Chapstick Addictions, The Office, and More Excuses

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

I think the big thing that has been keeping me from writing is that I want so desperately to put pictures up and 1) we don't have promising internet at home, 2) when I can access the internet I don't have a little cable to connect the camera to the computer, 3) I get really impatient only being able to upload so many pictures at one time, 4) I'm just making really lame excuses, 5) I have not been keeping up on my personal writing, so I'm afraid that if I do resort to the blog, who knows what intimate, terrifying, and unnecessary information could spill from my brains into the world wide web.

Oh, the possibilities.

It occurred to me today that Sam has his own blog. I mean, I knew this, but I never read it until, like, 2 minutes ago, because it's a tech blog, and I figured I wouldn't really understand what he was talking about. Well, guess what? I don't! So I was right. samlambson.com. Check it out.

What I appreciate so much about Sam is that while I constantly brainwash him into believing that I'm a stellar writer, Sam never smacks me upside the head and says, "Well, geez, when was the last time you read something I wrote?"

And then I could say something like, oh, that last time you wrote me a love e-mail letter, which wasn't that long ago--and they're quite good. You can trash those cheesy love letter coffee table books (no offense to anyone that owns one, because if you do, I admit to reading them in private while you were in the other room making brownies which I also probably ate secretly to satify these uncanny indulgences. And by the way, I don't know if the word uncanny really works there, but it just sounds so good).

Okay, okay--DON'T trash your love letter coffee table book, but just know that Sam writes really really good ones, so . . .

My point. My point is, that Sam is a really good writer, and he's modest enough to not one-up me every time I claim to have done something brilliant. Like, he has this great blog of his own that I don't even have the balls to read (did I just say that?) in my techaphobia, but then . . . it's really good. So there. I know I'm full of it. I just wanted to admit that to the public. My conscience is now free. Free as a bird.

TV.
We don't have it. Okay, that's a lie. We have a little TV. A little bitty bit of it--we have an antenna and we get the Spanish channel and some station that picks up that terrible sitcom with the nerdy guy from Hitch. I watched an entire episode of him bowling and it was so terribly unfunny. I never watch TV, so I guess it was kind of a big deal.

But tonight--tonight, I can say that I have seen every single episode of seasons 1 through 4 of . . . The Office. Yes, it is SO true, and I am so happy. Just so pleased. I think my life is changed--I feel this new sense of self and purpose and gratitude.

Only, in returning to my office this week before Thanksgiving . . . well, let me preface this first. I put my supervisor's stapler in a green jello mold and it was SO FUNNY--oh, it was so good. I mean, it was pretty good. That's the thing. I could turn this blog into another ethnography about my work experience with my new web development company experience, but . . . I'm afraid it could turn into a complicated commentary on fascism, and I'm also afraid that my experience so far is not all that different from my experience at McDonald's. That might be a stretch to say . . . and it might not.

Well, I just don't want to bash my job, because I actually love what I do quite a bit--I honestly like the work I do, so I just try to focus on that. As everyone knows, working at an office comes with a slew of unrelated gobblydee-gook that accompanies the actual act of working. So, I enjoy my work. The gobbledee-gook, though? Well. I can deal. At least I get to write about vinyl siding and dipped pretzels and piroshky. Take that, Mussolini.

What I was going to say about The Office (see what I mean? The difference between Sam's writing and mine is that Sam's can write in logical, organized, and rational streams of thought. This is a grab bag of crap. Pardon my Slavic) is that after watching 4 seasons in the course of less than two weeks, it seemed that being in my office was losing more and more humor points the more episodes I watched. It was very very dry--I even started wearing chapstick.

But Sam has a theory about chapstick that I'm beginning to believe. At least, I think it applies to the Softlips brand because there's some chemical in it that makes your lips feel cool and refreshed for about 3 minutes, but little do you know that those very same chemicals with lengthy names are slowly eating away at your flesh. Anyway, after a couple weeks of using Softlips, my lips began to chap and irritate and so forth and then . . . I took Sam's word for it. And I quit. I have been chapstick free for almost a week now, and I think I'm recovering from a brief and unfruitful addiction. But I may revert to Burt's Bees. It's just a nice diversion at work to lather on body products between typing tasks.

Back to humor points. Because The Office got funnier and funnier and work got drier and drier, that's when I brought in a bowl, borrowed my boss's stapler, and set it in green jello in the breakroom fridge (photos will come--they will). But the week went on, and . . . sigh. I just . . . why isn't real life as good as TV?

At least Sam is. I can live with that. I guess I have to--j/k.

lol. gr8. bts. ur 2 kool 4 skool. ldfd

ttyl ;)

. . . and Happy Thanksgiving.

P.S. ldfd. I just made that one up: la-dee freakin' da.
Or maybe I didn't make that up .
I don't think I want to take credit for that.

For Your Meditation Hour

Just so you can imagine this scenario . . .

Spaghettios + Rook = jolly good time.
But I don't really like the kind with franks in them. It seems unnatural.

slo ame

"Slo ame" is a variation of the phrase "so lame." It means you are slow enough in the brain to not realize when something is lame.

It is slo ame that I do not have photos to put on the blog. Por kwa, you might ask? Because. Because we don't really get the internet at home. Or rather, what is also slo ame is that I have lost my inner drive and passion [and time] to blog with all my heart's desire.

Well. Maybe not all.

Well, here's the ticket:
Sam's Birthday Party/Our Housewarming Party/Dinner of Schezuan Party has finally settled itself on the day of November 22nd. That's right. We are planning to clean the hair off the sink and wash the dishes before then. Don't get too excited!

Sam is turning 15. I mean . . . Sam is turning 25. Isn't it so great?

It seems like a lot of funny things have been happening recently. Like dropping the rook into my spaghettios last night. Sam and I have been playing a lot of chess in the past few weeks. I got him in a killer checkmate last night--it was a slaughterhouse.

I've been listening to some talk radio--not really on purpose since the election, but I've actually been listening to a lot of the classical station at work, because I have a walkman tape player/radio instead of an iPod like the "cool kids." I listen to a lot of static during the day, or whiney-talk from collections across the isle. My radio is my new friend.

I heard some interesting news from the BBC--they play the freakin' BBC on the classical station--how cool is that? Word! Dig it! Yes yes yes! Anyway, the two best stories I've heard recently:
1) A man in some African country was forced by the government to divorce like 80 of his wives because legally, you can only have four. I wonder which 4 he decided to keep . . . and why. Oh, scandal!
2) A European diplomat checked into a hospital in Italy for a liposuction. There had been a warrant for his arrest for about a year. The police caught word about his scheduled operation, and would you guess what they did? Guess. You won't guess. Fine, I'll tell you. They dressed up as GUESTS--whaaaaat I know--I mean, like seriously! They even brought some nice looking women with them, and dressed up in normal people clothes and brought flowers and chocolates. Chocolates! As if chocolates would be appropriate after a liposuction. And THEN--oh, you'll never guess--as soon as this guy woke up from the anesthetic, they arrested him! HA! Oh, it's just too clever. Too clever.

Ahh.

Well, that's the latest.