cats on her while watching YouTube videos of cats playing.  If there were ever any doubt that she’s 100% CCL, this should remove that. 

Partying It Up CCL Style

I heart myself a good party…and so, apparently, does CCL.  For me, it’s all about friends, food and fun—and not necessarily in that order.  After today’s convo with CCL, I’ve learned all about what components constitute a party in her book...a keyboard, CPU, monitor and mouse.  And appetizers for yourself.  Yes, friends, it’s true: CCL loves a good party—as long as it’s a virtual party.

Today’s discussion brought back memories of a couple of years ago when she told me she’d be doing virtual trick-or-treating on Halloween.  I thought she was kidding.  But, no.  She took her avatar on a little trick-or-treat adventure in the avatar world she belongs to online.  For New Year’s, she did the same thing—and made her favorite appetizers for herself to enjoy.  So today when she overheard me confirming a catering order for mine & Doc’s big Christmas party this weekend, she made a beeline right to my desk to tell me that I’m putting in too much effort & instead just need to host a virtual Christmas party next year.  My first response: “None of my friends would come.”  And then I thought, “Wait. Did you seriously just consider the thought in the first place?!”  There is NOTHING worse than when you realize that CCL’s line of thinking is logical to you.  Because you know it isn’t to the rest of the world, thus making you just as crazy.

After hearing about how I should make all the same party foods, but for myself instead, and just invite everyone to join me online, I couldn’t have been more happy to see her walk away from my desk.  To me, her leaving me alone is a party in and of itself! 

Confession.

Gentle reader, try not to judge me for what you’re about to read.  It’s not one of my finer moments & I promise to change my shameful ways…maybe.

A few weeks back, CCL and I were in a discussion about the neighborhood in which we both happen to live.  It’s a very large community of about 3,000 homes, semi-detached homes, and townhouses.  It spans hundreds of acres & so to say we live in the same neighborhood is a relative term.  Each section of the development is broken into its own neighborhood set-up.  For instance, all townhomes are together & the bulk of the streets in that section all include the word “Stone” as part of their street name.  I believe that area is all known as the Stonewood section.  I don’t know what our area of the development is called, but I’m sure it has something to do with a lake, since most of the homes and streets surround the lake behind our house.  At any rate, that’s how the development is set up.  During our conversation, I learned that CCL in fact does live in the Stonewood section.  I knew she lived close to us, but I didn’t realize it was THAT close.  Stonewood backs up directly against the street one has to take to get to our street; theoretically, it was very possible that if one were to look out CCL’s back window, she could be looking down our street.  Creepy much?

So, I mentioned this to my partner, whom—in the interest of keeping anonymity on this blog—we shall call Doc.  Sure, I could be more creative than that, but it’ll be the easiest for me to remember moving forward.  Anyway, Doc and I were discussing that CCL may, in fact, be our neighbor.  I had told him earlier that evening that CCL would be off work the next day because she was going to the museum with her parents.  He asked why she would take the whole day off for that, so I had to explain that she doesn’t like to drive in the dark & that if she went after work, it’d be dark.  (Keep in mind, the art museum would be about five miles from CCL’s house.  And those five miles are all major roads or ones that take you through neighborhoods comprised of multi-million dollar homes.  It’s not like it takes her through the ghetto.)  He pointed out that she’d then be home (at the time of our conversation) because it was already dark.  That’s when it all went downhill.

We were headed out to do some shopping at about 8 pm, driving down our street towards the back of the Stonewood neighborhood.  That’s when Doc decided that we needed to find CCL’s house.  (Don’t forget: I warned you in the beginning to not judge me.  This would be the time to start that.)  So, rather than taking a left, he took a right & continued into the Stonewood section.  We were able to rule out the townhouses that face our neighborhood, as it turns out they have garages.  I knew that CCL has two parking spots, because she’d once told me about how a neighbor had a car parked next to her spot for about two weeks & didn’t ever move the car.  She watched it each night & all weekend, but it never moved and that stressed her out.  I don’t know as she appreciated my suggestion that the person could just be on vacation or that it’s a friend’s car that’s being parked there while they’re on vacation.  At one point—and this is key to what happened in our pursuit of CCL’s abode—she stated that she started parking in both of her parking spots so that no one else would park a car there and leave it.  (Personally, I’d do it just because I could & to protect my doors from being dinged, but hers was a much more paranoid reason.)

At any rate, we were driving along & eliminating roads based upon the existence of garages.  I was giving Doc the basic directions she had given me, but couldn’t exactly recall street names.  We started following my rough directions & once we got to a certain street, I shouted, “That’s it!  That’s the right name.”  So we headed down it, this street with no garages, and Doc said, “She drives a red Cavalier, right?”  I confirmed this.  He turned onto another street and as he was taking the split to the left, I saw a glimpse of a red car on our right, as he said, “That’s it!  A red Cavalier.”  I looked at where he was pointing and it wasn’t at the car I had caught a glimpse of, but was instead a two-door Cavalier.  CCL drives a four-door.  So, I said that I’d seen one to the right and couldn’t tell if it was a Cavalier or not because it was a last-second glimpse mid-turn.  At that point, our stalkerish ways kicked into overdrive.  We’d picked up the scent (mostly of cats) and we were running with it…

We headed back in the direction of the car I’d seen & as we got to it, we saw that it in fact was a red, four-door Cavalier.  However, I don’t know what CCL’s license plate is (don’t judge me for having the thought in the first place) and so as I was explaining that we couldn’t know for sure, it both hit us.  The car was parked in two spots.  That sealed the deal!  But it gets better.  As we were pulling away, I looked up at the front of her place & noted that her lights were on and her blinds were open in the front bedroom.  CCL doesn’t even have a voicemail greeting on her home answering machine (hello, 1980s) because she feels like her doing so will simply say, “I’m a single female.  Come attack me.”  (Her words, not mine.)  Having this view right into her place seemed most unsafe to me, considering her paranoia levels (and then I thought, “Oh, Lord.  I’m beginning to think like her.”), but as I was stating this, I saw it—the back of her head in front of her computer!  It was CCL!  Any small fraction of doubt was immediately eliminated, because I know the back of her head & I also know that she spends all of her time at home in online “reality” sites.  She has an avatar she uses consistently, whom she designed to look nothing like her & who has a name nothing like her own.  And, after some online relations, her avatar even got pregnant.  (Another story for another time.)  That led to my next statement to Doc: “Oh.  I bet she’s having online relations.  And we just saw.”  Doc said, “You had to go there, didn’t you?”  And we drove off.

It was a line I couldn’t retract from, sadly enough, but it was then that I had to remind him that it was, in fact, him that thought to even find her house in the first place.  Anything unsavory after that pales in comparison to that initial decision.  (I’m also confident that she has sought out our house, after telling her where we live.)

So…what do we do with this new-found knowledge of her home’s location?  I say we take her a plate of Christmas cookies!  Afterall, how else am I ever going to see the INSIDE of her house????

Rum Balls: The Aftermath

To follow-up on the last post RE: CCL’s rum balls, here’s what happened:

So we were all in the kitchen getting our individual desserts assembled and on the table, when the rum balls made their appearance.  CCL ended up doing something to thicken the dough enough to where the balls did hold a round shape.  She kept pushing them my direction, clearly expecting me to take one.  I, of course, did not.  Then, disaster struck—colleagues from another floor came in to get their dessert. 

This particular group is comprised of four girls I really like & have a good friendship with.  Obviously, I wanted to warn them, but CCL was standing right next to me.  As one person (we shall call her Jane) went to get one from the Tupperware tub CCL had put them in, she happened to look at me.  I gave her the “do not touch it” look and very tersely, yet in a very subtle way, shook my head so that CCL wouldn’t notice.  Jane was confused, so she grabbed one and put it on her plate.  CCL left the room & I explained that she probably doesn’t want to eat it.  She went to put it back, but then CCL came back into the room and she left it on her plate afterall.  I figured that was no big deal—she’d just end up throwing it away later & in the meantime, make CCL feel better that her food was being eaten.  (Even though CCL was telling every single person to not take them, as she wanted to take them home and eat them all later.  My thought on that: Why bother bringing them in then?!)

Well, my figuring of what Jane’s actions would be was incorrect.  As I was walking down a hallway, the four girls accosted me all at one time, asking me why on earth I didn’t tell them how horrible the rum balls would be.  I told them that I’d tried to warn Jane & figured she’d pass on the word.  Again, there I go assuming.  But, what’s even better is that—despite my warnings—Jane ate one too!  I said, “What were you thinking, woman?!  I told you not to eat it.  Ya’ll have to learn to trust me.  I will never lead you astray when it comes to food.”  They did a feeble repentance for having doubted me, but I’m going to say that suffering through the rum ball was enough of a penance & I’ve now forgiven their faith-lacking ways.

When I further explained to Jane as to why she wouldn’t want to have eaten that (I tried to spare her details the first time around as, despite my dislike for CCL, I don’t want to spread those bad feelings throughout the office.  People can make their own decisions as to whether or not they can deal with her; unfortunately most, however, can’t cope with her on a daily basis.), poor Jane about had a heart attack.  Something about me stating it was probably thickened through the use of cat hair, that CCL had to first clear the papers off the stove before beginning her cooking process and that CCL uses trails as a navigational means to get through the piles of stuff she has on her floors made Jane a little uneasy.  Nay, sick.  She screamed, “No. Take it back!  Take it back!”  I said, “No.  And had you listened to me & trusted my advice you wouldn’t be on the verge of hacking up a fur ball.  The woman has to use picnicking food nets over her own food to try to keep the cat hair out.”  (One can then imagine what happens to un-netted food in her kitchen as it cooks.)

It turns out that Jane & Friends were not the only ones to not care for the rum balls.  While we were all eating & conversing in the conference room, someone made a comment about them & that led to someone else commenting on how it was like an overwhelming fire ball in the side of their mouth.  Others started commenting too, until it was pointed out that CCL (who was in the room and listening to this) had made them.  Then there was silence.  However, I was internally chuckling at all of them.  Because I, dear friends, know what happens to food that is prepared in CCL-type homes. 

Afterall, I served as a missionary…eating dinner at the homes of various church members each night.  We had no control over who signed up to feed us & I will forever be marred by Easter 2003’s dinner…it led to that family permanently being dubbed “The Hairy Ham People”.  That should give you an idea of the meal & the consequences of them letting cats climb all over their kitchen...to the point they’d even let them eat out of the pots as food was being cooked.  They thought it was cute; I thought it was vomitous.  And ever since then, I run far, far, far from any CCL-prepared dish.  Unfortunately, my doubting, faith-less colleagues weren’t so wise.  Which reminds me: I must now pop up to their floor to make sure everyone survived the night…

Potlucking with CCL.

Many years ago (seven, to be exact) I started working at a bank.  The lady who was the trainer—we shall call her Pat—was a little eccentric, but not overly so.  Little did I know, she was a CCL.  I learned this when I started at the bank branch I was assigned to.  One of the other tellers told me that whenever there was a potluck, it was best to avoid anything Pat made.  I asked why.  She explained that she once borrowed a crock pot from Pat & that when she gave it to her, it was filthy.  And, what’s best, is that there was cat feces in the pot itself!  She said the house was disgusting and that there were cats everywhere, but she took it, cleaned it and then never used it.  At that moment, the images of that both scarred me and made me more aware of what potential dangers lurk out there at a potluck.  Ever since then, I have been very conscientious when attending potluck meals. 

One can imagine, then, that our office’s annual Thanksgiving potluck lunch is met with some trepidation when I consider that CCL will be providing a dish.  Typically, she just brings something in a sealed jar or a bag of something I know she just bought at the grocery store.  And I’m just fine eating those items.  It’s when she says she’s making something that I really become worried.  If it weren’t for the fact that she tells me over and over and over again what dish it is she’s making, I may just avoid the whole affair altogether as a precaution to not unknowingly stumble upon something that came from her kitchen. 

She has described her kitchen as being her home’s security system because there is no way anyone but her would know how to navigate their way through the trails she has on the floor, weaving through her piles of garbage.  Thus, if anyone were to open her back door and walk in, they would immediately be detected.  So it was not a surprise (at least to me) when earlier this week she told another colleague that she needed to clean all of the papers off her stove if she was going to make something for the potluck.  (The colleague’s reaction to the paper comment: “On the stove?!?!”)  On one hand, I feel as if I should accidentally knock her dish off the table, in an attempt to prevent the untimely death or severe illness of others; on the other hand, she is making rum balls & told me today she added too much rum to them, so I do know that the alcohol content is high & may have killed off any germs.  It’s such a dilemma, but I wasn’t worried about avoiding them myself…until she informed me that she made sure to not make them with nuts so that I could eat them.  I’ll instead have to remind her, should she question my not eating them, that I don’t drink alcohol and can’t stand the taste of it in anything.

Meanwhile, she debated multiple times today as to whether or not she should add more powdered sugar to them to try to reduce the liquid content and make them moldable into balls—or if she should just dump it into a pie pan, sprinkle it with powdered sugar and then let people scoop it out onto their plate as rum dough.  Doesn’t that just sound delicious?  Mmmm mmmm.  Heavenly. 

I’m just hoping she remembers to utilize the nets she bought specifically to try to keep the cat hair out of her food.  Afterall, no one enjoys a pile of rum dough plopped onto their plate with a hair ball in it…

Ummm...

Today's CCL quote got a total snort out of me (quickly muffled with my hand, so as to not let her hear me). 

While on the phone with a co-worker from another office: "Yeah, my heart's desire is to be a trophy wife."

Perhaps to Dale, Jr.?

Ew. With a capital Ew.

Greetings, neglected blog readers! 

It has been a busy, busy time, so I haven’t had much of a chance to share the latest CCL antics—but trust me, they have been a plenty!

Someone remind me later to tell you about her fantasy of slaughtering her parents.  In the meantime, I’m sharing today’s fun…

I should back up by stating that my intended plan each Monday is to come in to the office & as soon as she starts griping, I will cut her off & tell her I am tired of general negativity around me and thus, only interested in surrounding myself by positivity.  The problem is that Monday mornings are always mayhem & my well-intended plans go by the wayside & before I know it, I’m stuck in the black hole known as CCL’s life.  Perhaps I need to set a calendar invite to remind myself of what it is I need to do right off the bat some Monday morning. 

This morning, as is the case every Monday morning, CCL was all-consumed lamenting the horrible weekend she inevitably has each week.  I was kind of hoping her anti-anxiety medications would help lessen how horribly she views her every waking moment, but they haven’t done much.  As I was pondering this the other day, combined with thoughts of her therapist visits & recalling how she so many times complains that none of it is helping, I was reminded of something—drugs and therapy can only do so much.  Until she decides to make changes in her life, it will be the same routine.  This weekend, however, she made a change—she cleaned.  And not just any room—the cats’ room.

The gripe came because she says she threw out her back while carrying a 42-lb. bag of cat litter up the stairs so she could get their room cleaned out & change out their litter.  In casual conversation, I pretty much learned that she doesn’t clean out the cat litter & just kind of lets it sit and stink.  Now, that is absolutely disgusting in my book, but what makes it even worse is envisioning just how much awfulness must exist in that room if it takes 42-lbs. of litter to swap it all out.  My dogs’ food bags don’t even weigh that much—and it’s enough food to last the two of them a whole month.

Last week or the week before, the complaint was about how she bought a recycling bin over the weekend, but it turns out to be a little too wide for the space she wanted it in—but she has no more floor space or counter space in her kitchen, so she wasn’t sure what to do.  I have already decided she’s a hoarder, but that info pretty much sealed the deal—and this latest revelation of just how horrible her house must look & smell completes the big picture for me.  And, dear friends, it is not a pretty picture.

Sigh.

Humor. Well, attempted at least.

CCL has a particular kind of humor.  The kind that annoys me, that is.  Case in point:

This morning, we have guests from the corporate office holding a meeting here in our office.  I was in charge of making sure they’re fed, so I was at the office at 6:15 am to get breakfast together & meet the caterer when he dropped off food.  I never know what people will like, so I usually over –order—as was the case today.  When all was said and done, there were several biscuit sandwiches and lots of grits leftover, so I took them downstairs to the floor where I work (alongside CCL) so that my cohorts could enjoy them.  As is the case any time I send out an email about freebies, CCL makes a mad dash to get there first.  What’s interesting is that sometimes I think she gets there even before I’ve hit “send”.  It’s an odd phenomenon. 

At any rate, I got into the kitchen for a glass of water & sure enough, CCL was hovering over the biscuits, mumbling something to herself (most likely something about how none of it is food she’d eat & how I never get anything she likes; keep in mind that list of likes is mighty short & not enjoyable).  As I was leaving the kitchen, one of the managers grabbed a foil-wrapped biscuit and jokingly said, “I can microwave this, right?”  I said, “Yep. Just give me time to sell tickets for the fireworks show.”  I kept walking, but CCL was on to my scent and followed me back to my desk. She said, “You know, you could get arrested for being an accessory to murder.”  I knew exactly where she was going with it, but didn’t want to play along.  I never want to play along.  She doesn’t get that.  So, she continued the joke herself: “I mean he could die.  You could have murdered him.” Me: [uninterested] “Mmmhmm.” CCL: “Yeah, he could die.  Or he could make the microwave die.  And that would be horrible, so then we’d murder you.  Do you really want to be responsible for this blood bath?  I mean really?”  Of course, I’d long checked out of this conversation.  And she’d started to walk away in-between sentences a couple of times.  But each time I mistakenly looked up, she confused it as me being interested in what she was saying, so she’d turn around and come back, inching closer each time.  She finally got bored with my disinterest & headed back to her own desk, but not before acting like she’d just said the wittiest thing ever.

And that’s how it always goes.  I realize she doesn’t get out at all & has no social life, aside from her online personas, but still…you’d think her humor would’ve evolved on its own as she grew up.  But, no.  It’s always the same lines, the same stories, etc.  When I wear a particular striped polo shirt, I can count on her saying, “Are we a prisoner today?”  (Without fail.  I kid you not.)  And then she pauses, as if I’m supposed to say something amazing in response to that.  If I say, “Yes, I’m a prisoner to my job”, she’d stay and complain about how her job is the most stressful one here.  If I say, “No” then she tries a variety of other lines in order to get a response from me.  It’s a no-win situation any way that you look at it.

Swedish flop.

CCL is originally from Chicago.  So, it would stand to reason that when she learned that I was yet again heading off to the Windy City for a trade show, she had plenty of input and advice for me.  Each year this happens, in fact.  And it’s always the exact same stories and requests—that I go to this place and eat that, that I go to another place and try this, that I bring her home this and that, and if I happen to make it to this place, I have to make sure I devour that.  (Keep in mind that the “this” and “that” are foods that don’t sound particularly appealing.)  Then I get to hear about her cruel-sounding grandmother (she died a few years back) and the Chicago uncle who is so bent on annoying his Jewish wife and neighbors that he makes sure he puts his automated rotating Christmas tree in the front window and covers it in animal themed ornaments. 

It doesn’t matter that I’ve explained, on countless occasions, that my time in Chicago is spent between the hotel and the convention center, with rare escapes to area restaurants.  I am madly in love with Giordano’s pizza, for instance, so I make sure I go there.  (There’s also one in Orlando, which is great.)  But, I’m not likely to spend my time perusing for a local bakery so I can eat “Swedish flop” (which sounds particularly disgusting when she says it, but based upon a picture she sent me today in an email with the subject line of “What you missed…” looks surprisingly tasty) and I’m not about to go to some random deli to order hamburger and eat it raw.  And I don’t care if I don’t make it to the corner hot dog stand.  I had dinner at Morton’s—a delicious double-cut, melts-like-butter filet mignon with every amazing accompaniment known to man.  Why on earth would I say to the friend who treated me to this heavenly dinner, “Please don’t make me eat at Morton’s.  I’d rather find a lovely hot dog stand on a street corner somewhere.  Come!  Let us wander in the dark to find one.”?!  Yet, because I didn’t do that, I am a failure at touring Chicago.  (Which is why I got the “What you missed…” email.) 

What CCL doesn’t know is that I didn’t entirely fail at Chicago.  I brought her a gift—on behalf of one of her secret fans, no less.  It’s a lovely car magnet that reads “One cat away from being a crazy cat lady.”  (I hope she finds as much joy in receiving it as I did when it was given to me to pass on to her!)  Sure, it’s not entirely accurate, as it really only took one cat to make her a CCL, but it’s the thought that counts.

I shall report back on her reaction once I remember to bring it to the office with me.  Meanwhile, I’m off to find something to distract me from the sound of her saying “Swedish flop” that is currently running through my mind.  Repeatedly.

Dale, Jr.

CCL has an intense love for Dale Earnhardt, Jr. (and most things NASCAR--to the point she even has decorated her purple Christmas tree with NASCAR and M&M ornaments, complete with black feather boas; though I've never seen it in person, it sounds absolutely delightful).  So, it should come as no surprise that she often refers to him in her conversations--working him in wherever possible.  Today's example:

I was charting bill rates for a proposal (requiring much concentration) when she pounced so unexpectedly that I almost screamed.  (I wasn't facing my computer monitor, so I didn't see her in the mirror.)  And then she said, "My goal is to marry well.  I don't think it's going to happen, but that's my goal.  I just need Dale, Jr. to fall madly in love with me.  Maybe if I break his ankles and lock him in a basement room so I can spend lots of time with him, he'd come to realize how wonderful I am and he'd want to stay on his own.  But, aside from that, I doubt I'll marry well."  My whole thing, besides pointing out the creepy fact she went into detail as to how she'd capture her marital prey, is that she first needs to go on a date. 

She continually talks about some guy she dated in college & how he wore plaid boxers that hung over the top of his pants, but that she never saw him in just those because she broke up with him when he wanted to sleep with her (a visual I'd rather not imagine).  It sounds like it was a bliss-filled romance that lasted about a month & then he started dating a girl in the dorm room next to her.  (Man-whore, he-slut.) She found him on Facebook not too long ago and has spent the last few months trying to figure out if a woman in some of his photos is his mom or his girlfriend.  (I suggested a novel idea: write and ask in a round-about way.  She'd rather stalk.)  On several occasions, she has indicated that he was the last person she went on a date with.  She's now 35 or 36 (I forget which--I think 35) and since she's not spent any time since college hanging out with friends, it makes it quite difficult for her to meet anyone to date in the first place.  Tonight's plans, for instance, are to go to her parents' for dinner, but not before first feeding the cats their "fancy food" (i.e., canned food)...it's not exactly conducive to finding that long-term relationship.  Particularly with Dale, Jr.

The CCL Pounce

Just like a cheetah in the wild, so is the pounce of CCL. Sneaky. Stealth. Completely undetectable. Unless she has a Diet Coke. 

You see, despite her diabetic status, CCL has a fondness for candy and soda.  (By candy, in particular I mean M&M's. I shall have to save the three-year-long M&M World trip planning saga for another time.)  CCL also has a nervous habit of some kind--a twitch, really--that leads her to CONSTANTLY squeeze and release any soda can or water bottle she holds in her hand while she walks.  Over and over and over she does this obnoxious noise.  But I fear she's caught onto the fact that this is my warning sign she's approaching.  It was so much easier when she sat completely across the floor from me.  I had time and distance on my side--it was much too far for her to walk without doing the squeezing noise.  Now that there is only one cubicle between us, I have a huge disadvantage in my ability to escape.

Previously effective tactics included staying low (so as to not be seen above the cubicle walls--it's one way she can track my whereabouts; being the tallest person in the office certainly has its disadvantages, this being one of them) while shuffling to another cubicle she wouldn't think to check, or to go randomly visit another coworker.  And when I say shuffle, I do mean shuffle.  CCL's keen hearing always detects my footsteps, honing her in on my positioning so she can adjust course and "just happen" to bump into me.  So I sometimes kick off my shoes before trying to flee.

The most effective means to gain distance from the predator is to head straight for the men's room.  However, recent stride pattern changes indicate that this won't be my safe refuge for much longer.  CCL is evolving to where all indications point to the fact she will most likely be bounding through that solid wood door, continuing on in conversation.  By conversation, I do mean complaining relentlessly for long periods of time, during which I simply have to do occasional nods and say things like "Oh.", "Interesting.", "Hmmm.", "How fun.", "That's too bad.", "Bad kitty." or "Really?".  The trick is in knowing when to appropriately interject such statements--and which ones to use in the first place.  Of particular challenge is the fact that I generally block out what she's saying and instead fill my head with visions of her cats baracading her house doors so she can't escape and make it into work.  Sadly, on more than one occasion I have mis-spoken.  Saying "bad kitty" when CCL is actually discussing her mother is a mistake from which it is hard to recover.  I am only so skilled & admittedly, there have been times I have fallen short.

Another challenging aspect to this unintentional office-based game of hide-and-seek is that CCL is a circler.  When she makes her first pass to evaluate her prey and said prey has escaped to the supply closet, behind a door or to another cubicle, it only leads to more intense surveying.  Repeated attempts are made to catch the innocent prey at a moment of weakness.  Watching this from across the floor is a particularly interesting spectator sport.  Because I have a small mirror on my computer monitor that allows me to see when someone's behind me (I hate being surprised from behind; I tend to scream, swear and even start swinging fists), I know when CCL has made her first pass.  A typical routine will go like this: I hear CCL get out of her chair and the sound of her polyester pant legs swishing together as she heads towards me.  As she rounds the corner where my cube is, she lets out a sigh that would indicate to the casual observer that this one person singularly carries the weight of the world upon her shoulders.  This sigh is done about six inches past the edge of the wall (I've considered putting a plaque there: "This is Where CCL Sighs") so as to make sure it reaches my ears.  After glancing towards me with her head tilted (her usual walking stance), she continues on towards the ladies room.  This is my lone chance to escape.  If I do not take that opportunity, or immediately put up my "Do Not Disturb" signs that are on bright yellow paper so that she won't miss them, I then have to resign myself to my fate.

After a few minutes, she returns.  By the time I hear the hydraulically-stalled ladies room door come to a close, it's too late.  She has then reached the other edge of my cube, literally swinging around the corner and usually saying, "Is it five o'clock yet?"  Other signature phrases include: "I'm ready to snap.  Like a twig.", "Will you run me over?" (Oh evil temptress...), "Would you bail me out of jail if I take someone out?", "Do you think a judge would accept a plea of insanity if I kill ___ (typically her boss' name)?" and "Is it Friday yet?" (this is typically said on Monday, then continues each day until blessed Friday arrives).  Any response to that which includes any type of similar complaint or a gripe to show she's not the only one with job stress is always met with, "Welcome to my world."  And that only infuriates me to where I want to slap her. Hard.  Anyway, after a long, drawn-out explanation of her latest stressor, which generally includes something to do with her cats' behavior the night before (this morning it was that cat A slapped cat B last night and they fought for five minutes until fat cat A finally tried to squeeze under the couch to escape cat B, at which point she bribed them each with cookies so that they'd calm down because she couldn't handle the stress of it all), and after appropriately (hopefully) placed attentive head nods and verbal affirmations, she eventually lets out another weight-of-the-world sigh, tilts her head, and heads around the corner towards her own desk.  If, however, one says "Good luck." or "Have fun.", this is only invitation for CCL to come back for a second helping of attention.  It is usually equivalent to, or even sometimes exceeds, the time spent on the first dose of drawn-out pain.  This mistake is avoided at all cost.

If, however, I make my escape immediately after the first indication of her approach, it usually goes like this (I know, because I watch from a distance over the top of the cubes)-- She does her usual sigh, glancing in towards my desk, then does a double-take to see if I'm close by, as she continues on towards the ladies room.  On her way back, she nonchalantely looks around the corner to see if I'm back at my desk.  If I'm not, she goes to her own desk to collect her water bottle, crinkling it over and over as she goes to the kitchen (which is behind me).  After an appropriate stalling period, she then returns to see if I'm back.  If not, she then goes to her desk and waits about five minutes (or until she hears me sit down; stupid noisy chair anyway) before attempting another pounce.

Instead, if I make my escape post-initial sigh (i.e., after she sees I'm at my desk when she walks by), she does nothing nonchalantely on the way back to her desk.  She does her full swing around the corner & then looks stunned and perplexed that her prey is not where she left it.  Then, after a slightly angry look, she stomps off towards her cave.  Tip-toeing back to my desk without my shoes on and slowly lowering myself back into my chair usually buys me an extra ten minutes before she makes her attempt again.  Needless to say, if I'm having a day in which I realllllly don't want to have a CCL attack, I can be completely drained and totally unproductive by the time the day is over, because I've spent the entire time trying to avoid that which seems inevitable.

As you can see, the pounce of the CCL is quite a complex affair that requires a great deal of study before one enters her environment.  Knowing shortcuts, hiding places and the habits of the CCL can only aid in making sure you make it out alive come five o'clock.  Extreme caution must be exercised in approaching this situation if it is foreign to you.

Welcome!

Welcome to The CCL Chronicles!  After numerous requests via Facebook, email and text for more stories about the CCL with whom I work, I've decided to attempt to keep up with it all via this blog.  I must warn you up front that I tend to neglect my personal blog as is, but I will do my very best to share all that is CCL.  (Odd happenings with the CCL are pretty much on a daily basis, so the help here is that there's definitely not a shortage of things to share.)

I'll never share CCL's name, but it got me curious as to what everyone thinks CCL's first name is.  (When I think of CCL's, I think their names are going to be something like Mildred or Millicent.)  Your assignment is to comment in reply to this post with what you imagine her name to be.  In the meantime, I shall figure out the best way to give background information you may have missed that will help you to better understand the dynamic that exists between the two of us.  Perhaps it will be a chronological history...or perhaps it will be random.  Who knows?  But, at any rate, here are the chronicles of the CCL in my life...but feel free to share stories about any CCL in your own life.  And, don't forget to become a blog follower so that you can keep up!

meow.