I get a kick out of the hilarious and annoying combo roll. Its like being tickled.

Scott's taken to misusing basic adjectives in the throws of conversation. Always in a competely convincing tone and without missing a beat:

"Oh, I disagree, the fish tastes absolutely sarcastic."
"Yeah, those shoes look comfortable and proactive."
"I know! That guitar is so selfish!"

Our bed is sort of high-up, meaning if ever you drop, say, a book or the remote control, you are forced to lean wayyyy down and while painstakingly balanced on the furthest edge of the bed, your fingers can just barely scoop up the missing object. Not always, but sometimes he will silently watch the teetering excersize (which can last many moments), then ever so gently shift his foot up to nudge me, just barely enough that I may or may not roll off. I haven't yet hit the floor, but its come alarmingly close.

Totally maddening but I'm always laughing too hard to realize it.

A man in our office just had major abdominal surgery. Apparently, he's recovering up high in his hospital room a few miles away, and is facing our office equally high up in the sky. Jerry had an idea to tape together papers to form huge letters spelling his name and plaster them across our massive windows for him to see. I joined the cause, quickly realizing that our super-sized block letters were kind of illegible, and, weren't these fancy windows tinted?

We persevered nonetheless, we taped and stuck and returned to work. Our dorky, office-paper letters obscuring the view. Within minutes, the phone rang. He could see it! Success.

It got me thinking about how dismal my last job was. No one could have stuck anything on the windows. No one was allowed to stick anything, anywhere. Or eat. Or hang your coat on the back of your chair. One day, I broke down and nibbled a roll at my desk. I was scared.

During a pitch, someone took my chair and wheeled it in a crowded room. Hours later, a chair was returned to me, looking exactly like mine. Alas! it was one of the more expensive chairs that only the art directors & writers got. This was bad. This was very bad. I was told about the "stolen" fancy chair and was sent out to find the THIEF! I realized I was guilty. Shamed and frightened, I pretended to look and then had to present myself as the crook. OK, the mind reels. I spent parts of my workday trying to track down who took or moved what. Stupid, unimportant loser-crap. It was loser-crap!

The person I reported to... I shudder. I'm no work-softie, truly. But that.. I am not sure I can get the bad taste out of my mouth soon enough.

I was somehow morphed into a human rolodex. It was bizarre. My principal role was to remember hundreds of phone numbers of people I'd never seen before in my life off the top of my head . Five seconds was the limit, I counted. OK, no one can keep 1,900 digits straight in their head with no point of reference. You see, there wasn’t time to pull it up like the rest of the world does, by a rolodex or database. No sir. That took too long. Every single day was like being on a cruel game show. What's the German word for garlic?! WHAT? Time's up. Penalty box.

OK, in my defense, that was not what I was told I’d be doing. I didn’t stay long. If it weren’t for a mortgage, I would have eaten a crumb cake off my desk and got fired in :002 seconds.

Awful. I was made to (first find and) fetch Goetz's caramels in the boiling heat for his personal enjoyment. One day I returned, breathless and sweaty, rush-delivered them to him in a conference room full of people; to have him send me BACK out to get "fresh" ones. Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Insistence upon my fetching strange items and then in trouble because I wasn't at my desk. Lose-lose. Be proactive! What? You sent that out without me seeing it? I have to do everything here! In-sane.

Peter gave me a rear-view mirror today that he adhered to the top of my monitor. This way I can see people coming from behind. We just named our robot vacuum (a new account we're working on) Miss Ruth. Our patient got our 8 foot get-well message. I am so very happy.

Still wearing my snappy lime green court shoes and playing the squash. I don't look cool.

Too lame to play against a stranger (even after much spousal encouragement), I played Scott. I worry its losing its luster, as he barely has to lift his racquet to score against me. Meanwhile, I run to and fro, redfaced and uncouth and never seem to get ahead. Infuriating. I swing harder. Same results. Whack! Smokes me without even meaning to, and while always praising me, which somehow makes it worse.

I zipped my racquet in its bag thinking Watch, I'll get better and kick your ass.

Later in the week, he played against a man he'd never played before. He came home looking slightly wild-eyed. I asked him how it went.

"Good, I won."

Of course, I thought.

"Yeah, but he hit me right in the ass with the ball."

I may have snorted.

I didn't think much of it until later when I noticed two perfectly round (to scale) squash ball wounds right on the ol' buttkus. They were practically smoking. Wow. This guy must have become as loser-enraged as I have; so he wound up and cranked the ball right AT his butt-- from like 2 feet away!

OK, I meant for ass-kicking to happen-- but seriously!

Geez. Take away the sugarry libation off my page and there goes any original thoughts of my own. That just can't be.

Been busy.

Which brings me to something I can't seem to forget. Surrounded by extremely busy friends and city folk and new parental units, I found this comment the other night very refreshing:

During the superbowl BLITZ!!!, Carrie leaned over and asked me what time I usually went to bed. I answered, she paused, then stated completely genuinely: "YeahIdunno. Thats our New Years resolution. We are going to sleep less."

Two things:

Peter keeps trying to make money off of me by bringing me lunch, as he brings his own everyday. Ten bucks.

Scott stated flatly: "We will need to find a good craft for you to do on Sunday nights once Sex & The City is done." Somewhat serious. Heh. Crafts. Sprawled out on the floor with paste and rounded scissors 'cuz SAC is off the air. Goo.

Well, heck. At least I have the archiving thing sorted out. I do miss my old school layout, however. Once I get some time, I will see what I can do.