As I Was Saying
Do you ever get the feeling that your work is cutting in to your happy houring? Yes!
Thank you. Me, too. Mondays are hard because the weekend helps me unlearn all the--Shit. It's Tuesday.
Listen, I'd really like to finish pulling this report, it's just that Jill wants me to see her wedding photos, so....? Maybe? Next week? Thanks for being so understanding. Ooh, actually? I need to go to coffee with Lori to talk about some stuff. Heh. I'll be back next Thursday afternoon.
The Latest in a Dull Series
Rather than actually do the things I'm supposed to be doing, I'm breaking them up into manageable chunks. I'm going through a new organizational phase of small notes affixed to three-hole punched sheet protectors. It's hard for me to believe the amount of joy I derive from organizing to-do lists. Let's all air the vaguely OCD habits that shame us!
BabyStalkers, Inc.
Brunch-style bookclub on Sunday morning, 'cause we're unpredictable like that. And we didn't read the book, 'cause we're lazy like that. (Or we've been drinking at church Oktoberfest the night before and getting picked up by the cops for passing out under pine trees.) Anne brought the Jimster and I watched him sleep, as a safety precaution in case one of the other women tried to steal or bite him.
That Oktoberfest Passing Out Story is Matt's
Matt wins because he yodeled and schuhplattled. And he can keep that story because Wells Fargo is being an asshole to him. I said it. I SAID IT.
My Oktoberfest story is two parts strudel, one part text message: "Too dry k. Can't code my eyes. Spinny. So spinny."
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2 comments:
What church going person brings a bottle of Jag to a church event? I was a victim. If you know the owner of that bottle before I drank it all, please tell him / her: "Not cool."
umm...what? i need more.
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