Friday, December 29, 2006


There's been some local hullabaloo in my hood this week. Well, the Ex Systems Administrator's hood, to be precise. Those from the NW probably saw the story, but if anyone else cares...I'll include the link to it here.

I hope you all noticed the headline was, "A City of Portland truck just fell into a giant hole". Hilarious.

Anyway, this happened on the block where Ex Sys. Admin's apartment resides. Can an apartment reside? Well, this one does. The sewer truck was just rumbling along and then...*poof*...down into a giant hole it went. Like my sound effects? The Ex had to evacuate his apartment since there was a gas leak as a result of the impact. The men in the truck are fine. And now, there is a giant hole in the middle of the street.

I walked over there last night (without my camera like a compl
ete dillhole) and was amazed by how deep, dark, and INCREDIBLY creepy it was. I haven't seen a lot of horror movies in my life (I'm a wus...this is a well known fact), but it seems to me that there are quite a few that begin at night with a giant, deep hole in the ground. Usually the workmen get eaten first...and then the general public. And then Jennifer Love Hewitt runs around screaming in a tight top. It must suck to be a city employee, knowing you will always be the first one eaten. There were no workmen there last night. That could mean they've already been eaten and the sewer monster has escaped and is among us. Or it could mean that their shift was over and they went home. But that's just silly.

Anyway, I took pictures of it with my phone. They're incredibly hard to see, so I'll have to explain them:

The giant light shining comes from this big crane-like thing hanging over the hole. I guess it's for pedestrians who somehow don't notice the caution tape or the metal fence and are suddenly like "oops, what's this?". It's nice to know someone's looking out for those people.

Or maybe the light is to keep the monster down in the hole. Maybe it's afraid of the light.

But what you're seeing is the manhole. It is still intact. I enjoy writing the word "manhole". Everyone just take a moment and say "manhole" out loud. That was my gift to you. The shaft (also a great word) is made entirely of brick, something you can't see in this shitty picture. It's hard to see how deep the thing went, but it was pretty deep. There wasn't a very strong concrete to dirt ratio. Makes the whole world seem less stable, if you ask me.

Here you get a better idea of deepness. You can see the curb/sidewalk on the you some perspective. Standing out there in the cold, dark, with just the wind howling and a little water trickling out of the broken pipe, it was eerie. I figured I would be eaten right then and there. But then, I wasn't. This helps support my theory that the monster has already escaped. Mothers...keep your wee ones inside tonight. Fathers...take your darts out of the dart board and be at the ready. There will be battles on the foyers of Portland this night.

Thursday, December 28, 2006

Blog Etiquette

In the interest of fairness, I'm giving you all the link to Amy's response to my angry blog entry from a couple weeks ago.

Now I'm done with it. Movin' on.

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

New Year's Resolutions

This is important, people. I have to get these down on, or they won't be "REAL". For serious.

And now:

1. Stop Buying Shoes
- I mean it...right now. Nevermind what you just did a half an hour ago because of a free shipping promotion; you're turning over a new leaf and this is that moment. As you reach for those new Steven Madden boots on clearance, you will need to repeat...out loud...your new mantra "scooter/condo...scooter/condo". If reaching turns into buying, you will be forced into Catholicism, made to go to confession, do however many Hail Mary's they tell you to do, go do research to find out exactly what Hail Mary's ARE, and then sit in a pew and eat that dry bread that's supposed to be someone's dead body. Let the punishment fit the crime!

2. Get A New Job
- It's time. You know too much about the Home Shopping Network, and you can recognize Technibond when you see it and you posses the knowledge that one can STILL purchase the Suzanne Somer's Thighmaster, eventhough they had their heyday in 1992. Really, it's not healthy. Any of it. Worst of know who this woman is...and what it is she sells...and it keeps you up at night. It doesn't matter that you adore the people you work with...or that the office is within two blocks of a coffeeshop (3 of them being Starbucks) in every major direction, including diagonals...the fact is, it doesn't pay well, you hate it, the benefits suck, and you die a little every day you go. So get out already.

3. Lose Those 10lbs You Recently Gained Back After Losing Them In Morocco
- It's true...without the help of Ramadan and a 17lb backpack to carry around in the heat, it's hard to keep those pounds off. And with the holiday season placing all manner of baked and chocolate goods under your nose, and then, somehow, into your mouth, it's a wonder you haven't gone up a full stone. Maybe you have, I have no idea what gaining a stone means. Anyway. If you want to keep your calves from being too fat to fit into those Steve Madden boots you AREN'T gonna need to check yourself before you wreck yourself...with food.

4. Get Yourself Into A Healthy Relationship - No, we're not talking about your cat, her neediness, or how you feel she's holding you back. We're talking about a romantic relationship that doesn't require the acceptance of anything physical that you find exceedingly unattractive or anything emotional that appears to be stunted. Oh, and don't get knocked up.

5. Write Something
, Goddamnit - you know, other than this blog. Use your fucking screenwriting degree and help alleviate the maelstrom of crappy Cameron Diaz and Kate Hudson movies. Ick. Oh...and DOWN with Matthew McConaughey! There is something unnatural about where his head meets his shoulders and you all know it. Creepy man. He has an essence of skeez about him.

That's all I have for the moment. I'm sure you noticed "drink less" was missing, and well...that's not open for discussion.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

I Love Being A Girl

Peggy Lee said it, and I'm fairly certain she meant it...but then, she probably never had to get vaccinated against HPV.

I've never been scared of needles. I went through a strange period in my teens when cysts kept bursting on my ovaries and I'd have to be rushed to the hospital because the symptoms are identical to an appendicitis and they'd poke me will all sorts of needles, so I got fairly used to them.

Funny thing about one ever actually found my know, in ultrasounds or's quite possible that I am a Darwinistic miracle.

Anyway, that's off the point. The point is that yesterday I was injected with the first of my three syringes full of Gardasil - the vaccine that is supposed to protect women from contracting the 4 main strains of HPV that are the leading cause of cervical cancer. I'm sure you've heard about this vaccine. There are masses of conservative fuckwits who are fighting against this vaccine, mainly because it can be given to girls as young as 9, and they think that once it is...said 9 year old girls will think they've been given a green light to run out into the world and have sex all OVER the place.

And to those who are concerned that this will be the result...well, how can I say this delicately...YOU PEOPLE ARE FUCKING MORONS. Apparently it's more acceptable for women to continue dying of cervical cancer than it is to protect them from it before they even start having sex. While we're at it, let's just bring back Polio. I mean, it wouldn't exist if it hadn't been deigned by God to exist, right? Besides, wheelchairs are fun. Especially the Rascal. Women who have sex out of wedlock DESERVE to get this virus, because, you know, they're sluts. Well here's the thing, my friendly Fuckwits...good, Christian people can get HPV TOO! There are a million different circumstances where HPV can be passed and the no one shows any symptoms. I've heard statistics that say up to 70% of all sexually active people have or have had HPV. Men may get genital warts, but that's about it for them. No death. No cancer. Pair that with not having to have periods, go through childbirth, or menopause...and, well, I pretty much think that they shouldn't even be allowed to HAVE an opinion on the existence of this vaccine. Oooh, my radical feminism is rearing it's ugly head.

So back to my point (yes, we took the long way), which is twofold:

1. The argument against the vaccine is irrelevant. I remember being around 9 and getting several vaccinations. I could not tell you what they were for if you paid me. Measles maybe, perhaps a tetanus...who knows. No one needs to inform the 9 year old as they're getting the shot that this means they're free to re-start the '69 summer of love.

2. The shot didn't hurt that badly but my left arm is all tingly like I'm gonna have a heart attack. I know I'm not gonna have a heart attack, but the tingliness is wacky and it's making me want chocolate. Or maybe I want chocolate because I like chocolate. Don't ask me to analyze these things.

Oh, and I forgot to add that the cut off age is 26. Yep, barely made it. I guess once you hit 27 you're too much of a whore to save. That should be an interesting birthday. I'll look forward to it.

Merry Christmas from me and my tingly left arm.

Monday, December 18, 2006

Powell's Books Doth Sucketh

This is Powell's Bookstore. It doesn't look like much, but it is, literally, a city of books. It even says so, somewhere on the marquee. People come from all over the country, nay, the WORLD to go to this bookstore. Movie stars visit it (they'd like us to think that they read), every author imaginable has given free readings there, and it's so large and cavernous, they've outgrown their city-block sized 4 level store and have had to extend it into three extra locations. Everybody shops there. If you're seen walking down the sidewalk with a Borders or Barnes and Noble bag in your hand, why the locals will openly scowl in your direction. They may even hiss. How dare you not shop local. Sinner. Heathen. Neo-con. Oh, no wait...that doesn't work. Whatevs.

I hate it in there. Took a lunch break to go find a few items that I just thought of. 1:30 on a Monday...granted, it's right before Christmas, but it was like fucking Lollapalooza in there. I kept expecting to see a bouncer throwing water bottles out to the crowd. And everyone's the books are gonna walk off the shelves if they're not the first one to get to them. There are piles and piles of each book. I kid you not...piles.

But the cavernousness is the real issue. 4 floors that are reached through several different doorways and levels, and all are color coded, not genre coded. So if you want to find fiction, you have to remember that fiction is in the Blue Room. But people don't remember. Mainly, they wander about like children who've lost their parents. Or old people who've lost their...well...everything.

The book I was looking for wasn't a normal book, it was a collection of found objects made into a book. Of course that doesn't really fall under any sort of genre, so I went to the info kiosk for assistance with where to go, you know, after wandering around like a lost child for a while. I was informed that the book I was looking for was located in the Pearl Room. I looked down at the map on the desk. There's the Blue Room, the Red Room, the Gold Room, the Green Room, etc. But I didn't see a Pearl Room. I looked back at the woman, "What color is 'pearl' exactly?". She pointed to the far corner on the top floor marked Rare Book/Art Room. The color was...well, "So you mean the gray room?". She replied with a tired smile, "Yep". Me, incredulously, "'Pearl' is actually gray? Why don't you just call it the Gray Room?". But she hurried me along because other lost children were lining up behind me.

So I climbed the flights of stairs to find that they were out of the book I was looking for. Grrrrrr. Bet that never happens to the movie stars. They probably get carried to the Pearl Room on a gilded shelving cart. Anyway, later this week I'm going to Barnes and Nobles. Shut it.

And now...the requisite holiday picture of Becks (don't you wish I was YOUR child's aunt???):

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

A Christmas Date Rape Carol

Baby It's Cold Outside
The Creepiest and Most Effed Up Christmas Carol Ever

I really can't stay -- Baby it's cold outside
("You're not gonna get any tonight" -- "Says you")
I've got to go away -- Baby it's cold outside
("I have a curfew" -- "They won't notice")
This evening has been -- Been hoping that you'd drop in
("It's nice that you bought me dinner..." -- "Dinner ain't free")
So very nice -- I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice
("...but that's all you bought, buddy" -- "movin' in for physical contact")
My mother will start to worry -- Beautiful, what's your hurry
("Bringing up mother will kill the mood" -- "I've got your hand, you're going nowhere")
My father will be pacing the floor -- Listen to the fireplace roar
("...with a shotgun" -- "No woman can resist a fireplace")
So really I'd better scurry -- Beautiful, please don't hurry
("Ooooh, a fireplace..." -- "That's right...a fireplace")
well Maybe just a half a drink more -- Put some music on while I pour
("What's one little drink going to hurt?" -- "Let me just slip this little roofie in here...")

The neighbors might think -- Baby, it's bad out there
("...that I'm a harlot" -- "That's right, honey, let it take effect")
Say, what's in this drink -- No cabs to be had out there
("Woah, the room is spinning" -- "No one can save you now, my little chickadee")
I wish I knew how -- Your eyes are like starlight now
("Strange how blurry everything is" -- "Look at those pupils dilate...beautiful")
To break this spell -- I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell
("Must resist...oooh, a fire..." -- "That's right, my pretty...take off that hat")
I ought to say no, no, no, sir -- Mind if I move a little closer
("...must resist...warm fire...resist..." -- "Let's just put this hand under your blouse here")
At least I'm gonna say that I tried -- What's the sense in hurting my pride
("Oh well...spinning fireplaces are pretty" -- "And now the other one...")
I really can't stay -- Baby don't hold out
("It feels like there are eight hands under my shirt...this isn't right" -- "Oh no you don't")
Ahh, but it's cold outside

I simply must go -- Baby, it's cold outside
("Spinning or not...eight hands is just wrong" -- "Just let the pill do its thing, baby")
The answer is no -- Ooh baby, it's cold outside
("I cannot have sex with an eight handed man..." -- "Remember the fireplace...")
This welcome has been -- I'm lucky that you dropped in
("...think of what our children would look like" -- "and how much you like it")
So nice and warm -- Look out the window at that storm
("My, but those eight hands are warm...and they tickle" -- "If you can even find the window")
My sister will be suspicious -- Man, your lips look so delicious
("The jealous bitch" -- "I just want to bite them")
My brother will be there at the door -- Waves upon a tropical shore
("He's gay, but he gives a mean indian burn" -- "Mmmm, Lip Smackers")
My maiden aunt's mind is vicious -- Gosh your lips look delicious
("She's catholic" - "I'll start with the lower one")
Well maybe just a half a drink more -- Never such a blizzard before
("The other half" -- "Let's find out how this zipper works")

I've got to go home -- Oh, baby, you'll freeze out there
("Oh God...are there nine hands now?" -- "Oh look, it opens just fine")
Say, lend me your comb -- It's up to your knees out there
("With one of your hands" -- "And you're skirt's down to your knees")
You've really been grand -- Your eyes are like starlight now
("What's happened to my skirt?" -- "What skirt?")
But don't you see -- How can you do this thing to me
("He's taken it off with one of his eight freakish hands!" -- "No more talk")
There's bound to be talk tomorrow -- Making my life long sorrow
("...but I'll just tell them about all the hands and the spinning fireplace..." -- "It's time to put out")
At least there will be plenty implied -- If you caught pneumonia and died
("...they'll understand..." -- "Yes, this is a subtle threat")
I really can't stay -- Get over that old out
("...that I had no choice...why's everything going dark?" -- "And down you go")
Ahh, but it's cold outside

I've probably just ruined that song forever for my mother. Sorry mother.

Here's a short visual interpretation I found on YouTube (the man singing is Tom Jones...just to make it EXTRA skeezy):

Monday, December 11, 2006


This morning I:
~ got woken up 10 minutes before the alarm by a yowling cat
~ tore a hole in my brand new Givenchy textured stockings (that I've only worn ONCE)
~ forced to wear jeans that don't go with the outfit since short plaidish skirts do NOT look professional (ie. unharlotesque) with torn Givenchy textured tights
~ missed three buses in a row (I have officially broken up with the Belmont bus line...I never want to see or speak to it again)
~ slipped on the wet pavement and looked like an ASS while trying to rush from bus stop to office
~ was consequently 30 minutes late (or later) to work
~ am realizing that I don't have an umbrella as I look outside at the pouring rain. Oregonians need to get them permanently affixed to their appendages. Not sure how that would work. Someone needs to get on that

On the upside:
~ I got this new jacket, and though I look extraordinarily short in makes me feel like a princess AND it was on sale -->
~ my weekend was spectacular. I got to see Meet Me in St. Louis o
n the big screen and listen to Margaret O'Brien talk about making the movie (considering she was 5 when it was made in 1944...the woman has a stellar memory...I can't even remember most of last week)
~ attended my 2nd official Christmas Party of the year and gorged myself on sweet things
~ AND the giant, ancient, native american burial mound of a pimple on my cheek is FINALLY beginning to disappear...almost as fast as the native americans themselves.

Thursday, December 07, 2006

The Source?

I took a night walk tonight through my new neighborhood. I got lost. I love night walks, but my neighborhood is a confusing one to do them in. Lots of roundabouts.

I've done a lot of walking at night. I know it's not the smartest thing for a small, wussy girl to do on any sort of regular basis but I've rarely come into contact with sketchiness...and anyway, I have mace.

I was thinking about this question of safety, and how lucky I've been. How lucky I was to get out of Morocco safely, and how nice my holiday ended up being in spite of the circumstances. And then...then I got angry. I got so angry that I felt like I was going to burst. And I know, I know that this is going to come out like an attack, and I know there are people who will probably read this like it is an attack but in the months since I've returned, I've done nothing but try to calm everyone else down about and defend Amy's decision to leave me alone in Africa. And this blog, sad to say, is really my only outlet for this anger right now, so this is where this rant is going to go. I'm sorry.

First...what happened. The day that we left, Amy had a death in the extended family. The decision was made to follow through with the trip anyway. Pretty much from day one I could tell that she was having a hard time adjusting. Being very close to her family and having cell phone access to them every day, it was hard for her to focus on the trip. Not speaking any French and, well, a combination of other things made the trip "too overwhelming" for her and by Friday night she had her mother see what she could do to get her home using the death in the family to get her out of our non-refundable tickets. Despite my trying to talk her out of even sleep on it for one night...she made her decision and was gone the next day.

Now...nothing bad ever happened to me while I was alone there. Yes, the trip was much harder and more expensive by myself, but I was never hurt or even threatened...just inconvenienced here and there. But walking through my dark, cold neighborhood this evening I'm reminded of the night I arrived in Essouaria, 11pm, no place to stay, this guy Mohammad following me around and how I handled it. I was cautious, I tried to discourage him, but he was persistent, and in the end, he helped me find a good place to stay and it turned out ok.

However, I keep thinking how easily it could have gone the other way. As small as the town was, the streets were like a maze with little alleys going this way and that. It took a lot for me to follow this man down these streets, so late at night. But I'd traveled for 10 hours and I was so tired. I stayed behind him...far enough that I could turn a different way quickly, if I needed to. When he asked me to go for a drink I said thanks, but no thanks and left him in the lobby. I tried to be a smart solo traveler. But thinking back on this I get angry. If he had been a bad man...I would've been screwed, and I know this. And I'm angry that I was even put into this position.

The bottom line is this. Amy went home because she needed her family and decided her family needed her. To which I say, this is all well and good, but her family had EACH OTHER. They had each other to grieve with and comfort. And they had two weeks until they saw Amy again...two weeks. But there in Africa, I had no one. Amy was it. And she fucking left me there.

I don't know why this has hit me so hard many weeks after the fact. But I think about those days a lot. And I think about how my mother put down about what I make in a month to get me home a few days earlier for her peace of mind (as well as my other family and friends), and I think about how long I planned and saved up for that trip. And I think about what making commitment to someone means. And how little it meant to her. And, at the risk of severely repeating myself...I get angry.

I'll get over it eventually. Even with my dwelling nature. I don't want to end the friendship. But I defend my friend's actions to other people pretty much every day and none of them can understand what kind of a friend would do what she did. And quite frankly...neither can I, lately.

I'm sorry. This post was more for me than it was for an audience. Perhaps there'll be more levity tomorrow.

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Goth Stormtrooper Midget

I just ate weirdest salad ever. This is what happens when I'm allowed to pick what goes in it. I end up with tuna and dried cranberries and peas and cheese, as well as the usual salad accoutrement. Weird. It tasted weird too. But I ate all of it. And now I'm full.

On the way back from the salad place (Player's...worst name ever) I saw two guys all bundled up in a convertible Volkswagen with the top down. Even weirder. Unless the top was broken, in which case, why didn't they take the other guys' car? Weird.

Today I made a very poor fashion choice. I am now forced to live this fashion choice down every time I have to walk past the giant, glass enclosed meeting room which is across from the bathroom. I do not enjoy this, as there are all the Sales Reps from all over the country (and Canada TOO) here to have some sort of giant, well-dressed meeting. And here I keep walking by looking like a Goth Stormtrooper Midget. And they stare. And judge. There is judgment in their stares. I can feel it.

So, I have the chocolate-filled Trader Joe's advent calendar, I've done the present shopping, I've watched Elf...I'm going to a screening of Meet Me in St. Louis this Saturday with the fam (Margaret O'Brien will be there...and if you've seen this movie, you'll know how fucking COOL that is), I've baked gingerbread and I've put up my little black Nightmare Before Christmas tree in my new, mold-free living room. So where is my Christmas spirit? Reading other people's blogs, I'm getting the feeling that I should be, well, feeling it by now and I don't know where it is. I'm worried. I'm worried that this Goth Stormtrooper Midget look might be having an effect on my Yuletide cheer. Perhaps tomorrow I'll go for a Hippie Chic Hobo Vegan look. You don't think I can manage it, do you. Well, you've never seen my closet, have you. That was rhetorical. And that's why I love blogs. The end.

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

I Will Be Alone Forever

Let me just preface this by saying...this is about as accurate as a fortune cookie. Nevertheless:

The Sudden Departure
Random Brutal Love Master (RBLMf)

Sweet. Dear. Loving. At Gate 18. Final call.

You are The Sudden Departure.

You've been in a lot of serious relationships. More than a few have ended ugly. Uglily. Whatever. Our guess is that you're a really fantastic girl who doesn't really know what she wants, and you've broken a few hearts as a result. You fall for people easily, and you enjoy the feeling of falling in love, but once you're there, either boredom or the old "grass is greener" syndrome sets in. The mind wanders, and with it goes the flesh. And then the toiletries.

Your exact opposite:
The Intern

Deliberate Gentle Sex Dreamer
We know you're not the classic "love 'em and leave 'em" type, at least not in a purely sexual sense. You have too many serious bonding tendencies for that. But even though you're theoretically looking to settle down, you don't settle long on one person. "Serial monogamist" is probably something you hear a lot. "Emotionally loose" is another way to put it. To the poor guys eating your dust and sniffing your panties, it doesn't really make much difference. Of course, it's not really your fault that people get hurt. You have every right to move on when you choose.

ALWAYS AVOID: The Backrubber, The Gentleman

CONSIDER: The Vapor Trail, someone just like you

Link: The 32-Type Dating Test by OkCupid - Free Online Dating.

Monday, December 04, 2006

Baked Goods Coma

I wonder if what I write will instantly become more interesting if I use a red font. We shall see.

I'm bored and just really really bored. And I think it's the after-effects of a Baked Goods Coma. You have to be careful of that particular kind of coma. They're pretty hard to come out of, if you're not careful. The Crew and I had a baking party. Probably not the smartest move for single ladies around the holidays...gorging ourselves on flour-filled goodness, booze, and self-pity. I've been in a baked goods coma ever since...because, you know, there were leftovers...and I've been carrying them around with me. Like my own little lap dog. Only not a dog at all. In fact, that doesn't even remotely work.

So I'm in a weird spot men-wise. There hasn't been much about Law Student because despite the niceties...there were things that didn't sit well. Swell guy least I thought so. Turns out he's a little odd. Which just cushions my decision...always helpful to a dweller-type person. While we were seeing each other, he was constantly leaving his shit at my place. It never bothered was kind of cute he couldn't seem to keep track of one of the TWO shirts that he brought up for the weekend...or the TWO pairs of boxer shorts, etc. I mean...when packing up the overnight it really so very hard to count to two when placing the objects inside? Hilarious.

So after I ended it, I thought we were still chums, hoped we were. And when a pair of his boxers fell out of my bed frame when lifting it up with my step-father (awkward), I was greatly amused. And said so in the "shall I pop these in the mail" email. To which I received absolutely no response. Ok...maybe he doesn't want to be chums. That's ok. Too bad...but ok.

That was before Thanksgiving. Saturday night...he calls...well, I can only assume drunk 1:30 in the AM. I did not answer. I was not alone. Nor was I with The Crew, we had parted ways a half hour earlier. I was with my commitment phobic Ex Sys Admin. I know. I KNOW. But he has a dimple...A DIMPLE. Besides, my bed is piled with junk currently and it was too late to go home to clean it off. And I was tired. TIRED.

Anyway, I didn't answer the phone. Missed the call completely. The next morning, I saw that he'd called but left no message. No message? Who fucking does that? What am I supposed to DO with that?

Damnit, I still haven't sent back his boxers. Well, I'll do that eventually.

On Thanksgiving I got a random and somewhat scandalous text message from Real Estate know, from back in the Summer. I stopped returning his calls months ago. What is with these guys?

Lately, safe, commitment phobic Ex Sys Admins seem as comforting as laying in front of a roaring fireplace. Which I also did this weekend.

My girlfriends and I spend hours analyzing men. What does this mean, what does that mean. We never get anywhere. We talk round and round til we're back at the beginning, which is usually the statement "What the fuck is up with men?". They, in turn, probably don't give our actions a second thought. Jerks. Equality in all things! Show some healthy levels of female neuroses, menfolk! We deserve it.

I need a muffcake.

Friday, December 01, 2006


We all sit in the same room. In fact...on the same SIDE of the same room. Our desks are bunched together in little groups of two or three. If one were to flick a freshly cut nail clipping in any direction...a target would be hit. We're THAT close to each other. And yet, this is a typical conversation:

Jen: I'm going to do Firefox.

Tracy: Ok.
Casey: Ok.
Kara: Doing the MAC
Jen: Ok.
Tracy: Ok.
Dan: What?
Jen: What?
Dan: What'd you say? You ARE doing Firefox?
Casey: Jen is.
Jen: Did you start it?
Dan: Oh, you're doing it?
Tracy: Yes, Jen is doing Firefox.
Dan: So you're doing it?
Jen: Did you already start it?
Kara: She said she's doing it.
Dan: No, I didn't start it. I just asked if you're doing it.
Jen: I said I'm doing it.
Dan: Well, you mumble.
Casey: I heard her.
Kara/Tracy: Yeah.
Dan: If you're going to mumble you have to enunciate.
Jen: B-i-i-i-t-t-t-e m-e-e-e-e.
Dan: See, that was loud enough, so you didn't have to.

So, anyone remember who's doing Firefox?

Imagine that conversation, with slight variations for temperment and character changes happening all day long and you'll get an inkling of my average work day. Yeah, we're reall productive. Long live Payday Friday.

It kind of feels like this: