I think work has spazzed out my brain. I’m completely fried. I must be the embodiment of the Peter Principle because it uses up all my smart stuff. I can think of nothing intelligent to say any longer. I’m stymied by the simplest things. Just now, Esteban called me from his cell phone.
‘Have you eaten dinner yet?’
I was perplexed. ‘Dinner?’
How could I have forgotten dinner? It’s not as though I had eaten lunch extremely late. Here it was something like ten hours later and I still hadn’t eaten and didn’t even notice? I suspect it was because there were much more important things on the horizon. I was compiling the new Quoted stuff and trying to figure out KT’s complex weird stuff. I was messing with the firewall. I was making my Sims talk to each other so that I could get rid of all the dorm beds and they would start sleeping with each other. I was mauling the cat, who is lonely and completely starved for attention. Things were being done. Important things. Dinner was not one of them.
‘Do you want to just order a pizza?’
‘Pizza?’ What is this strange thing you call ‘pee zah’ Earthman?
‘Where do you want to order it from? We can have it delivered?’
Pizza??? My mind decided that was a good time to think about Venice and nude sculptures and landscapes of marble penii. Pizza. Penis. Pizis. Penza. Pinazis. Puzzles. Pizza Penis Puzzles.
He waited while I pondered the philosophical ramifications. I pizza therefore I am? Such a thing as free will? Free pizza? If a pizza is heated in the woods and no one eats it, does it still burn the roof of your mouth? Pizza?
Realizing that once I had gotten over the hurdle of whether or not we should eat pizza, I would have to tackle such theological concepts as which place we should get the pizza and the existence of pepperoni, Esteban pulled a rare decision out of nowhere. ‘Er’ why don’t I just stop at Hansen’s and get a pizza?’
Um, yes. Pee zah. Pee zah good. You bring this pee zah. Me like.
Gah. And this is only just a symptom. I can barely focus long enough to type these sentences. At one point today, I was driven to hysterical tears over an email sent to everyone in our facility. And need I mention that I was ON THE PHONE? (Ok, sure, it was with Chauffi who was reminding me that HE told me to check out Wheatus’ ‘Punk Ass Bitch’ and I did not give him proper credit.)
The email had the subject line ‘Suspicious Smells’.
Even now, I’m restraining the giggles. ‘Suspicious Smells’. HEEEEEE!
Seriously, I think I’m about to get my Adult Card revoked. They’re going to send me back to seventh grade and I’ll have to worry about changing in gym class in front of kids born in the 90’s. I can just imagine it. I’ll be the salty matronly 7th grader with the DD’s, telling little Ashley and Kayla about how Seventeen Magazine is full of crap and they should masturbate with wild abandon and yeah, I’m pretty sure that Justin Timberlake is the kind of boy who’d go down on a girl. Oh dear. There went the potty mouth again. So sorry. I’m blushing now. Yes. We really talk about such things. Between our wild pillow fights and greasing each other up with scented lotion. Seriously. You don’t think Bath & Body Works is popular because of that Pear Berry crap, do you?
Oh, speaking of girly girl stuff, we had more panty bonding today. (You want to bet that Badsnake misread that as ‘panty bondage’?) This time, Heidi showed us the size on her pants, because she is a wee little thin thing and she was proving that she was not a size negative two. (I still don’t believe it) And I showed off my bra strap of my Dayam!Bra to Carissa, who is quite impressed at its anti-gravitational force field. I’m certain it will be a hit with the girls in the locker room.
Esteban: You’re looking’
Weetabix: Busty?
Esteban: Wow! They’re like anime breasts. All pointing north and stuff.
Weetabix: (lifts her shirt) It’s the bra. Happy Birthday Mr. President.
Esteban: Niiiiiiiicce.
Weetabix: (checking them out in the mirror) I’m quite enamored of them myself.
Esteban: Now you know how I feel all the time. I like your breasts.
Weetabix: Like, if there was a Weetabix action figure, these would be her breasts.
Esteban: You should put that in your diary. That was clever.
Weetabix: Er… I think I already have, actually.
Esteban: Ah.
Weetabix: Yeah.
Esteban: Should I shave off my mustache? And just be all Hasidic?
Weetabix: No. You need facial hair there. You look all newspaper boy without it. Your upper lip is like a time machine for your face.
Esteban: You’re no fun. I think it would look cool.
Weetabix: It would look cool but too cool for you.
Esteban: What are you saying? Is this your whole ‘I’m cooler than you are’ thing again?
Weetabix: Well’
Esteban: You are not cooler than I am. I’m very cool.
Weetabix: The fact that you have to reassure yourself that you are cool says something right there. Besides, this isn’t a contest.
Esteban: But you think it.
Weetabix: I know it. There’s a difference. I love you anyway, honey.
Esteban: Even though I’m not cool.
Weetabix: You’re a little cool.
Esteban: See? You admit it.
Weetabix: (noticing the Subway commercial) I think the scientific word is ‘osmosis’. And in other news’ I completely hate that new Subway guy.
Esteban: He’s a dick.
Weetabix: I mean, I hated Jared, don’t get me wrong. I hated his big freakish lips.
Esteban: You fixate on lips, I think.
Weetabix: I’m just saying. But this guy’ at least Jared was like ‘Hey, I’m just a former fat guy, hawking Subs.’ This guy’. He’s all smugass and smarmy. Aw’ and then he’s asking the college guys were the sorority house is? He’s like, what’ forty? Smarmy smug forty-year-old hitting on Betty Coed? GAH!
Esteban: At least he’s not ‘Dude’. You’re gettin’ a Sub!’.
Weetabix: Heeee!
Esteban: Will you show me your breasts again now?
Weetabix: I think I’m going to bed. And I’m bringing the breasts.
Esteban: Aw man!
