I had to go to a client’s office again this morning, the orifice of all that is Disney.
It’s like Michael Eisner himself threw up all over her desk.
At 8:00 in the morning, I swear those idiotic apes from Jungle Book stare into your soul and threaten eternal damnation. They ritualistically chant and stare lasciviously.
Or at least it seems like it.
However, I did decide that I loved her very much because it is her birthday today and she went out drinking last night (incidentally, she went to the Ass Splinter bar, how funny is that, and was subjected to the extremely tone deaf Karaoke Girl and Karaoke Ma). She stayed out until 3:30 this morning and yet was more bright and chipper than I was at 8:00 A.M. this morning, with only two hours of sleep. And she’s going out again tonight. I have no choice but to love her just a little bit for that and for the fact that she is turning 31 and still pulling such shenanigans.
Plus, she’s a curvy round cute girl too. And I have that fat girl bias going on. So I’m willing to overlook the complete and utter Disneyfication of her workspace. Besides, there is the whole Chubby Tinkerbelle thing, so I shouldn’t be so hypocritical. Also, I bonded with her as she had the exact same Pez dispenser and Crate and Barrel catalog on her desk as I have on my desks.
She did mention, however, that Karaoke Girl and Karaoke Ma ‘were pretty good’. I’m just chalking that up to karaoke ignorance, though, and letting it slide. She’s on probation. She did give me some company swag too. Yes. I take bribes freely.
But if I find out that she’s got a cryogenically frozen chunk of Walt’s ear or something, all freeze-dried and looking like an apricot, then she’s out of my posse.
Yes. I have a posse. It consists of my cats and me but it’s a posse nonetheless.
If I ruled the world, things would totally be different.
First off, there would be an entire channel devoted to Trading Spaces.
Watching that show is like watching a train wreck. I keep craning my neck, waiting for the bitter little snipes, desperately wanting the flakey designer girl (Hildy?) to fall off the ladders she climbs in high heels. I think I have a crush on the Ken Doll Designer guy, although I’m thinking he’s swishy. I don’t care. I still think he’s divine. Also, could Frank, with his corpulent weird sweatiness and affinity to pastels, BE anymore gay? Once he stapled a utility cord to the wall and hot-glued wood biscuits, painted mint green, to resemble a flowing leafy vine thing. It reminded me of that plant in Little Shop of Horrors. The one girl who is not Hildy is pretty good, and Doug and Vern are fabulous, but if Hildy and Frank are on the show, it’s an aesthetic comedy hour.
Mo has the hots for Ty Pennington. She wants to wax his skill saw. Naked.
She’s going to hit me for saying that.
I was on the phone problem solving with a gentleman who had a major accent. Walking him through some computer procedures, I said, ‘Cancel out of those procedures, just cancel.’
He repeated ‘Cancer, cancer, cancer.’
Things like that shouldn’t make me laugh.
But they do.
I’m going to hell.
