"UGH! Why would she admit to that?! That ruins everything!"
"The nerve that she didn’t consult you."
"I know, right? Oh well, the show isn’t as good since she got married anyway."
"Oh yeah. (Work buddy) and I have a theory why."
"Well, she’s no longer attainable."
"Because you had a shot…"
Nope, you can’t have him. He’s mine all mine.
"Can I at least read it to you?"
"You can, but I’m not really gonna pay attention."
"… Honey. You have met me."
“‘How many wangs can you count in the Mayan calendar?’”
"… then Ra was bored so he fucked his own shadow and he had a baby made of spit and another one made of puke. Weird, huh? Makes me wonder what the actual story was."
"But not enough to actually Google it or anything?"
"Fuck no. That would take effort."
"I wonder if people back then actually believed in those gods and all the bizarre stuff that happened in the myths? I mean, they’d have to be pretty primitive to believe shit like that."
"People still do, though."
"… Oh. Yeah. I guess you’re right."
So, the building deactivated the security keypads because of construction, and they sent us a giant, explanitory email. Which I totally read.
Then I went to another floor and proceeded to enter my code 3 times waiting for the “accepted” click before I remembered that the doors are all as open as a truckload of Amish on Rumspringa.
Thoughts of everything but the task at hand are driving my Daisy.
Why are there Monday fingerprints all over my Tuesday?
"Thoughts of everything but the task at hand are driving my Daisy." Dear god I love how this woman’s brain works.
Him: I have restless legs! They’re all jumpy and itchy.
Me: Did you walk the dog too far?
Him: No, I think it’s all this marriage talk. (shudder)
The IT guy has taken remote control of my computer, and I’m watching him fumble around trying to figure out how to make the needed changes and I’m all like I could do that.
The fumbling around part, I mean.
The IT guy is here working on my computer, and his cologne is KILLING ME!!! As if all the pollen from the eighty gazillion oak trees in the immediate area isn’t already making me miserable, now I’m getting a migraine from the admittedly nice but deadly scent. And on top of that, I can’t go to lunch until he’s finished, because he keeps asking for information like passwords and settings and junk. Can’t he see I’m dyin’ ova heah?