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05.14.2003 - 9:16 p.m.


I was in this meeting today where my coworker Brian was trying, in his delicate way, to say that some people at Workplace were not quite as...task-oriented as they could be, and he phrased it something like:

"You've got the people who are super-brilliant but not reliable, and then you've got those of us who ARE reliable."

He immediately tried to backtrack, but it was too late. The rest of us, scenting blood in the water, jumped in.

"So - what, just because I show up when I'm supposed to, I'm some kind of moron?"
"Ooh, look at me, I played Quake all day - I'm, like, BRILLIANT!"
"Me reliable. Grunt. Me hunt food for office."

Brian, obviously unable to remove himself elegantly from a verbal slip, became very animated and held out one hand, scale-like - "This is SMART" - and then held out the other, "This is RELIABLE. Er. I mean. (yanking back both hands) What I MEAN is..."

"Which hand am I, Brian, the dumbshit hand?"

Heh. It was funny. Anyway, we were talking about the possibility of bringing a new person into Workplace, someone who ostensibly would be more skilled at "managing" people. It seems weird and sad that we're an office of people who are given the freedom to work whenever and however we want and coddled with a ridiculous amounts of benefits to help us be as productive as possible - and we still suffer from the same politics and personality clashes rampant in every dysfunctional business. It seems especially lame that in a group of 20-odd brilliant (and RELIABLE) people, 1) no one seems able to effectively manage the company, and 2) apparently we cannot manage ourselves.

In other Workplace-related news - in preparation for going to the gym, I change into my workout gear in the women's bathroom at the office (because I hate me some dressing room changin', I do), and on at least three separate occasions I have had the intent of putting moisturizer on my exposed-in-shorts-legs but instead of heading towards the Jergens pump I experience a brain fart and fill my hand with a warm plorp of J/A/S/O/N brand liquid soap. Each time I have managed to wrestle my neurons back into place before smearing the soap all over my calves, but seriously? Three times now? I'm obviously a card-carrying member of the reliable group.

I've been pretty lame on the workout front recently. And I really need to step it up, since I've packed on some cruise-pork. Forty drinks a day and yes of course the tiramisu will do that to a girl.


Also? Because I cannot stop with the pictures? It was so beautiful and sunny and just marvelous the last couple days, and JB helped me plant herbs and flowers and vegetables and look - is Dog not completely grinning here, or what?

I am not even lying when I tell you Dog's Frisbee is from Old Navy.

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