A Little Cop-Out

Oh my GOD y'all. What a day. What a fricking freaking fucking day.

I have a cold that will not quit, a sinus headache and a hacking cough like my three-packs-a-day uncle. Who died. And who I just made up because I couldn't think of anything and I needed a simile. I also stepped on my dog this morning and dropped the can opener on my cat. Then I ruined my Spiga shoes by spilling a gingerbread latte on them.

Then? When I went to write today's entry? I had this great idea to do a Drunk Amy Retrospective. Links to my drunk posts and a series of vignettes about Things Amy Has Done While Drunk And Found Out About Later. It was going to be brilliant. And then I looked at the calendar.

Wednesday. Shit.

So I compiled all of this week's Advice Smackdown questions, which were all wonderful, but I just wasn't feelin' any of them. Or even feeling them. Everything I wrote was just blah blah lame lame jump the shark blah. I just wasn't up for the hair advice as I had the worst stringy flat frizzy hair day ever today, combined with winter-onset dry skin and two nasty premenstrual zits. (Just except for the actual "premenstrual" part, as I STILL DO NOT OVULATE OR MENSTRUATE BECAUSE MY OVARIES ARE RETARDED.)

So I hope no one needed really urgent advice this week, because I suck. I also look as shitty as I feel if that's any comfort.

And now? I have just finished watching A Little Princess, which I TiVo'd last week and have been waiting for Jason to work late or go see strippers some night so I could wallow in my little-girl-sappiness. (Me: "But it was directed by Alfonso Cuaron! Who did Y tu Mama Tambien! With the threesome! So it's cool!" Jason: "Whatever.")

And lord, I cried like a baby. Full-on heaving sobbing with hiccups and tears and runny eye makeup. (Waterproof my ASS, Loreal.) It was the best cry ever. Even better than Steel Magnolias with Sally Field crying in the cemetery just before Olympia Dukakis is all, "Hit [Shirley Maclaine]!" and they all start laughing through the tears which is Dolly Parton's favorite emotion.

That scene doesn't hold a fucking candle to the end of A Little Princess. See, she's all hungry and tired from being a servant and she recognizes her father but he doesn't remember her because he has amnesia from the nerve gas from the war and Sara is all "PAPA! PAPA!" and sobbing and then the police drag her away in the rain and then that mystical Indian dude is all "SCHWAA WAA WAA WHAMMY" and her father is like, "SHIT!" and runs outside and screams "SARAAAAA!" just as the police are taking her away and the evil school mistress is all, "Fuck." and then they all hug and are crying and happy and wah.

It was awesome. I think I might watch it again.

So there's really no way I can do an Advice Smackdown in this schmoopy sappy state. I have absolutely no edge tonight. I really would just like to tell you stories about magic and how all people are good and all girls are princesses and la la la.

And y'all would just fucking hate that. So piss off. Til tomorrow, anyway.

Blah De Bloo Blah Crap Entry

So I'm pretty much all moved into the (new!) (window!) office. I still need pictures hung up on the walls and for some reason I don't have a name plate outside my door like everyone else. Maybe I'm not really here. Am an illusion!

It's actually quite cozy in this office. I have lots of plants and pictures and sensual mood lighting and Muppet finger puppets and such.

And yes, I can keep plants alive. I'm really good with plants, just not plants with flowers. I kill flowers. But I grow absolutely indestructible green leafy plant things.

Jason grows orchids and does surprisingly well with them. What a weird, mixed-up household we have.

I also managed to snag a second guest chair, so now I can have two people visit at the same time. I don't think I've ever had two people visit at the same time, but maybe that was just because I didn't have a chair. Dude, it's a paradox.

I still wouldn't advise anyone to sit in my second guest chair though. The first chair I stole had a broken wheel, so I snuck it back and took another one. This one has two broken wheels. I've just kept it as a reminder that office crime never pays.

(I actually did have two special guests stop by yesterday, though not at the same time. Both were amalah.com readers, including this guy, and they both commented on the new! window! office! and totally put the exclamation points in when they said it. Love.)

Oh! And for everybody who said they liked my shoes in yesterday's post? They are from J. Crew. Jason bought them for me as a Christmas gift. Yes. He picked them out and he knows my shoe size. Yes, he also grows orchids. And yes, he has a brother but he's married. So stop asking.

Last night, I had a dream that I had the best idea for a post but didn't write it down and forgot it. This morning I woke up and tried to remember what the idea was but couldn't remember. Freaky.

I'm pretty sure it wasn't this post though.

Damn. This post is horrible. There's really no way to save it, either. Maybe a dog photo?

No? Shit. Okay, how about a Name the Planty Plants Contest? (Basically I'm stooping to anything that will get me nice comments instead of "u suck! and have ADHD! shut Up u whore!")

This is spider plant #1. She is a girl because she has wee babies. She likes pina coladas and getting caught in the rain. She would like to make it clear that she does not like spiders and really wants a new name.

This is spider plant #2. He is a boy because he has no babies and leaves the toilet seat up. He likes participating in Civil War re-enactments but is frightened of the ghostly neck and hand that always seem to float just outside the window.

This is tree thing. I got it at Ikea for $5.99 and have no idea what it is. Or whether or not it can be trusted. So far it seems to like water and dirt but not much else.

This is fake bamboo thing. He came from Target and used to hang on the wall of my old! windowless! office! Every night, he wishes upon a star to become a Real Plant. One time a big mean Siamese cat got a hold of him and chewed on his leaves and very nearly killed him. He's had a tough life. Won't you make it easier by giving him a name?

This is fake grass thing. He also came from Target. He even has fake water and sand but that still doesn't help him overcome his poor self image. Because face it, he looks like a rubber Chia Pet and that makes him very sad. He likes getting knocked over onto people's laps while they sit in my guest chairs because they think he's real and scream sometimes.

So there. Pick out names for them. The winners will get...something. Perhaps a wee spider plant baby. Or a pony!

I've Arrived

Well, I'm here.

I've mostly unpacked and have surveyed my kingdom. Which is mostly a parking garage.

My coat hook is up.

The sun is going down and giving my computer the holy glare of burning death.

And my blinds totally hate me. But still. Love. Also never, ever want to move again, because zzzzzzzzzzzzz.

The Great Office Packing Diary

So right after yesterday's post, four amazingly wonderful things happened:

1. Jason called to inform me that the gingerbread lattes are back at Starbucks.
2. My mom emailed to inform me that she just ran into the Captain at the grocery store last week and he is fat.
3. I re-Googlestalked him and found a photo of him AND his wife, and they are both hideous looking and lame.
4. THEN Typepad updated its postie interface and now includes spellcheck (thank the good Lord in heaven), colors, bullets and (duh) numbering. WYSIWYG in the hizzouse!

I could very much die happy right now, but I think I'll wait until I have a latte first.

I also have so much else to live for! Like moving to my (new!) (window!) office! I'm supposed to be packing right now. I am procrastinating.  Instead...

Look! Double-jointed fingers! Aren't they cool?

OK, time to pack. Packpackpack.

11:02 a.m. Stare very hard at orange crates. Wish for Jedi powers. Pout.

11:03 Get IM from Kristie re: gingerbread lattes. Mutual online drooling commences.

11:05 Drag empty crate to desk. Get wedged between wall and full heavy crate.

11:08 Years of playing tetris have done NOTHING for me. NOTHING.

11:11 Full crates out in hallway. Empty crates by desk. Open desk drawer.

11:12 Change mind, decide to pack old Wall Street Journals instead.

11:14 Should really recycle them, but then what would I use as a prop to look smart and informed? The talking Pets.com puppet?

11:15 Wrap Pets.com puppet in protective layer of Barron's and put in crate.

11:22 This is so boring. Pack space heater, fan, extra Gladware containers.

11:23 Bookends, oatmeal, peanut butter, honey and two boxes of teabags.

11:24 Also a rolodex. Did not know I owned a rolodex. Scan for celebrity names. None.

11:25 Bah.

11:27 Time to pack top desk drawer of mystery. Tremble with anticipation over what will be found next.

11:28 Christmas cards, a ruler and file folder labels.

11:29 An autographed photo of Judith Light.

11:30 Paystubs dating back to 2001.

11:31 Wow, I've made money. Where did it all go? Oh. Right. The shopping.

11:32 A package of dried ancho chiles. OK, that's even weird for me.

11:33 Seven dayplanner pages; January 14-21, 2003. I went to the dentist on the 16th and had a meeting re: feasibility reqs 4 site enhance on the 19th. I hope it went well.

11:37 Thirty-five pages from my cat-a-day calendar that I have saved for some reason. Awww. Kitties. Squishy. Put in crate.

11:38 An OCD self-assessment worksheet, folded meticulously; not filled out.

11:41 Jackpot! A monster stash of napkins, salt, pepper and plastic cutlery.

11:43 A Pillsbury promotional recipe book for the holidays. Awesome. Just in time.

11:44 Canadian nickels, band-aids and a spare roll of scotch tape.

11:45 Chocolate-covered espresso beans. Buzzbuzzbuzz! Also eyeglass cleanser.

11:47 Hairbrush, lint roller, chap stick and hand lotion. Time to primp.

11:52 Supremely bored. Check email. Mom is yelling because I voted for Kerry; the JLB is singularly obsessed with finding gingerbread lattes; someone joined my notifylist.

11:56 There is free pizza in the kitchen, but am supposed to interview an editorial assistant candidate any minute. Would it be bad to eat pizza during interview? Am starving.

11:57 Shit, I've got actual real-life WORK to do too. Editing and whatnot. Print deadlines and the like.

11:59 A card from Jason, a note from Mir and four thank-you cards I meant to send to wish-list gift givers.

12:01 Fuck the interview. Am getting pizza.

12:35 So okay, the INSTANT I got pizza it was interview time. But then my friend Sprocketeer was here with her brand new baby girl and I had to hold her and smell her head and then my coworker was all, "Amy, interview. Now. Put baby down" and I had to fly into my office holding a plate of cold pizza and shake hands with assistant candidate who probably thinks I am a crazy insane person who keeps dried ancho chiles in her desk.

12:37 (It was one of those interviews where halfway through I stopped quizzing her about herself and starting pitching the company and the position as the best thing ever and you totally want this job and oh my god, please work for us please please please.)

12:39 Am shill. Also cold pizza rules.

12:51 Since I figured some of you would totally think I am lying, I took a picture of just some of the stuff I found in my drawer.

Clockwise, from the thing on the wall: UPS delivery notice from 8/9/04, a lid for a Gladware container sans actual container, 35 cat calendar pages, cold pizza (from kitchen, not from drawer), lint roller, eyeglass cleaner, honey, small moldable snowman, dried ancho chiles, Christmas cards, stack o' paystubs, Judith Light.

12:57 More scotch tape and JCon swag. The hell?

1:00 Oh SHIT. That thing that I was supposed to fill out and give to that guy like, ages ago. Shit. Does he even work here anymore?

1:12 There is just Too Much Crap. Am going to drown in the Crap.

1:14 My calculator! Whee!Was wondering where that went.

1:17 Apparently my new desk is already in my new (window!) office. Yay!

1:31 OK, so I can only accomodate very skinny guests. Desk is huge and mammoth. Problem could be solved if I had them turn the desk to face the other direction but then people in the hallway can see my monitor. So no. Lose weight or just talk to me from the doorway.

1:33 From under the desk: more paystubs, three Sephora bags and that black jacket I thought my drycleaner stole.

1:34 Unpaid parking ticket, second notice. Shit.

1:36 A book of...poetry? Seriously, the hell? Am I accidentally packing up someone else's office?

1:39 Look at all the progress!

1:41 Look at all the crap!

1:46 The desk might still be covered, but at least all the drawers are empty.

1:47 Except for...

1:47.4837 SHIT!

1:48 Goddamn motherfucking cockshit drawer with all the pens and rubber bands and whatever.

1:52 Holy hell. I have a print deadline in an HOUR. AN. HOUR.

2:05 Stupid corkboard with all the stupid thumbtacks is so boooooooring.

2:15 You know what is not boring though? Crate races.

We had a drag race in the widest hallway; Print Team vs. eComm Team. VP Mike and I were the Print Team Racers and we done SCHOOLED them eComm people. We kicked their asses and GOOD.

2:38 Am feeling a little seasick right now though.

2:45 Am in full "throw everything into crates with reckless disregard for breakables or spillables" mode. Finally, some progress!

2:47 Ew. What the hell is all over the inside of my minifridge? There's black sludge everywhere.

2:50 That looks like a "Monday" clean-up job to me.

2:51 If anyone would like to know what soups are being served at Panera, just ask me, for I have a schedule.

2:57 All sorts of ink-related nastiness in the bottom of my pen holder.

3:00 Print deadline! Bah! Another secret stash of Post-its! Am crazy Post-it Girl! Give me some candy!

3:05 Holy shit, y'all. I think I'm done. DONE!

Four hours, seven crates, 12 labels and seventeen bazillion pens and paper clips later, I am done. And I am so glad I'm leaving this office, because Christ, it's FILTHY. Am not a grown-up at all; am a little messy girl who never cleans her room but just shoves stuff in drawers or under the bed.

Or in big orange moving crates. And small Starbucks bags.  Whatever.

About a Dog

It’s raining today, which means my leg hurts. Or aches. Or throbs. It’s hard to describe.

And no, I never broke it and I don’t have arthritis and I can’t predict the weather with it like a trick thumb or something. (Though I do have double-jointed fingers, which are really cool and also disgusting.)

The story of my leg goes back to high school (at least for this story, anyway, as I believe my leg was present some time before high school as well), when I was dating the captain of the football team at a school that was not mine.

(My school didn’t have a football team. There was soccer, but only if no one lost the school’s one ball, and we just used kindergartners for goal posts.)

The Captain of the Football Team went to a big and gorgeous high school with cheerleaders and art class and a Glee Club. I really meant to write a story about him for the Many Loves of Amalah series that I started and then abandoned when someone distracted me by jangling their shiny, pretty keys. It would make a really good story, except that I’d be super-torn about linking to the photo I found while Googlestalking him, because it is HILARIOUS. There's bad hair and a gut and everything. Google jackpot, for real. I also found his harrowing testimony about finding Jesus and repenting from a life of sin at the bitter age of five.

Let’s just say, Captain of the Football Team ended up becoming someone who would do shit like this.

(I was a little bummed that I wasn’t mentioned in his testimony as I was responsible for many, many sins.)

ANYWAY. Captain’s family big German Shepherd named Duke. Duke was big and scary. And did I mention big?

He was big.

The first time I met Duke I backed away and hid behind Captain. (Not that I was being a chicken, but this was also the first time I met Captain’s mom and she was also scary.)

Captain’s Family: Don’t be scared! Duke is a sweetie!

Amy: Am not scared! Am just…enjoying the feel of the carpet in this other room.

Captain: Duke is my boy, my good good boy, aren’t ya fella, good boy!

Captain's Mom: Duke is a baaaaaaaaby. He would never hurt a fly. He’s a big old chicken.

Amy: Okay, will tap him gently on head so y’all shut up now.

Captain's Mom: Also? I hate you.

Amy: What?

Captain's Mom: What?

Captain: Good good buddy boy!

So that’s how I met Duke, the gentle giant, the wussy wolf, the sweetest dog ever.

Liars. Dirty stinking fundamentalist Baptist liars.

After Captain and I got serious, he offered to give me one of his football jerseys so I could wear it to his games. And anywhere else that I wanted to be identified as the girlfriend of a football player. Which was everywhere.

So one night I drove to his house to pick him up and bring him back to my house, because that’s where the Approved Parental Chaperones would be for the evening. (Captain did not have a car, but sometimes got to use his parent’s minivan, but most of the time they said no so I ended up hauling his ass all over creation which pissed off my mom but didn’t bother me at the time because I was in lurvvvve.)

(*gasps for breath after that long-ass sentence*)

He came out to the car, sans the jersey he had been promising me for weeks.

Amy: JERSEY!

Captain: D’oh! Be back in a jiffy.

(Yes, he really said stuff like jiffy.)

Amy: *sits in car*

Captain: *is taking a really long time*

Amy: *has to pee, like she always does whenever she is further than 10 feet from the nearest bathroom*

Amy: *decides to run in to pee*

Duke: BARK BARK BARK BARK

Amy: *calls out* Duke is my boy, my good good boy, Amy’s good boy who she pretends to like…

Amy: *opens door*

Duke: INTRUDER ALERT KILL KILL KILL

And with that, Duke attacked me. I was wearing shorts and he went right for my thigh. He latched onto my flesh and shook his head violently, enough to knock me off my feet and onto the ground. I remember throwing my hands over my face. I remember him releasing his jaws only to bite me again as I tried to slide away.

Then the damn dog sniffed me. And remembered me. And started to cry and lick my arm.

Did you ever have a nightmare where you’re trying to scream but no noise comes out? The takedown to the floor knocked the wind out of me, and the shock and pain and bloodbloodblood left me gasping. I tried to call for Captain and couldn’t even whisper, so I ended up just curled up in a little bleeding ball in the tile foyer.

Captain came downstairs, freaked out, carried me to the kitchen and handed me a box of band-aids.

BAND. AIDS.

Captain: We really need to leave. My parents will kill me if they find out we were alone in the house.

Amy: *bleeds*

Captain: Why didn’t you stay in the car?

Amy: *sees pretty colors*

Captain helped me back to my car and handed me the keys. I drove back to my house while he alternated between apologies and chastising me for being so stupid.

Captain: Didn’t you hear him barking?

Amy: Dude, all dogs bark. My dog barks. My dog sounds like she’ll rip out your spinal cord as you walk up our driveway but then rolls over the minute you walk in the door.

Captain: Well, Duke is different.

Amy: Duke? The baaaaaaby? The dog I am stupid for being scared of?

Captain: Well, yeah. He’s got this…territorial thing.

Amy: *wishing she dated that nice boy at school who keeps all the prescription painkillers in his locker*

Captain: You’re kind of the third person he’s bitten. Which is why you can’t tell anyone about this.

Amy: *haaaaaaaaaate*

When I got home, Captain seriously tried to downplay the injury in front of my parents. It’s a scratch! A flesh wound! Duke was just playing! Haaaa, funny, right?

Amy’s Dad: I am going to kill you. Kill!

Amy’s Mom: See? This is why you need to date a boy who has his own damn car.

Needless to say, I ended up in the emergency room later that night. I had a lot of cuts and deep puncture wounds that wouldn’t stop bleeding and a fever and a bad case of shock. I had to give the hospital the name and address of the Captain so the Health Department could issue them a warning or something.

Amy: Oh shit, am I going to get my boyfriend’s dog put to sleep?

Social Worker: Oh no, not because of one bite. It takes three attacks before we’ll destroy an animal. This dog hasn’t bitten anyone else, right?

Amy: Oh shit.

Turns out, the first two people Duke bit never reported the attacks, since they were also Big Strapping Football Players who did not feel “pain” or “whatever.” They also may have weighed as much as Duke, which was an advantage I did not have.

So Duke was fine. Captain’s family got a call from the Health Department to verify that Duke didn’t have rabies or anything, which was like, soooooo totally my fault and dude, what a BITCH I was. Captain’s dad called my mom soon after.

Captain's Dad: So. How’s the bite?

Amy’s Mom: Well, if you mean those mosquito bites she got last weekend, those are fine. If you mean the HUGE GAPING HOLE IN HER LEG, that’s not so good.

Captain's Dad: Hmmpf. Maybe she shouldn’t have walked in the house.

Amy’s Mom: Maybe you shouldn’t have told her your dog was a big softie with teeth made of marshmallows gumdrops.

Captain's Dad: I suppose we should offer to pay for her medical bills.

Amy’s Mom: *waits for the offer*

Captain's Dad: Well?

Amy’s Mom: You know what? We’re fine. No thanks.

Captain's Dad: OK then! Goodbye! Peace in Christ!

Amy’s Mom: *censored*

Oh the plus side, I had a really bitching wound for awhile. And it was still warm out so I could wear shorts and show it off. Captain bought me things and was not a total asshat about it afterwards, although he did tell me that it "hurt him" when I told everybody we met about how his dog bit me and he "felt bad."

But now? Ew. I still have these weird scars from the bite and from where the puncture wounds didn’t close up right. My veins were damaged and I have a cluster of old-lady varicose veins right where Duke’s bottom jaw clamped on. And my whole thigh sort of throbs when it rains.

I'd take a picture of it but even I have some sense of Internet decency. Maybe tomorrow I'll show you my double-jointed fingers. Right now I'm off to Google the Pennsylvania Health Department's Animal Bite Division to see if it's too late to sue for laser surgery.

Morning After

Amy-

Some of your posts can get quite dangerous, have you ever considered using a stunt double?

-Stu

Advice column? Today? Are you drunk?

Or just from Ohio?

(This may be one of those posts where I should use a stunt double, because it's all politicky and I am not a politicky person and will probably piss people off and get stuff thrown at me.)

So apparently, Jason and I made a little wager last night. If Bush won, he was allowed to go buy a Mazda Miata, which he wantswantswants and I'm all, moneymoneymoney. Also fucking Ford Focus which is not paid off and is worth a teeny weeny fraction of what we actually owe on it. But! If Bush won, he could buy it because...well, I forget why.

I also forget what I was supposed to get if Kerry won. I really need to not make wagers while drunk. I suck at them.

Anyway.

But whatever. I'm not sobbing, I'm not distraught, I'm not shaking my fist at the heavens in self-righteous rage. Frankly? Kerry never impressed me much. I never really got how he was going to fix everything. Or anything, really. And while I certainly think Bush has made an assload of mistakes, I could never get behind the whole "anybody but Bush" thing. No, not anybody. Let's get someone better. We deserve to set our sights that high.

But no, we got Kerry. The most milquetoast of the candidates, mostly because Dean scared us by actually displaying a personality and some passion and made a funny screaming noise. McCain didn't have the balls to break from his party and Edwards was too young and Al Sharpton was a sideshow and blah blah blah.

We got Kerry, another silver spoon Yalie with a connected family and the secret Skull & Bones handshake and an heiress wife who comes across as only slightly more grounded than Paris Hilton. Meh.

We got Kerry, so now we've got Bush. The end. In four years we can try again. Will Bush make some mistakes before then? Of course. But we aren't headed towards World War III or a complete economic meltdown and we've proven ourselves to be extremely capable of homophobia and intolerance and hate without help from the President, thank you very much.

We've got Bush. And we'll be okay, really. Not great, but okay.

And maybe in four years we'll get a presidential candidate who is better than Bush. Someone who is not just okay, but who is great. 

ON THE BRINK OF GREATNESS AND ALSO VOMITING

Y'ALL Y'ALL Y'ALLK

Hi, am drunk. Election Day Drunk, an American tradition or whatever. Jason and I left work around 3:30 to go vote, and there was no line so we voted and then got margaritas. And have been drinking ever since. WHEEEE.

Jason is fuckinhg watching STAR TREK y'all. And he voted for BUSH. And is watching STAR TREK. And is making fun of me for voting for kerry and reminding me that I am registered Republican which is true but shhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

HOLY FUCK STAR TREK IS CREEPY SOMETIMES.

I just got off the phone qwith Coleeen who is also drunk and also yelling at Jason to shut the fuck up about Bush leading in Florida. I told her I was going to drunkpost as I was falling off the bed so she says hi and you all look pretty.

My dog is wearing a Livestrong bracelet around her neck and an "I VOTED" sticker on her butt., It is cute. Haaaa.

Jason just says he is drunk. Am shocked. Shocked!

And now hje's going to play a Star Wars Playstation game becasue he is a LAME DRUNK REPUBLICAN. And yet I would still totally have sex with him right now because he is so hot.

b ah bah bah bah bah bah bah bha

(That's the Star Wars music.)

Oh my god, y;all, my dog! Is so cute. And I don;t. Like. Dogs. Even now. I meet other dog owners and they're all, "Oh my god your dog is so cuuuute! Squeeeeee!" And I'm all, "Yeah, your dog smells and his fur is all pee stained near his ass. Ew."

But I love Ceiba. SAY-bah. That's how you say it. Like A-MA-LAh. Long A, like Amy. MUH. LAh. Not ahMAAAlah like I know all of you say it. Even my mom says it wrong! Wah. So come ON, you stupid people with the pronunciation issues. aaaaaaaa- muh-laaaaa, bizzitch.

(Jason sucks at video games when drunk. hehhhhh.)

But! My dog! Is so bad. She's horrible. She's like barking right now which is like yip yip yip huff huff and I can't get her to stop because she doesn't respexct my authoritaaay. She also has a rash and eats cat poo at every occascion. But! So wee.

Shit, she has dragged a pair of my underwear into the living room and is chewing on them. They are the Sunday Care Bears days of the week thongs with Cheer Bear on them. That is gross but also funny.

Ok, Jason is all about his video game so I have to go upstair to check if our country is going to hell in a handbasket or if it's going to hell in a handbasket.

Because there is no fucking difference y';all,/ there I said it! cRUcify me. Bah. Everybody sucks. Jon Stewart for President. Like, for real.

Voting Is More Fun Than Reading This Site

Blah blah bliddity dee vote vote cakes or P. Diddy will kill you etc.

I tried to vote this morning, but the line was two hours long. And the line at the nearest Starbucks was even longer. So no. Later. Promise. Because D.C. three electoral votes are going to decide the election this year! I can feel it! We sort of matter!

Actually, the only real influence Washington, D.C. has on the presidential election is the Washington Redskins Factor. If the Skins win their last home game before the election, the incumbent gets re-elected. If they lose, the challenger wins.

Green Bay totally spanked the Skins on Sunday. SPANKED.

So since I watched the game with extra intense patriotic interest, I feel I have already done my civic duty.

I spent most of the weekend pretending not to be sick. And then I spent most of yesterday pretending not to be sick at work. And eating leftover Halloween candy. But that’s besides the point.

But since I have no point, I will just tell you about my hair.

I did not cut it all off. I got a trim. See? Long and flowy and hippie-like:

Front:

Back:

Very exciting.

Later, we took Ceiba to the park for her first leash-free experience.

Also very exciting.

(Y’all, I am CRANKY today. I mean, I must be. This is the worst entry ever.)

I think I know why I’m cranky. Somebody switched my office phone last night. I was hoping to get a new phone for my new (WINDOW!) office.

I came in this morning and had a new phone, but it’s an OLD new phone. Like, even older than the one I had before. The speed-dial labels were done on a typewriter. And there’s a big ugly sticker on the handset with the number for our company security pager.

What the hell is the security pager? Who exactly does it page? Is that the number I call the next time I fire an assistant so a big burly security guard will rush in and escort her out? That would be cool. Except that we only have a security guard after 6 p.m. and he’s quite old and feeble.

Anyway. I hate this phone. It’s ugly. It is seriously labeled “Classic Lucent.” Classic meaning Old n’ Busted Piece of Shit, apparently.

It’s ringing. I am so not answering it until someone brings me some disinfectant for the handset.

I neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed an assistant, y’all. We got turned down by our one smart and human candidate. And yet on Friday in the Big Ass Meeting, I decided to talk a lot and suggest all sorts of brilliant ideas that mean tons more work for Amy. I really need to just wear my 15 pieces of flair and shut the fuck up sometimes.

So seriously? Any editorial assistants out there want a job? Entry to junior level? You get your own office? And there’s always a lot of candy around? And you could work for me, Special Mystery Guest Advice Columnist and VP Mike?

I bet they’d give you a new phone, too. Which I would promptly steal from you.

AND FINALLY…

I present The Bold & the Bloglicious Election Spectacular, which makes about as much sense as Ralph Nader.

Part 37: Vote or Die(t)!