Marry, Fuck, Kill is officially my new favorite game. Where else can you force someone to marry J.Lo by making their only other options Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston? Where else can you force people to decide between making love to Avril Lavigne, Jack Nicholson (as he is now), or the dead body of George Burns? Where else can you hear sane people commenting, �Oh, I�d nail Jessica Fletcher,� or, �Well, I think I have to marry Man With Boobs And Penis!�

Ah, good times. Plus, I received props from The DbF Crew for being make-outable (as well as removing Carrie�s ankle brace with my teeth, which was no small feat [so to speak])(er, which is not to imply that Carrie has big feet, because she totally doesn't -- Carrie's feet are dainty and ladylike), and that was nice. I was asked this weekend what my secret is, regarding getting chicks to make out with me. My tack is a simple one: just pretend you�re speaking with naked Ryan Phillippe, and seduction is inevitable. In fact, let�s all think about naked Ryan Phillippe right now. Okay, now you guys stop, because he�s my boyfriend.

And now let�s talk about the harrowing experience that was today.

It was 5:35, and I was teetering on the narrow precipice of sanity like the cars in all those action movies where those people all foolishly drive way too fast on mountain roads, like that�s why they have speed limits, assholes. I was supposed to have left the building five minutes previously, but I was still waiting for the fax machine to choke down the 27-page report I�d been trying to send up to Monterey for the last quarter of an hour, and I hadn�t even yet dropped off the gigantic stack of papers I was busy shuffling about in my heavily-laden arms.

I stumbled through the lobby of the office building, dazed and slightly delirious, but overcome with joy at the fact that I could see finally see light at the end of the tunnel. And that�s when I was blindsided by an older woman with ferocious, pink hair:

Woman: WHAT�S YOUR NAME?

Me: Um, it�s Dr. No.

Woman: WELL, THAT�S A LOVELY NAME! I HAVE A QUESTION!

Me: Uh�okay. Sigh.

Woman: I DIDN�T KNOW YOU WERE REPLACING SUSIE! IF I�D KNOWN, I WOULDN�T HAVE WRITTEN HER NAME ON THIS NOTE! SEE, I WAS GOING TO LEAVE A NOTE IN SUSIE�S INBOX, BUT SINCE YOU�RE REPLACING SUSIE, I FIGURED I�D JUST TELL YOU, BECAUSE YOU�RE REPLACING SUSIE! SO I HAVE THIS NOTE, BUT ITS GOT SUSIE�S NAME ON IT, BECAUSE I DIDN�T KNOW SHE WASN�T WORKING HERE ANYMORE. WHY ISN�T SUSIE WORKING HERE ANYMORE?

Me: Because Susie is the smartest girl in the world.

Let me just say that I really don�t want to become Guy Who Complains About His Job All The Time, but today was brutal, people. I mean this �Where�s Susie?� gauntlet came right on the heels of The Phone Conference From Hell, which I had to run, despite the fact that I didn�t even know how the equipment worked, much less what they expected from me. After the first dismal five minutes, I broke out in a cold sweat, and proceeded to fumble through the rest of the meeting under the stony glare of Charlene, who was less than impressed by my mad phone operating skillz. I probably would�ve peed myself too, but the sweat had been flowing freely since about 11:00 this morning when my first phone conference went kerflooey.

Actually, I wrote Heather (aka She Who Would Fuck Yanni) an email about it, which she informed me I should use as an entry. Ergo, here it is (more or less):

You know that feeling that you get when you get a phone call from someone asking you questions you don�t know how to answer, so you�re like, �Oh, um, ahhh�I�ll have to get back to you on that!� and then you call Sophie, but she says she�ll have to get back to you on it, but then she never does, so you�re sitting there, staring at the phone, knowing that any minute now Helen�s going to call you back and demand to know what you�re doing about the seating issue and what do those numbers mean on the analysis report that no one�s taught you to interpret yet, and where the hell Sophie is, and in the meantime, Donnie up in San Francisco has been waiting for you to call since 11:30, but you couldn�t, because you were supposed to wait for Sophie for that, too, only she never showed up, and Keiko from the DC office sends you an email asking you to fax a bunch of reports and pass along some info, so you do, and then you get a �Huh? Wha?� email from Charlene, begging you to call Keiko and ask her about the something something [terms you don�t understand], only by this time Keiko has gone home for the day because it�s 6:00 in DC, so you�re left contemplating whether or not you want to call Keiko at home and say, �Hey, Keiko, sorry to bother you at home, but Charlene wanted to know about the something something,� and have Keiko respond, �What the fuck are you talking about?� so you can go, �I don�t really know.� You know that feeling? I�ve got it.

Oh please. Anybody who knows me knows I should be hooked on ecstasy.

Someone Got Here By Searching For: anorexic goth boy And: murders in Sheboygan I�m Watching: My expenditures, after getting my coronary-inducing credit card bill today. Sweet mother of pearl, I am watching my expenditures. I�m Listening To: The White Stripes� cover of �I Just Don�t Know What To Do With Myself�, because it pretty accurately captures the essence of my day.

my last adventure: The Answer Is Three!
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my next adventure: Enter the E-Maelstrom