Anyway, I'm finally in my own place, livin' la vida loca. If your idea of loca is hanging out in your jammies, shamefully watching reality tv shows on A&E and marvelling at all the stupid people while referencing stale pop-culture tidbits. If it is, then, viva the loca!
Ahem.
So, I've decided that the only way to catch everyone up to my life is to provide you an intriguing glimpse into my personal e-mails.
See, a lot of the entries I wrote for this journal started out as e-mails to friends and family. And although I wasn't updating the ol' journal, I was, in fact, continuing to send e-mails. So, I'm going to do a "I'm So Full Of Myself That I'll Call This A Best-Of" series of entries. Starting with...
Attack of the Cute Nazis- 02/28/06
I am sitting at my desk, draped in Mardi Gras beads. I did not come to work draped in Mardi Gras beads. However, as I was innocently sitting at my desk, minding my own business while attempting to define pornography (long story), I was attacked by the Uber-fuhrer of cute.
A transcript:
Herr Cute: What are you wearing? (smile, smile, twinkle)
Me: Ummm...(puzzled expression- clearly, I was wearing clothes-was she hitting on me?)
Herr Cute: (examining my outfit) Okay, the red, green and blue beads will go with your skirt! (Attack!)
I blink and what do you know, Mardi Gras beads appear around my neck, a sparkly noose of doom.
I do not understand this obsession with cute. I mean, I get a little giddy at the sight of a kitten like the next guy, but for God's sake, is it really necessary to decorate every available surface with Anne Geddes, sassy Cathy and Garfield cartoons, posters of fuzzy animals in outrrraaagggeous situations, ad naseum? And is it necessary to include innocent bystanders?
Oh God, I just realized Easter is coming up. You know what that means? I'll be up to my armpits in freakin' fuzzy bunnies and baby chicks.
I have a skull on my desk and a poster of zombie librarians behind me...why do they think I'll want to admire their baby-in-a-bunny-suit-sitting-in-a-chocolate-egg figurine? Unless that baby is made of white chocolate, I really don't care.
Good Lord, when did I become such a cranky pants? Possibly around Christmas when I was attacked by fat, happy and INEDIBLE snowmen statuettes and candy canes. And someone here at work gave me a roll of toilet paper as a present. Possibly, that is when the change began.
