A Big Author is coming to the office today, and I must pretend to be a Real Editor. Who can like, write and shit. Also spell. And I must do all of this with a throat that is all but swollen shut for some reason.
But I'm wearing my lucky Pink shirt, complete with Jason's cufflinks, because they cost more than mine. I shall be brilliant and together and financially savvy and I won't get the S&P 500 mixed up with the Dow Jones Industrial Average. Again.
But all this professionalismissitude means that I won't be around today to write that totally brilliant and hilarious entry that I totally meant to write today. Oh man, it's such a shame. You would have loved it.
So instead, why don't y'all just check out the archives and then discuss how much better this site used to be in the old days, when I actually put effort into things instead of just sitting down at the keyboard and writing really, really long run-on sentences about my hair. Which is very FRIZZY today and not professional and I hate it. I'm getting it cut tomorrow. Perhaps I shall hack it all off.
Dun dun DUN! There's a little mystery for the weekend. Will Amy cut her hair super short? Or will she just get a trim? And what about the bangs? WHAT ABOUT THE BANGS?
(I've always wanted to do a weekend cliffhanger post. I'm not sure this is what I had in mind.)
My throat hurts. I think I might be running a wee temperature.
Big Author gets here in 45 minutes. I need to pull it the fuck together. And put my hair up in a professional matronly bun or something.
Oh! Jason sent me flowers this week? Because he likes to make the husbands of my friends look bad? And the bouquet has sunflowers and these weird little yellow chili pepper things. Which are very cool, but they look DELICIOUS, because I love chili peppers. Can I eat them? Are they poisonous? Is Jason trying to kill me with irresistable foliage of death?
I am so, so hungry. I also forget what I was talking about. I also am very nervous about Big Author all of a sudden and am too paralyzed with fear and hunger to get my damn notes together or find a pen that doesn't have teeth marks all over it to take to the Big Meeting.
I'm really not drunk. I swear. This is just Amy in High-Pressure Situations. I'm really quite a pain in the ass, especially when the nervous tics start up because I tap things and make softly annoying tapping sounds. I also have to pee a lot.
(There's a frightening and growing number of coworkers who read this site, and yet this does not stop me from sharing all this information. I am clearly deranged. Coworkers? If you see me today? Please give me a hug and tell me I look pretty and that I'm totally the best editor ever, because I'm so cool and stuff.)
(It might also be a good idea to carry a brown paper bag around today in case you stumble upon me hyperventilating in the supply closet or something.)
(Actually, instead of a hug? Just give me a good, hard slap. Thanks. Y'all are peach pies.)