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01.31.2003 - 6:39 p.m.

Friday

My favorite task at Workplace is writing the newsletter that I email out to a list of about 1800 subscribers. When I was hired, I was encouraged to make it informal and wacky, so it is definitely both of those things. Some random excerpts:

Oh, Labor Day weekend has passed, and thus the summer slowly fizzles to an end and all the engineers put away their white sweatpants for another year.

Hoo, boy. Nothing like a random antiquated clothing etiquette reference to really kick off a newsletter, don't you think?

--

You think writing these is *easy*? No way. It takes hours of labor, vats of caffeine, and a crystal clear mind filled with a single purpose: to web surf as much as possible while pretending to work.

--

You know that shy sort of awkward encounter you have with someone when you haven't talked to them in quite a while? Yes, it's like that with you and I right now, isn't it. The newsletter, it's been so long since you've seen it, and you're not sure - are things...well, *different*?

Don't worry, nothing's changed. We here at Marketing Weasel Enterprises strive to provide you with quality hyperbole and corporate bias!

Oops. I mean, ha ha, "informative and entertaining information about our products".

Yeahhh. That's it.

---

It's fun to write and I dig, dig, DIG it when people write me back, telling me they get a kick out of it. It's my Workplace version of a guestbook entry, you know? The best thing ever, though, was when a lady came by our booth at Macworld and asked if I was the newsletter girl. I said yes, and she threw open her arms and yelled "Girl, show me the LOVE!" and hugged the living shit out of me.

That was awesome.

:::

I've been taking Dog to work a lot lately. The weather's been fairly craptacular and when I put her in the backyard and try and leave in the morning, she moans and stares and gives me the most pathetic look on the planet and I am consumed with guilt. So I pack her up and bring her to the office where she lounges on a leather couch all day long. Occasionally she demands and receives a biscuit. Most. Spoiled. Dog. EVER.

She's such a sweetie, though. Seriously. You should meet my dog. Her ears are really soft and velvety, and she does this thing where she puts a foot on your lap (we call this The Foot Thing) and stares at you moistly, then ducks her head and just leans the top of her head (The Head Thing) against your leg. Awww.

If you met Cat, she would likely try and crawl into your lap where she would curl up and purr and you'd be initially charmed and then for no reason she would bite you. She's bitchy like that.

Cat is especially bitchy, and Dog especially friendly, first thing in the morning when I come out of the bedroom. Cat is like, "Hey! Hey! HEEYYYYYYYY!! Feed me! Feed me now! No, it's not good enough to just dump the food in, asshole! Pet me while I'm eating! Yes! You must pet me while I bolt my diet cat food and make disgusting chomping sounds! Where are you going?? HEEEEY!"

Dog: "You're up! YOU'RE UP! OMIGOD I can't BELIEVE it! Yaaaaaay! Oh! Oh! I need to grab a TOY I'm so excited! I'm stuffing it in my mouth! MURF! SNUF! GZNORT!"

:::

I can't believe I ever complain about my job. I get to write stuff that I enjoy. I get to bring my dog to the office. They feed me, for free. Today I had a full body massage, a weekly indulgence provided by Workplace. Earlier my coworkers and I watched the recorded copy of last night's Scrubs and laughed ourselves silly. And right now, as I type this - while clearly not doing any actual WORK - I'm sipping a very tasty Cabernet that the chef poured me because he's using it in tonight's dinner.

Someday, somewhere, I am probably going be unemployed again and I will read this entry and remember how easy I had it and I will reach up very carefully and slap myself across the face.

:::

I emailed my friend Feng today after seeing this website and its hilarious Marmaduke description:

"Marmaduke: Marmaduke comes KA-THUMPING into the living room at the sound of the dog food commercial. MarmaKid urges everyone to move, and swiftly, due to the amazingly large size of Marmaduke. Because he's a really fucking big dog. Also, he's enormous. Gargantuan, you might say, or even huge. A voluminous pooch. A capacious canine. Great, as in Great Dane. Hefty. Whopping. Hulking. Etc.

If you repeat the above for 20 seconds each day, you will have achieved the effect of reading any given Marmaduke panel. Ever."

I had to send that to Feng because when we used to be coworkers, I remember him delivering a similar rant. He wrote back:

"Ha! I did say something like that once. Stupid Marmaduke. Although now I think that the Marmaduke guy must be some kind of genius. How many years has he made a living by drawing a one-panel comic about nothing but the size of a dog? Pretty impressive.

Maybe I'll develop a strip about the comic *smallness* of a dog. That's gotta be gold, right?"

Hee! I love it. The dog, constantly falling into - I don't know, the heater vents or something.

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0 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

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