Oh if only.

Oh if only I could talk about work. Do you guys realize what kind of material I have!? I could post for days. Weeks. Years. It’s good stuff I tell you.

The trouble, however, is that I yapped my trap a lot back during The Nest blogging era and a couple people caught wind of it.

It ruined our fun, guys. Don’t they want us to have fun!? I guess not.

We’re in The No Fun Zone apparently.

There have been so very many times I wish I could log into my blog and fire off the post of a lifetime, only to harness my zeal deep down inside and remember I work in The No Fun Zone.

Can I just say it sucks and isn’t fair!?! I spend almost 13 hours a day working, driving to work, looking at people at work… that’s alot of freaking time!

What else am I supposed to write about? Apparently nothing (Apparently. What a fun word. In fact, I’ve already used it twice… The word of today,kids, is “Apparently.” Each time you hear the word “Apparently” used in a sentence, jump up out of your seat, do a lap around your cube, toss ice water in your face, and yell, “Woot!” Then sit back down as if nothing ever happened.) .

Yep. The Forces of Work have spoken: “Thou shalt not blog about anything remotely juicy or interesting. Instead thou art resigned to crappy half-baked posts. Oh, and PS- James in Accounting needs yellow post-its.”

“C’mon Forces of Freaking Work! You don’t want me to suffer, do you?… Okay, maybe you do, but you don’t want my blog to suffer, right? That’s what I thought. So hows about you throw me a bone and give me some work leeway?”

To which they respond, “No! Because of your spitefulness you are hereby sentenced to one year of boring non-work related posts. In addition, you must wear beige stirrup pants, black loafers, and an oversized hypercolor t-shirt every other Friday.

Mmm. Wait. Beige stirrup pants are pretty brutal. I will show thee mercy. 6! 6 months of boring non-work related posts.”

“Stirrup pants and hypercolor tees!? What have I done to deserve such a sentence!?”

“Brittny, my child, you absolutely can not or will not post about work. It’s uncouth. It’s tacky. It’s just plain wrong. We forbid you to talk about how your coworker doesn’t wear undies to work, or how you have a manager who doesn’t know how to do anything in PowerPoint and therefore must spend 2 days feverishly drawing what the 25 slide presentation will look like so you can do it for them on the computer and they can take the credit.

There will be no talk of how you actually told a coworker you bet she was a good bulimic (by the way!- you’re a freaking idiot moron! Did you realize how horrible that was going to sound when it came out!? I highly doubt it.) or how you secretly spray Oust in your boss’s office when he’s not looking, simply so you don’t suffocate from the carcinogens (is he ever going to stop smoking in his office!?). He’s so on to you, by the way.

Wake up woman! There’s simply too many dangerous stories and we, The Forces of Work, must safeguard them for all eternity. Or at least until you get another job.”

“Umm, Forces of Work?”

“Yes?”

“You do realize you just told the blog world a few of my work stories.”

“Uh...well...mmm...uh...”

“Just say it, Forces of Work- you’re a freaking idiot.”

“Yeah.

Apparently.”