Oh hai interweb! I’m back for what has turned into my weekly check-in (as opposed to the more frequent check-ins of last year when I was funnier and woke up drunk more often.) I didn't do a blink of work all morning and when I looked at the clock and saw that it was only 10:30, I was all “AHHH!!! CANNOT BE TRUE” but it was. IT WAS.
(On a side note, an ominous manila folder just landed on my desk but I am quite certain it is the only thing I need to accomplish today so I’d better drag it out as long as possible. Besides, if I do it too quickly they might figure out that I’m competent and may give me even MORE things to do. We just can’t have that. There’s nothing worse for boredom than work.)
(Incidentally, that manila folder kept me busy until 2:00. I will now resume blogging but let this be a lesson to the rest of you: don’t trust anything your boss puts on your desk)
I’ve been painfully bored at the office quite frequently over the past few weeks much to Beau’s dismay. When I’m bored, I’m cranky and bitchy and threaten to run away to far away lands (most recently, Europe and Oregon have been popular threats) and I dissolve into tears at inconvenient intervals… like every Monday at 6:45 pm. So, why didn’t I turn to you sooner for comfort? Because I am much like a despondent 7-year-old when I’m bored and my brain is much like the weary but patient Bologna who used to suggest possible activities to keep me entertained while I would respond with a resounding “NO” to each idea of standing on my head in a corner or drawing pictures or reading a book or, in this case, blogging.
As you can see, I’ve been quiet not because I have nothing to say. I’ve been quiet because I’m being difficult and I’m busy moaning “ennui” while I lay prostrate on the floor. Such is the paradoxical nature of my being. But now onward to important things that I’ve been holding back while I stared out windows sighing and writing creepy little haikus about rain!
Remember how Bologna is growing a human life form? The one who had an internet presence before it was even born? Well, it’s not an it anymore. It’s a boy! Bologna has an ultrasound picture of his wing-wang but I can’t post it here because I’m afraid the Authorities will arrest me for kiddie porn and then my sister will have yet another thing to explain to her child about dear Auntie Dangerous K who is slightly off her rocker. In conclusion, Nugget is a he and I won’t tolerate any more gender neutral pronouns here or anywhere else. He’s a fetus, people, not a dog.
Speaking of dogs and excellent transitional subjects, we have a lead on a very promising condo where my future puppy will possibly romp around (yes, that’s right, stretch the credibility of that transition just a little more). Last night we visited it a second time and brought Beau’s father, our unofficial building inspector, who was unable to rip it a new asshole. The condo’s current asshole was built in the 1980s so while it may be covered in beige linoleum, it is, in fact, intact.
Now I have to get back to the sinister manila folder of doom which remains persistently next to me and which I probably summoned this morning by complaining loudly to the universe about being bored, but before I go, I leave you with these potential upcoming blog entry titles:
Earning My Keep, Or, How To Clean Toilets At the Beau Family Cape House
Don’t Get Drunk and Go Swimming In 50° Water
Why Losing Darts To A Gay Man Will Make You Feel Worse About Yourself
Farting Audibly in Harvard Square: Check
Do I Have What It Takes To Play Wingman in a Lesbian Bar for My Office BFF?
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