Your mother may call it "impolite," but sometimes you just can't help overhearing other people's conversations.

Like the office manager loudly reprimanding an underling via cell phone as he paces in front of a coffee shop, or the 20-something's recollecting the weekend's Old Port escapades in the grocery store check-out line.

And if you work in a cubicle, there's no such thing as a private conversation.

A couple of weeks ago I overheard the tail end of a conversation coming from a nearby cube:

Coworker to another coworker: "So he asks if he can use my daughter's picture on a brochure and I said 'No way.' My daughter's face is NOT for sale."
[Pause, as if thinking it over.] "$25,000. I'd let him use it for $25,000...or a free membership."

Yesterday a friend had a get-together in honor of the Patriots season opener (the best kind of get-together - where the food, the drinks and the story-telling abound) and on my way to the kitchen for a refill I hear:

"We were cleaning up chocolate for a month! It was everywhere - the chairs, the walls...everywhere!" That's the kind of line that lends itself to all sorts of creative backstories.

Sometimes you hear some pretty interesting things. And the blog Overheard in Portland is taking advantage of those entertaining overheards.

A friend recently introduced me to the site, which allows people to post things they overheard in Greater Portland. For example:

Girl: These ones don't hurt as much when you get hit by them.

Mom: These whats?

Girl: Tennis balls. This one might break your nose, but these ones can TOTALLY hit you straight on, and it will barely hurt.

Mom: Maybe you shouldn't put your face in front of them, then.

The Portland version of "Overheard" isn't updated that regularly, so if you need to kill a good chunk of time or procrastinate your work a little longer, the Boston and Chicago sites are a better bet. (A word of warning - people overhear some obscene things. Read at your own risk.)

Maybe you hate your coworkers, in which case being in the office by yourself is probably a welcome respite.

Unfortunately, I actually like the people I work with.

So days like today, when one person's vacation time and one person's day off overlap with maternity leave here and a return to school there, I find myself talking aloud to empty cubicles.

And yes, my coworker is well aware that his "organized piles" aren't fooling anyone.

A couple of systems folks are spitting-distance away (that's an estimate, I've not yet tested that claim) and we talk sometimes, but I feel like there's this wall between us - mostly because there is a wall between us.

So I'm doing what I can today to keep myself busy. You know, playing white board bullseye with promotional magnets.

Digging out the rubber cement [deep inhale] and gluing [deep inhale] a coworker's mouse [deep inhale] to his desk.

Enjoying the view of plastic.

And propping cardboard cutouts within eyesight to help manage my rampant abandonment issues.

Ah, glorious vacation! But oh, the bittersweetness of an office hiatus.

I didn't leave the state during my time off, which, anywhere else but Maine, would be a depressing admission. But when you live in "Vacationland"...well, you live here. You know what I mean.

Instead, I gave an Illinois friend the deluxe Maine tour. While I always appreciate the company of friends from state's past, I admit ulterior motives were at work. My goal: to prove that moving to Maine was not part of a wildly delusion quarter-life crisis - that I hadn't gone soft(er) in the head. That, no, "Northern Exposure" was not filmed here. The state is not buried in snow 11 months out of the year. The population does exceed 50 and I have not adopted flannel as my primary office wardrobe.

The day after she returned home she sent me a message: "I miss Maine." Yeah you do.

Task completed: Another flatlander convinced. But don't worry. She won't be moving to Maine, buying up property and bringing her crazy Midwestern ways to Maine anytime soon (who calls soda "pop" anyway? Oh yeah, I do).

But the splendor of my feat was dampened with a cruel reality: Only two despairingly brief vacation days left until 2008.

How ever will I make those last? The pressure of deciding what events are truly vacation worthy!

Of course, I could always play hooky should the need arise, right? Invent some unfortunate, yet believable calamity in order to dip into that precious, untouched bank of sick and personal days. The excuses have to be delicately chosen - I'm not a fan of the macabre decision to (even fictitiously) kill off relatives or curse a friend with a near-fatal car accident just because I'd like to leave a day early for a camping trip.

Besides, there are bosses out there that are following up on their employee's stories. Take this recent e-mail inquiry:

I am trying to see the Police Log from Saturday, but I can not find it since I was out of town. Is there a way to go look at previous logs? I am trying to see if there was a stabbing Friday night at [a local bar] to support why my employee did not come in to work or did he lie again?

If it's a lie - it's an elaborate one. He'll either have to show up to work with a recreated knife wound or be known as the bagel shop/gas station/office worker who stabs people. And that just doesn't look good on a reference letter.

Work is work, after all and no matter how much I heart my job (I do) I still hit a productivity wall now and then. Symptoms include the inability to read work-related e-mails and the corresponding temptation to make the inbox disappear via the "Select all, delete" method.

The attempt to make random, distracting conversation with coworkers can also be seen, as well as the sudden need to rearrange office suppplies.

But of all the possible mindless activities, nothing compares to the joy and calm that scanning our Seen photo galleries brings. Each click unveils another surprise. For example:

A little spanking from Lady Liberty at a peace rally

A little alpaca love

And the bare chests are a dime a dozen:

Letting the belly breathe at another peace rally Oh yeah.

Some are a little – how do I say this – less intrusive than others:

Tim Lauzon's Favorite Self Portraits of the 80's.

I’m sorry – I was having a moment.

Back to work.

UPDATE:
Didn't see this earlier on the South Portland page of myMaineToday.com.

"Pegasus" circa 1972. I suddenly regret having not been born earlier.

While it's always a joy to walk into the ladies room at work, some trips are better than others.

Most recently there's been some communication going on about what should - and should not - go into the bathroom's tampon dispenser. Someone slapped up a Post-it note asking (who else) the tampon fairy to fix the machine - or restock it or something.

I didn't think too much of it until today - when the tampon fairy REPLIED!

Prizes? From a tampon machine? Either the mysterious note-writer doesn't understand what the word "prize" means, or my mom didn't do a very good job explaining what tampons are.