An open rant to the staff horticulturist:
There is nothing that bothers us more. Oh, yeah, it isn’t just me. It’s the whole crew. We can’t stand it. Please refrain from employing your little girl voice when you are describing your dog, your husband, or really, anything to do with your personal life. The last time I heard, you turned…what, 42 this past year?
Go talk to the plants in the little girl voice. They think it is very cute. They miss it when you are gone. Go to them.
I think her sister works in the next cubicle from me. There’s a grown woman who talks to everyone—on the phone, in person—in a cute iddle bitty girlie voice. I long for a hunchback assistant, so I can pour boiling oil on her over the cubicle partition.
Eve,
I have a surgically corrected hunchback- does that help? I’ll gladly pour boiling oil on her. That is one habit that drives me to fucking drink.
“Then my widdle bitty doggie ate his num nums.”
Die. Die. Die.
Zette
Zette—Can you laugh maniacally like Dwight Frye? I’ll even help you heft the oil cauldron next time she’s on the phone with her husband: “Oooooh, I miss ooo so much, ootchy-poochy!”
Need I add, she has puppies and babies and angels on her Screen Saver? [shudder]
Oo. I used to work with one of those.
She had mastered the art of producing that really annoying, high pitched, “mommy’s little doggie woggie” cooing… gah! Her laugh was worse…
I called it the “giggle-giggle-squeak” phenomenon. The girl wasn’t very bright, either… :rolleyes:
sigh, I feel your pain, Sophie, I really do. Hopefully she’ll return to her vegetable ancestors and leave you guys alone.
Eve - just put in a request with my Happy Fun Squad Protection Service division, I’m sure they’ll be glad to send you a couple of guys to help with the boiling oil.
Elly
Sweetiepie.
Six times a day she’s on the phone to her husband giggling and chortling into the phone speaker in hushed tones. whining about her job to “babylove”. Usually, I’m down the hall protected by 50 feet of space. Yes, I can still hear her but not as well as today. I get to sit right next to her on the other side of the cubicle.
Zette, Eve, may I please borrow the cauldron, hot oil, and two men when you’re finished?
Well if it makes you feel better, “gigglegigglesqueak” used to call her boyfriend “sweetiebaby” and “my angel sunshine”
But babylove… I have to admit… wow. How do you do it?
E.
And, while we’re at it, is it really necessary for your Significant Other to call the office three times a day? I sit next to the phone, so I’m expected to drop whatever I’m doing to answer the phone. At least three freakin’ times every single freakin’ day! What the fuck to you have to share that a) can’t wait until you see each other this evening and b) cannot be conveyed in a single phone call?
Jeezus, if I was forced to talk to my husband that often, I’d go crazy.
Yeesh! I cannot stand cutesy-wutesy, iddy biddy baby boo mindless chatter like that. Of course, I’m a big ol’ 'mo, so it doesn’t work on me, but I wonder if the fluffy little lobotomy victim act turns on straight guys. If I were straight, I’d be all over smart, mature women like Eve instead of some helpless little lamb without the brains to get out of the rain.
For some reason, I’m reminded of a line from a Dorothy Parker review of an A.A. Milne book: “At this point, Tonstant Weader fwowed up.”
"If I were straight, I’d be all over smart, mature women like Eve . . . "
—That’s sweet of you, dear, but I have found through long experience that I scare the holy hell out of straight guys. “Sally Rogers Syndrome.”
Speaking for this particular straight guy, that cutesy helpless-little-girl act makes me want to gouge out my eyeballs with a spoon. Give me a mature, well-spoken, intelligent woman – now THAT turns me on like nobody’s business.
What drives me nuts is when you’re having a conversation with someone. You’re both speaking in your normal voices. Then the phone rings. She answers the phone using a totally different, sickening sweet voice. Very strange.
Much to my dismay, the new hubby does this to me. It drives me friggin crazy. But I don’t want to hurt his feelings, so I keep my mouth shut. Before it’s over with, I’ll be the only person wearing duct tape lipstick. He stopped calling me at work so much, I cut my ringer off so my office mates couldn’t here the phone and the hubby had to start leaving voice messages. I guess he got the hint when I didn’t call him back until 5 minutes before I had to leave for home.
Give me patience.
Oh, I forgot to mention that:
She’s a talker. I mean, she’ll get me trapped in a conversation and I’ll try to escape and she will follow behind me, talking, never stopping for breath. I am so rude to her. If I acted this way to anyone else, they would hate me. However, this just seems to fuel her fire. Maybe I should try out-talking her for a change, just to see who passes out first.
Her husband calls her (here ya go, Podkayne) at least three times a day. When he calls, he also wants to have a big long conversation with me: “Hey Sophie, what’s going on? You doing ok? What’d you do last night? Was it fun? Have you heard the story about our dog, the one in which she was intolerably adorable? Like to hear it again?”
Man, I gotta get a life.
Gawd, we have three of your garden variety little itty bitty girly girl voice users where I work. We have four of the giggle giggle squeak squeak helium heads.
The group all hang around together and wonder why no one ever wants to do lunch with them at their favorite place Chuckie Cheese.
Boop Boop a doop! 
(Charles Boyer voice]
Nonsense, ma petite choux, come with me to the Casbah and I shall drape you with silk and adorn you with jewels.
(/Charles Boyer voice)
Of course I could also do Buddy Rogers, Richard Barthelmess, or Wally Reid, but then I’d have to use pantomime and title cards.
Ohhh I hate that… our fluff-headed office chick (we call her barbie) is CONSTANTLY on the phone with her SO… and to make matters worse, he works downstairs (for the same company even…) I’m sorry… it’s 9:20, you’ve just actually made it to your desk… what could you possibly have to say to wallet-boy that you couldn’t have said at home this morning (or in the car on the way to work or in the parking lot where you were chit-chatting for the last 20 minutes)that can’t wait until you go to lunch together (and take at least 1/2 hour extra time). I don’t have the slightest idea what they talk about all day… and I don’t want to <shudder>
I am so glad I have my own office now, and I don’ have to listen to her anymore.
-pandora
(oh, and fluff-headed offic chick and wallet boy are both in their 40’s and have been together for over a year… this isn’t teenage puppy love were talking about here)
Oh, you guys are just jealous!
<d&r>
Ya know, you can lead a whore to culture, but you can’t make her think!
<rimshot>