Okay everyone, you�re going to have to bear with me. I�ve got very little energy today, so I�m not sure if this entry will even be completed. You know, if I had the guts, I�d have stopped typing in the middle of the word �completed� and then just posted this shit. But I didn�t. Oh well.

Anyway, I�m just tired, and not for any good reason. Well, I suppose that�s not strictly true. I�m tired because I�m completely overworked. Oh yes! I said it! I�m talking about my job again! Just try and stop me! BWA HA HA HA HAAA! Basically, we just took on two new clients, and I�m supposed to take point for both projects. On top of all the stuff I inherited from Sam, which is on top of all the stuff I inherited from Data Entry, which is still on top of all the stuff I was hired to do in the first place. There�s a lot of stuff stacked on my original job description. I wish it was money.

Oh, also, my body is in a kind of a tailspin, because it�s about 900 degrees out in Southern California right now, and approximately 57,000 below in the office. It makes for quite the juxtaposition. Seriously, though, the thermometer crested at 99? yesterday (outside), and Shirley, the Accountant, still had her space heater going. I don�t have a space heater. I have frostbite.

And then there was the fun in the afternoon. I use the term �fun� like in �funhouse�, where fun obviously doesn�t mean "enjoyment or amusement" but rather "boring, predictable, and overlong journey intending to frighten and surprise you, but failing at both". See, we had our weekly phone conference with Jean-zilla, which Anna opted out of (again) for reasons undisclosed, leaving just myself and Corinne at Jean-zilla�s cruel mercies. Of course, Corinne likes to "pretend [she�s] not there" during those meetings, so it was for all intents and purposes just me and Jean-zilla.

Now, I�ve held my tongue (a little -- I have!) on this topic, but I feel it�s time for me to speak my piece. I hate, hate, hate the fact that Corinne pulls that crap! And I like Corinne, you guys, for the sole purpose that she knows what she�s doing, she�s good at her job, and she doesn�t like working here any more than the rest of us do. She�s efficient and approachable, which is a good combo. However, this whole weekly routine where she sits mutely by the phone and tries to communicate with me by mouthing instructions or writing notes (which she inevitably finishes too late for the information to do me any good) is starting to drive me over the river and through the looking glass to Crazy Land.

It wouldn�t be so bad if I knew any of the answers to any of Jean-zilla�s myriad questions, the bulk of which are based on far-gone conclusions she reached in a single bound, but I don�t. The only function I serve for this project is �liaison for the east coast office�, and as such, I only know what I�m supposed to know, whenever Sophie feels I�m supposed to know it. Corinne is the one handling the nuts and bolts, here. But, rather than deal with Jean-zilla, she just mouths answers at me while I filibuster and try to read her lips simultaneously.

Me: Oh, that�s a good question! Well, I imagine that, you know, these things have a process which must be followed, and�uh�and I think that process has been known to�to work quite well in the pas�"the abacus has three Volvos"? What the hell does that even mean?

Someone Got Here By Searching For: "am I a whore?" [Only your hairdresser knows for sure. But yes.] I�m Watching: The Sixth Sense, which, despite having some serious flaws (in my opinion) is still a very well-made movie. I�m Reading: Nothing. Who�s got the energy to read?

my last adventure: Let Them Eat...Something Else.
�
my next adventure: REDRUM! REDRUM!