Reasons why I can't bring myself to do the task I'm supposed to be working on:
1. It's boring
2. I had foul for lunch, and my brain cells are still trying to process why
3. The comments on the New York Magazine Gossip Girl recap (don't judge me) are hilarious and I can't stop reading them
4. I'm trying to preempt my boss' eventual questions related to why I haven't finished my work
5. I'm trying to think of ways to dumb down this task so that the intern can do it
The way I see it, I have three options:
1. Do the work
2. Don't do the work
3. Take a nap under my desk
Right now, I'm thinking of doing myself a solid by combining 2 and 3, and calling it a day. Do you have any other ideas?
November 18, 2009
November 8, 2009
Mr. Brendanawicz
I've been in bed since Tuesday. No, seriously, Tuesday. November 3rd, 2009. It's now November 8th (of the same year). You'd think cabin fever would have kicked in and I'd be smashing things on the ground, drawing on the walls, tearing my hair out...but not really. And you know why? Because we've had a visitor. Mr. Brendanawicz.
Now, why would I invite a rubber chicken into my home, you ask? Because this rubber chicken's wings are fused together! Usually my COMPLETELY RATIONAL fear of feathered beings would have consumed me, but Mr. Brendanawicz has been pretty great about keeping his clucking under control, his beak to himself, and his arms at his side. He's also taken full liberties within the house, getting into all of my stuff.
Here he is trying to be cute, hiding in my medicine.
He's just a tiny little chickadee though, and all the fun and games gave him a sore throat. I told him to take a Vitamin C effervescent.
I also made him some hot lemon juice. You know, for his vocal chords.
Mr. Brendanawicz heard about Little One's blueberry pancakes, and decided to hang out in the freezer until she agreed to make him some.
After dinner, we brushed our teeth and watched some tv.
Mr. Brendanawicz was pretty tired by this point, and was about to get in bed, but decided to have one last round of play time with Coco.
Now...what was that I said about cabin fever?
Now, why would I invite a rubber chicken into my home, you ask? Because this rubber chicken's wings are fused together! Usually my COMPLETELY RATIONAL fear of feathered beings would have consumed me, but Mr. Brendanawicz has been pretty great about keeping his clucking under control, his beak to himself, and his arms at his side. He's also taken full liberties within the house, getting into all of my stuff.
Here he is trying to be cute, hiding in my medicine.
He's just a tiny little chickadee though, and all the fun and games gave him a sore throat. I told him to take a Vitamin C effervescent.
I also made him some hot lemon juice. You know, for his vocal chords.
Mr. Brendanawicz heard about Little One's blueberry pancakes, and decided to hang out in the freezer until she agreed to make him some.
After dinner, we brushed our teeth and watched some tv.
Mr. Brendanawicz was pretty tired by this point, and was about to get in bed, but decided to have one last round of play time with Coco.
Now...what was that I said about cabin fever?
November 2, 2009
Happy Birthday, Little One
Little One, you're 19 today! I remember the day you were born, when Dad sleepily and begrudgingly took me to the Baker Caper Halloween party (probably because I was whining about NEEDING candy corn), every birthday you've had ever since, and all the funny faces you've made along the way. While you surprise me, every day, with your maturity (and wit, of course), some things have remained the same since you were a wee lass. Let's have a look, shall we?
Your personal hygiene has always been important, and because we share a room, I can't thank you enough for that.
Sometimes you cry, but always for good reason.
You've always been industrious. I'm sure these motor skills would have come in handy had you not shunned a career in plastic surgery (because really, where's an Economics degree going to get you?).
You still make this face when the idea of pancakes for dinner comes up.
You were smiling with your eyes long before Tyra told you to.
You've retained control of your bladder.
You don't judge me when I wear questionable outfits.
Love you, Little One. Hope this 19th year is everything you could ever wish for. And more.
Your personal hygiene has always been important, and because we share a room, I can't thank you enough for that.
Sometimes you cry, but always for good reason.
You've always been industrious. I'm sure these motor skills would have come in handy had you not shunned a career in plastic surgery (because really, where's an Economics degree going to get you?).
You still make this face when the idea of pancakes for dinner comes up.
You were smiling with your eyes long before Tyra told you to.
You've retained control of your bladder.
You don't judge me when I wear questionable outfits.
Love you, Little One. Hope this 19th year is everything you could ever wish for. And more.
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