Apr 072008
 
  • Someone took a nice big shit in the bathroom right before I went in, so that was a thoughtful, and very fragrant, "Welcome Back from the Weekend!" gift.
  • There’s some man who pukes in the mens room every day. It’s kind of anthemic.
  • Bob started a new job today. He still sits two seats down from me, but he works daylight now. When he logged off his computer at 5:00pm and said, "Have a nice night guys," I kind of died a little. Who will I exchange juicy celebrity gossip with every night now? Who will serve as a diversion the next time I stalk someone here? WHO WILL TELL ME WHAT MOVIES TO ADD TO MY NETFLIX QUEUE? I am so abandoned.
  • Big Bob is listening to the Pirates game with one ear bud in, and when he occasionally turns around to give Collin an update, he doesn’t realize how loudly he’s talking and I’m blasted into the atmosphere by the sheer volume of his exuberance.
  • I feel like I don’t have enough decor on my desk.  I guess now that this is a Girls Only Zone (Collin moves to his new big boy cubicle tomorrow), I can:
    • string up a garland of tampons,
    • fan out episiotomy literature, 
    • talk about ovaries and placenta at my leisure,
    • squirt breast milk into Kim’s cube and she’ll retaliate by chucking a Nuva Ring at my head, and 
    • FINALLY hang up my poster about yeast infections which I stole from the gynecologist’s exam room.
Mar 032008
 

Hello. I’m twenty-eight years old. I have never built a snowman.

We got a good bit of snow on Friday, so I got all ambitious and decided that it was time to change my status as snow architect from "never" to "active."

I concentrated hard on my efforts for an entire, let’s say, three minutes, before walking away and playing with the shovel. Henry spied my attempt and asked what it was. "Uh, that’s not how you make a snowman," he patronized as he continued to sneer at the uneven mound of snow that I formed by scooping and patting, not rolling which is apparently the universal method of birthing snowmen.

"Oh, then show me how," I said, knowing that it was a surefire way to con Henry into doing all the work while I pranced around in a crocheted frog hat and rain boots. (By the way, rain boots make terrible snow boots.)

By the time he was done playing snowman God, I was tired of being outside. It was still snowing hard and Chooch kept trying to sneak past us into the street, no matter how many times I yelled, "Danger danger!" I decided I would implement by carefully planned-out snowman face and accouterments the next day, which turned out to be beneficial because by the next day, it looked like this:

2008 03 02 063

I was pleased with it’s current Leaning Tower state — it would make a more realistic dying snowman. Unfortunately, before I had a chance to slap a piece of salami on its face for a protruding tongue, some asshole kids stole his head and torso.I found the head a few yards up the steet, but the torso is probably in a garage somewhere, being harvested for kidneys.

Snowmen suck. So do kids.

I guess technically I still haven’t built a snowman. It’s the cherry that can’t be popped.