Blue Armadillo’s Weblog turned me on to this fabulous site about Electra Woman and Dyna Girl.
Dyna Girl. Can you imagine putting that crap on your resume? Yet at the same time, I covet her name. Dyna Girl. It sort of sings. So it’s a plus and minus kind of name.
Anyway, here’s a picture I keifed off the site. I like it because it looks like they’re grooving out to some 60’s psychedelic tunes, doesn’t it? But I think they’re being electrocuted or something.
All we need now is a Bugaloo reunion.
Esteban has incensed me with new performance anxiety. Apparently, last night, Joel sat and read aloud 56 entries of my diary. To Esteban’s whole group of friends. And there’s some kind of male thing going on here… something I don’t quite comprehend.
And Esteban is to blame. He told Joel about the diary and gave him the link. Why I have no idea. But now I feel this insane urge to censor myself. I hate that. I hate that to no end. I refuse to do that.
And that Joel bastard didn’t even sign my guestbook. If you’re going to read 56 entries of someone’s diary, at least sign their guestbook! It’s diary etiquette, people.
Grrrr. Joel’s going down. Oh yes. He is so going down.
I still have the weird alumninum taste of snot sliding down the back of my throat. I am terribly tired. But how is this for nice: one of my team members went out at lunch and got me chicken soup (and it was POURING outside!) and also took my late hours. So I could leave and go home and sleep. Which I’m trying to but have injested too much caffeine trying to keep myself awake to work. Ah, the irony.
One of the
Thus, the Wap Fairy was forced to send out a public service announcement regarding the dangers of improper Wap storage. And letting people know that their Wappy goodness had the possibility of exploding. Just a slight possibility.
And I now am left with this tremendous guilt knowing that they slept through the night as wap dried on their counter, down their fridge, all over their floor.
I only wish that had happened to Joel.
No, I don’t, because I adore his wife Cheri and I somehow sense that she’d be the one to clean the mess up. I don’t have proof in this matter, but I somehow sense it. People who don’t sign guestbooks most likely will not clean up exploded wappy goodness.
I’m too wonky to write, I think. Did I really talk about my secret fear that Emeril is a vampire yesterday? And the Viagra thing today. What was that about? It makes no sense.
My head feels as though it is a watermelon filled with Ny-quil and cotton.
Must go lie down and sleep strange sleep.
Esteban just ran to the grocery store to purchase some Chicken & Stars soup and Zesta crackers for me. Then he made it and brought it over to me. Man, that Esteban is so awesome sometimes! These people bringing me soup today are making me get all teary-eyed.
Here’s a picture of Joel at the party. Please make fun of him willy nilly. That’s the harmonica-playing Phil in the background (with the striped shirt).
