I received a (potentially) heart-stopping e-mail from my boss this morning: Subject: Blogs Body: Do you participate in any? how? why? It's not that any of the blogs I run are particularly salicious salacious, defamatory or overly personal. I don't use co-worker's names, I don't trash the company, and my venting is particularly mild. It's
She: "Did you bring toothpaste?" Me: "Yeah, in my overnight bag. It's Close-up." She (singing): "Get a closer...now don't be shy..." Me: "Stop! That is not the Close-up theme song!" She: "Oh. What is it?" Me: "Arid Extra Dry. I don't need to think about deo while I'm brushing my teeth." She: "Yeah, yeah. Okay.
Waitress: "You get a salad with that. What kind of dressing do you want?" Me: "French?" Waitress: "What?" Me: "How about Catalina?" Waitress: "Look, this is a diner." Me: "Okay, what do you have?" Waitress: "Italian, Russian, Western..." Me: "Western. The orange stuff." Waitress: "Oh, is that the same as French? Learn something new everyday."
She: "That meeting was five minutes late." Me: "It started five minutes late." She: "You could start without me." Me: "Then I'd cover ground twice." She: "What if I had production issues to attend to?" Me: "Did you have production issues?" She: "No." Me: "Then don't beat me up over production issues. If you had
She: "I watched a few more episodes last night." Me: "Me, too. You know they're up to season 6." She: "So Bartlet must've been reelected. Right? How long could this go on?" Me: "I guess it could go to 8 seasons." She: "How long is one term? How many terms can he run for?" Me:
This morning I endured a 14 minute safety video that came straight from 1981. Among the pearls of wisdom: Ergonomics. It's a new word in the workplace. Sweaty palms and electricity don't mix. They weren't called monitors back in the day. No, they were video display terminals. I want those 14 minutes back.
Much, that is. I'm too tired to blog much. Crazy lady that I am, I ran on Tuesday instead of waiting another month or so for my shoulder to finish healing. I'm dreading the recriminations from my physical therapist tomorrow. Sigh. I had to start running again. The stairmaster, while a worthy machine for vague
I've been having a bit of fun, searching through Blogger profiles and comparing them to mine. There are at least a dozen other people who listen to Apoptygma Berzerk (If they're spelling it correctly, that is. A-p-o-p-t-y-g-m-a B-e-r-z-e-r-k. Pray you don't have to say it out loud!), and even a few more who listen to
He: "...and so I told her that you were responsible and would take care of it." Me: "Thanks, I need you to be the wind beneath my wings." He: "It's part of my job description. Except..." Me: "Except what?" He: "I was looking at my career path and it seems the next step is the
How many years has West Wing been on the air? Five? Why didn't anyone ever tell me about this series!!! You people know I live under a rock -- it took me, what, four years to get around to Buffy? Two years to catch on to Alias? Sheesh. I had no inkling this amazing series
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