I just spent 15 minutes combing a knot out of my hair. That's how hygenic I've been this weekend. I may have to shave my head in order to get my hair back under control.
I was putting forth that half-assed effort at grooming because I was inspired for about thirty seconds to run to the store for ingredients to some really delicious (by starving African standards) meal I was going to cook. I resigned pretty quickly to this here computer chair and a 32 ounce Naked Juice (Blue Machine!), which is basically food anyway.
I've already mentioned my inability to be anything resembling useful at work, which was especially true on Friday. I downloaded this sound bite to play every time someone in the office/on the phone/anywhere within listening distance did something I deemed Sad Trombone-worthy. There were approximately 349 instances, give or take a few. Sometimes I played it just to cut people off who were boring me or asking me if I had gotten something (anything) done. This may be a testament to my immaturity, but the louder I played it, the funnier it got (to me).
So of course, after a few hours of the Sad Trombone, I was all, "DUDE. I have three weeks left at this job. I should spend all of it creating a soundtrack to this office." I had visions of adding cartoon noises to all of my coworkers daily tasks and everyone laughing joyously, with the exception of Arch Nemesis Coworker, who would stew quietly at her desk with the occasional heavy sigh because WHYISANYONEEVERHAPPYANYWAY?! So, I set to work on the internet, and found a really obnoxious Hallelujah Chorus to play when 5 o'clock hit. I tried to test it out (forgetting my speakers were on full blast), and much to my surprise, sounds of a woman moaning and panting very dramatically started blaring from my desk. Turns out, I had accidentally clicked "Female Orgasm."
Story of my life.
Oh, and Steven (and everyone else), this is E:
He told my that I was allowed to introduce him using this picture. Probably because he thinks it makes him look intimidating/manly. That's true and all, I guess, but I've never seen him make that face in real life, so I think it's a little dishonest.
Now this? This is the Eric I know and love:
It's weird introducing boyfriends to blogs. But at least in the future, when I mention him, you can picture a guy in a really effeminate nightgown and know that that's who I'm talking about when I write of our wild Sexcapades.