In Technology, a whiteboard is like a dick: size matters. 

The larger the whiteboard, the more important you seem and the more attractive you are to women in Technology. If it's big, they always want to touch your whiteboard. But they're intimidated by it because they know if they put something on it, there will be a lot of exposure. So it better be good.

If your whiteboard is small, you're obviously responsible for very little in the organization and therefore undesirable. 

The more diagrams and bullet points you have drawn on the whiteboard, the more overworked everyone thinks you are. So you need a lot of space. Large content translates to high performance. Size and performance always matter.

I have a very large white board. 

While most people use their whiteboards for drawing boxes that point to each other, I like drawing different renditions of my staff.

For example, when Maharajapuram broke his leg hiking, I drew him breaking his leg off with blood spewing in all directions. A little much, but I figure I should have the artistic license to elaborate a little in order to maximize the entertainment value for my audience. 

I also like to list out potential users for the user pool as if they're people I need to contact for a project or something. I can reference my whiteboard often to keep my eye on the ball, so to speak.

One thing I don't like is when people write "Don't erase" on whiteboards in conference rooms. If you have to keep something for a day so that you have time to copy it down, I'll let it go. But if I see that note on a whiteboard for more than a day, I erase it--whether I need the whiteboard for a meeting or not. I, of course, leave the "Don't erase". 

Other things you should NOT do with a whiteboard:

• Use a Sharpie, especially on your boss's whiteboard (unless he's not in the room at the time).
• Use it to write out code; code is an eyesore, I hate looking at it.
• Write things like "Blendi stopped by!! XXOO". Because before you get back, Blair stops by too and leaves the message: "You're dead."
  
• Draw pictures of naked women (unless it's on your boss's whiteboard and he's not in the room--and you're using a Sharpie).
• Use as a wakeboard; warps it and washes off the latest diagrams.

Blair somehow found a store during lunch on Friday that had iPhones in stock. She picked one up for herself then called me and asked if I wanted her to pick one up for me too. I immediately knew something was wrong. Blair does not do anyone any favors, least of all me.

Even though it's against policy, she convinced the clerk to do it for her. Blair can be a very charming person if she wants to be. It certainly helps if you don't know her.

All the clerk needed was my phone number and the last four digits of my social security number. 

That was an immediate red flag. But since I really wanted an iPhone and didn't see much of a risk (what was she going to do? Steal my identity and run up my credit cards?), I gave her the digits.

By the time I got the phone, she had already activated it for me. Once again, favors are not Blair's forte. 

I started playing with the phone and quickly realized one application had already been downloaded for me by my gracious lover. It's an app called "Whrrl". Here's the description:

Whrrl lets your friends light up your map based on the places they go in the real world. You can zero in on what they are up to right now, plus their past visits. 

Apparently, Blair didn't think I'd notice this application. She also thought that since I wouldn't notice this application, she'd be able to track my every move. She further thought she'd be able to verify if I was home like I said I'd be. She even further thought she'd be able to catch me cheating on her.

Well, it was certainly worth a try. An application my wife also would've been interested in checking out.

I disabled the feature of course. But if you and your lover both have the iPhone and he/she has downloaded a bunch of apps--he/she might not notice one more called "Whrrl". And then you can catch that dirty, rotten cheater. 

Looks like I'm safe for now. 

I'm telling McKinney today how disgusted I am when people don't wash their hands after they take a piss, or worse, after they take a shit. They're out there. Happens more often than you think. This is how the conversation went:

"I don't wash my hands after I take a piss," McKinney said.

"What?" I said, shocked. "What do you mean? You're one of them?"

"That's right," he said.

"We just did the knuckle thing."

"What knuckle thing?" he asked.

"The knuckle thing. The 'what's up' knuckle thing," I said, motioning with my fist.

"So?"

"So, when was the last time you took a piss?"

"I don't know," he said. "Doesn't matter, I don't hold my dick with my fists when I take a piss."

"How can you take a piss and not wash your hands?" I asked.

"My mother taught me how to take a piss without getting pee on my hands," he said. "So why should I wash my hands?"

"I don't piss on my hands either," I said. "But I still wash my hands."

"Why?" he asked. "Is your dick dirty?"

"What?"

"My dick is clean," he explained. "It's like touching any other part of my body. So why should I wash my hands after I touch it?"

"It doesn't matter," I said. "If you touched your dick, I don't want you touching me. No more knuckle thing with you."

Well folks, there you have it. I'm curious to know what you think, so please vote. And of course, comments are always welcome--especially if you're one of "them". I'd like to understand why you do what you do... And this certainly applies to both men and women.

Tefft was responsible for our noon potluck, which meant she decorated with Independence Day artwork. I didn't even have to mislead her this time.

Apparently she's a big Will Smith fan. And while she is not a racist, she does not hire African Americans. But she doesn't hire African Americans because she doesn't trust them, not because their skin is black. So obviously, she's not a racist.

But even though she does not hire African Americans because she doesn't trust them, she loves Will Smith and has seen every movie he's ever made.

So for Tefft, Independence Day was the day our forefathers took back control of the Earth from aliens.

She served fried chicken and watermelon in honor of Will Smith.

But Tefft is not a racist.

We got to leave work early today, which is why I'm depressed.

I hate long weekends. That means three days with the wife. No users. 

Uggggh. 

Fiona the Cunt has been fucking with Conklin's head. Now that she knows I started the rumor about conference room 3402 being haunted, she's using it against Conklin. She told him that she was up there preparing for a meeting for Mulhausen when she heard a voice. At first, she thought it was someone outside the conference room, but then she realized that it was her sister, Conklin's dead slutty wife, trying to communicate with her.   

Conklin was about to go up to the conference room and apologize to the ghost of his dead slutty wife for causing a truck to accidentally kill her because of his failed attempt to murder her. Luckily, I intervened. Fiona the Cunt most likely has the conference room bugged, ready to record any such confession.

That bitch.

So I put a couple of bear traps around her desk this morning. That's right. Bear traps.

I found them at an army surplus store. Cheap and all rusted up. I also laced her coffee mug with Drano. Sometimes you just have to send a clear message that you're not fucking around.

So I was sent to HR today for trying to trap a vice president's assistant. Oh, and also for trying to poison her.

I told Triplet, the VP of HR, that I was not the culprit. I told her that I have had several anonymous death threats myself, including finding a jug of Drano on my desk, which sent a very clear message to me at the time. It appears that I'm not the only victim of these anonymous death threats.

I also pointed out that nobody gave a shit when I complained. Now I'm being blamed? I hardly think I threatened myself...

Triplet did remember my complaints and also that she didn't give a shit. Surprisingly, she also saw the similarities in the death threats and concluded that even I would not threaten myself.

I stopped off at Fiona the Cunt's desk to gloat. She had this real unemotional, stone cold look on her face. Those piercing blue eyes said all she needed to say to me... 

I used to believe I would be killed someday by a jealous and temporarily insane man, one of half a dozen husbands whose wives I fuck on a regular basis. I now believe I will be murdered by Fiona the Cunt. It's just a matter of time.

Well... Speaking of time. It's time to go fuck one of those wives. Have a good night.