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09.08.2002 - 11:51 a.m.


Right now I am avoiding the lurking pile of laundry threatening to explode from the utility room. I'm also studiously ignoring the wafting tangles of dog hair that need to be removed from our comforter before they smother us while we sleep. Oh, and the 200 bulbs I bought last week that will surely require hours of back-aching digging only to eventually disappear down the greedy gullets of the neighborhood squirrel throng? Yeah, evading that little task too.

Sunday, Chore Day. Bah. I'll just settle in front of my computer screen and bask in its warm glowing warming glow, and catch up on the lives of total strangers until JB finally barges in here and wants to know if I plan on helping him at all today dammit.


Work has been stressful lately. I drove home the other day bawling my head off, because as the always-eloquent writer of Subsequent Events puts it, "As always happens when I'm half-angry and all the way hurt, I start crying." I recently experienced some major conflict with Funky Boss, who happily is no longer my boss but is merely Funky, and now after the flame war has sputtered out, we're carefully tip-toeing around each other - wary and suspicious.

Another one of my problems is that I am 'managing' a graphics intern. He's maybe 16, and artistically talented - but annoying as a 2 year old, and questions literally everything I ask him to do. "Why? Why? Why?" until I'm ready to shriek "BECAUSE I SAID SO!". Added with my Funky problems, the constant battling and arguing and sheer crappery is wearing me down, and making me vaguely long for some black-and-white job where I stamp license plates on a production line or something.

I bet you can never truly escape annoying co-workers, though. I can just see it: "Please stamp the letters and numbers on this side of the license plate." "WHY?"

You know how stress can make your back hurt, your neck ache, your head hurt, and stuff like that? We actually have a masseuse on staff at Workplace. She comes 3 or 4 days a week, and anyone who signs up can have a one hour full body massage, gratis.

Do I get a healthy, relaxing massage, ever? No, I do not.

It's mainly because my thinking is this: of the many places it is awkward and strange to be naked, one of them is at the office. Unless you're boinking a coworker or something, and let me vigorously assure you, that does not apply. I just can't imagine stripping off my clothes, all carefree and not at all concerned that the massage room is not exactly Fort Knox and any engineer could randomly fling open the door looking for a USB cable or something and witness me en deshabille.

Actually, it occurs to me that it would in fact be much more traumatic for the engineer involved, so maybe I should chill out and get a fucking massage already.


So, I'm not much for stupid diary tricks. Yes, I broke down and did the survey and all, but here at Much Ado About Everything you'll never ever see 1) a wishlist, because why should I assume you want to buy me things? 2) An icon that represents my current mood, because, you know, hopefully my actual feelings and disposition are a smidge more complex than a tiny GIF file can represent, and, gosh, can't you tell by the entry what sort of mood I'm in anyway? (Today: Rambling and Incoherent), 3) the term "LOL".

Instead, I promise you infrequent entries of dubious quality, occasional bad code with broken links, and today's blue light special: a pathetic plea for guestbook entries.

I thrive on guestbook entries, people, because that's the way, uh huh, uh huh, I like it. It lets me know you're out there. Write me one, even if it's just "howdy" or "Beef: It's What's For Dinner", which would be weird, but hey, it's all good. Quid pro quo, Clarice, I will sign yours too.

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I have moved. - 1.03.2005
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Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

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