Not much to say...

Not alot going on this week, hence the lack of posts. The biggest news of the week:

• I was weak and signed up for another 2-year agreement with Cingular so that I could get a new phone. It's a kick ass phone, and I'm psyched. Per FedEx tracking, it's on my back porch right now. Whoop whoop!

• After a mysterious absence, Luda is back working the drive thru at Wendy's. Wha wha? Everybody now:

Watch out my outfit's ridiculous
In the club looking so conspicuous

• My dog has the uncanny ability to chew the buttons off of shirts without damaging the shirt at all. She's done this twice in the last week. As a result, I spent 2 hours last night doing nothing but sewing buttons. How domestic of me!

How you doin'?

While getting my lunch at Arby's today, the drive-thru attendant called me honey (twice!) and baby.

Big J loves the fast food and apparently the feeling is mutual.

"And he knew what else he wanted..."

Mr. Bungle. I so remember watching this in elementary school. I used to harass my best friend in our adult years because she didn't remember who he was.

Gotta Love YouTube

You have got to be kidding me...

The Apocalypse is upon us.

Trash bags aren't for licking.

All morning long I have smelled doughnuts. At first, I thought my office mate was hoarding the tasty pastry in his office and not sharing. Then I thought the people down the hall were having a doughnut party and didn't invite me. Next, I thought that I might have a brain tumor, doughnut-shaped, of course. God does have a sense of humor after all.

None of the above. Apparently, when emptying the office trash, housekeeping replaced my trash bag with a vanilla scented variety. A word of caution though, although the vanilla smell is very realistic, the taste...not so much. It's just what I've heard. Not that I know this first hand.

Ahem.

For My Valentine

Chris and I will be celebrating our 7th Valentine's Day this year. In honor of such, here is an email I wrote her a month or so after we met.

Date: June 10, 999
Subject: 7 minutes before 3:00 a.m.

i can't sleep. not that i don't want to. it's not that i'm not tired. maybe it's that two hour nap i took at 7:45 p.m. ( a really bad time for a nap, don't you think?) or maybe it was the two glasses of tea i drank while i was talking to you at 1:00 a.m. (really bad time for tea, no?) i read your poetry tonite. all of it. maybe that's why i can't sleep. it could be you, i suppose, wandering around through my head. i keep closing my eyes and i keep thinking about what it would be like if you were here. how good it would feel for you to be lying next to me. how i would sleep like a baby then, but probably wouldn't want to if you were here. i know that i must be frustrating with my indecision which i am slowly trying to overcome. i am scared. not of you. not of us, but exactly the opposite. the "not you." the "not us." the absence of what i have felt with you over the past few weeks because it's gone away before, you know. and i don't think i want it to go away. but i am still afraid to let it in. i told you that i couldn't get you out of my head. that was true. but it's not my head that worries me. i don't think it's my head that won't let me sleep at 3:10 a.m. could be that nap though. or the caffeine. or quite possibly...you.

slow is good.

i have no problem with slow.

i just wish slow would hurry up a little.

8

Dear Publix,

As a frequent shopper, I must say that I appreciate your "carryout service," in which your grocery baggers offer to take groceries out to one's car. I have even seen signs discouraging tipping as this is free service you offer. A very nice gesture, indeed.

However, you might want to address the issue of the "overly aggressive bagger" or OAB. The OAB does not ask if they can carry out one's groceries but insist by placing a death grip on the cart and refusing to let go. Is it really necessary that I have to physically wrangle my cart away from the OAB? Shouldn't a "no, thank you, I can manage two cans of soup and mini-pads" suffice?

Just a thought.

For the record...

I am not the father of Anna Nicole Smith's baby.

Houston, we have a problem...

I'm sitting here at work listening to Patsy Cline's "Crazy" (I LOVE Patsy Cline!), and I can't help but imagine that the Astronaut could have possibly been listening to the very song on her trek from Houston to Orlando:

Crazy... for thinkin' that my love could hold you
I'm crazy for tryin', and crazy for cryin'
And I'm crazy for lovin' you

No, baby...you're crazy because you put on a diaper, filled your car with the real-life versions of the Clue gameboard pieces, drove 900 miles, and sprayed somebody in the face with pepper spray. When you departed from the space station, did you leave your mind behind, per chance?

It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday

Not really.

That sappy song by Boys II Men was my high school graduating class' song. I just got word that we're having a 15-year reunion in May. We didn't have a 10-year reunion because the organizers were morons. Not that I would have gone anyway.

I will not be partaking in these festivities either. I have no desire to see these people. I am perfectly happy spying on them from MySpace.

In the ghetto...

I hate my office for the following reasons:

• Inefficient Heating/Cooling: It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. For the winter months, I have space heaters in each of our offices. But apparently, the building is not wired to handle such loads. Which brings me to my next bullet:
• I constantly blow fuses. Turn on a heater, run the microwave and KABLOOEY there goes half of the outlets. Look, I live in a 50 year old house, ok? Blown fuses are a fact of life. But in an office building built in 2003? I think not. If I am at home, I can simply reset the breaker. But not at the office, because....
• We have no building maintenance. He (yes, just one guy) quit about a year ago. Did they replace him? No.
• I have evidence that Housekeeping is partaking in our drinks/snacks. I found an open bottle of water by the fax machine this morning. I don't drink water, and the other office occupant wasn't in last week. They also rearrange items on my desk.
• No signage. We've been here for 3 years and we still don't have signage. The only thing that denotes our office from the other string of doors is the marker I created with an 8 1/2 x 11 sheet of paper, Microsoft Word, and scotch tape.

I don't know if I can work in such conditions much longer.