Oct 142011

There are still only about 4 of us who have decorated at work, but I can’t stop fussing with my desk. I know that if I add too much, it’ll just be gilding the lily, but I’m obsessed.

Sandy’s husband Ben was generous enough to give up his mannequin head (affectionately named Head) for the month and Sandy even threw in her uncle’s old rotary phone for good measure.

Both really add a perfect old-time creep factor and I love it!

Leave it to my competitive streak to turn this quaint Halloween decorating contest into a veritable political campaign. Wednesday really brought out the dark side of me because someone (BRIDGET) had the audacity to say I might lose, so I got all up-in-arms and indignant and practically attacked every person who walked past my desk, forcing them to swear their loyalty.  Then I panicked yesterday when Mary texted me and said someone’s  (my competition’s!) decorations were all laying in a heap when she arrived that morning because god forbid someone point at me and start screaming sabotage.

I asked Chris, one of the analysts, if he’s going to vote for me.

“Considering that fucking pig mask scares the shit out of me every day, I’d say you have my vote.”

Another analyst said she’s voting for me based on my framed portrait of meat slabs alone.

I’m about to order macarons from Kaitlin and let the sweet bribery carry me to the finish line. Try to say no to me and my basket of macarons, motherfuckers.

Last night, I worked with Tyler. It was the first time he worked a late shift since all this hullabaloo (Battle of the Network Stars shout out!) started.

“Your desk gets creepier by the minute,” he said. “But you know what you need? A lock of hair!”

“Oh, I have that already!” I exclaimed, flipping open the Diary of Ken Lobe to show him the page it’s taped to.

“Of COURSE you do. Why WOULDN’T you already have a lock of hair?” he said with a sarcastic laugh. “You’re three steps ahead of me!”

That’s because I have no life, Tyler.

Someone asked me what the prize is going to be and you know what? I have mustered up every drop of panache for this that I don’t even care about a “prize.” I just want the title and glory. IT IS ALL I HAVE GOT RIGHT NOW.

(But seriously, there better be a fucking prize.)

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