Special Sauce

A mish-mash of twisted thoughts from a fevered ego. Updated when the spirit moves me, contents vary and may have settled during shipping. Do not open towards eyes. Caution: Ingestion of Special Sauce may cause hair loss, halitosis, and a burning sensation while urinating.


Let me count the ways...

Oh! New office, how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.
Thy windowless space, not redeemed by your spiffy rounded shape,
Thy perpetual stream of chunky old ladies giving me the hairy eyeball.
Thy lack of telephone and internet access doth confound me,
Thy remote location, and thy deliverance-like zipcode make me wonder where thy Banjo-Playing boy has gotten to.
Thy complete lack of furniture is depressing, thy utterly blank walls depress me.
Thy whack-assed acoustics render it impossible for me to hear speakers 12 inches from my head, yet render crystal clear a knock-off rendition of "I will survive" from down the hall.
Thy Kitchen contains a stove, yet no microwave.
Thy other tenants are... creepy.
Ah yes, new office, I truly hate thee, and rejoice at the prospect of rarely working in you again.

In good news, I got my first issue of the New Yorker in the mail today! WHEEE! Also, my boss gets to meet Bill Clinton tonight. She won't truly appreciate the experience like I would. *sigh* She did offer to let me photoshop my body into the picture she's having taken with him though. I may take her up on that. If only I could actually MEET the big dog...

Cross your fingers that the temp agency finds something positively fantastic tomorrow, because baby needs a new pair of shoes (or perhaps just a wheel bearing fixed).


Blogger Steph said...

i have always wondered who coined the phrase "hairy eyeball". c'mon if you think about it, it's freaking gross!! yuuuuuuuck.

and Astrosauce, as a reply to one of my posts, i would never in a gazillion light years wish Ace had a freakin' brother. good lord. for the love of Elvis, we couldn't handle to of em'!! oy AND vey.

5:18 AM  
Blogger parcequilfaut said...

**turns on Dueling Banjos in hopes that Sauces' screwy acoustic can pick up an unfairly maligned/wrongly affiliated with buttfuckin' Roy Clark & Chet Atkins tune all the way from Music City USA. Because that song? Rules.

Hope you're out as soon as possible. If you have any vibeage left over, throw it this way for the successful hooking-up of the ET phone and home office setting up, because I have to be free of the call center before I quit from sheer desire to be warm and not pissed off.

6:11 AM  

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