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04.08.2003 - 8:13 p.m.

Tuesday

So I get to work today, and IMMEDIATELY, and by "immediately" I mean "after about two and a half hours", I noticed the Aragorn cardboard standup that stands (dorkily) in a corner of my office had been stolen! And replaced! With Lara Fucking Croft!

I was actually really embarrassed it took me so long to key in on the fact that instead of hunky old Aragorn standing there, all disheveled and, you know, ready for a battle/palavar/hot sex session, there was Little Miss Vial-O-Blood, crooking her finger in a weird come-to-my-videogame-world gesture. Clearly, I would be no good at a crime scene.

Grizzled Detective: "Did you see the murderer?"
Me: "Um. No, I don't think so."
GD: "He was seven feet tall, wearing a clown costume with an inflatable sex doll strapped to his back."
Me: "Umm...maybe. Wait, no."

When the penny finally dropped, I sent off one of those completely irritating wide-distribution emails that you roll your eyes at before deleting. You know, they're all "Important HR Regulations", or "Please wash your coffee cup after use", or "Give me back my fucking Aragorn, you propeller-headed dicksmacks, before I whip the crap out of each and every one of you with a car antennna."

Eventually, after much sniggering, Aragorn was returned and I-Frenched-My-Brother hauled away - but not before several of us tried to put them in a compromising position together, because when you've got two life size cardboard figures in the same room that is CLEARLY the only course of action to take. It's harder than you might think, is all I can tell you.

Speaking of annoying emails, I got a message from a purchasing rep the other day, and it was all "Dear Sundry, I have changed my address, here it is, please update your records, blap-de-bloo, and oh by the way DO NOT CHANGE THE BILLING ADDRESS. It stays the same! No change!" and I was like okaaaaay, file that under F for Freak, and then no shit one hour later I get another email from the same guy, now in a total panic. "Just to avoid confusion! Do NOT change the billing address! DO NOT CHANGE THE BILLING ADDRESS IT IS THE SAME."

I'm thinking what the fuck, does this guy think I am the world's biggest moron here, or what. So I replied: "Dear Lou, I have received both of your messages regarding your new billing address, which I have updated according to your records. Thank you for the information." And I sat back and laughed until I peed myself a little.

Oh, it's all about the professional attitude at my office. You know?

:::

I found out that some sheepfucking asshole stole my mail a while back - specifically, they stole one of those checks that the cheesier credit card companies (I'm talkin' about YOU, MBNA) send out hoping that you will shriek with glee at being able to use their money for only a 4392% interest rate.

See, I got this notice in the mail months ago saying something nebulous about how someone had been caught stealing mail, and it might have been my mail that was stolen, and was this photocopy of a check made out to Sundry my mail? And I wrote back and said yes indeed, that's mine, uh huh, and then a long period of time went by and then I got another notice in the mail saying Mr. Sheep Q. Fuckerdink had been accused of the mail stealing and if I wanted to attend the sentencing I could, and while that sounded sort of entertaining I really didn't think much more about the whole thing.

Except when we refinanced the house a while back I had some weird ding on my credit report that hadn't been there before. So we got the full report, and it turns out $600 had been somehow charged on this crap-ass ancient MBNA account I had and because the credit card company had a really old address on file (yeah, despite mailing me a check, don't ask me) I've just been collecting late fees ever since.

Now I have to jump through approximately eighty jillion billion hazillion hoops to get everything straightened out - copies of this, copies of that, fraud alerts filed, shit mailed here, seventeen hours on hold there. It's a giant pain in the ass.

Almost makes me feel sorry for poor Lou and his obsessive-compulsive billing address worries. Almost.

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