My demi boss said that there haven’t been anything funny on here in a while. It’s been quite a downer, she said, to come by and not see any of the quirky OakMonster’s random thoughts.
So, demi-boss. This one’s for you!
Just because I just have no energy to be original right now, I’d have to steal this from Rude Cactus.
This blog entry is now officially the
De-lurking + Rant + Startling Admission Entry
that require YOUR participating.
What’s a de-lurking? That’s YOU, lurkers! The casual and/or accidental readers of my blog who visit often/for the first time but have never shown yourself. This blog entry kindly requests that you show yourself, even as Anonymous, by posting a comment.
I’ll go first.
The De-Lurking: I don’t have to de-lurk. This is my frelling blog! I can do whatever the hell I want here. YOU de-lurk! Say a few words about you. Or why you’re here. Or whatever. Just de-lurk, okay?
The Rant: Do I even have to talk about the crazy deadline thing at work again? Of course I do! I can’t frelling stop myself. Thank god for enough sense of self censorship! By the way, we’ve missed the actual deadline and going with the secondary deadline for that newsletter of mine. Uh-huh! Although this gives me, my new boss, and my demi-boss time to dissect the newsletter, it’s not going to be a pretty invoice for our non-profit budget. What the hell, you ask? Well, we’re printing a handful at the Kinko’s type place to meet distribution of next Wednesday. So that deadline for local place–read: more expensive print job– is Thursday noon. Then we send the same file over to our usual printer to have the larger quantity printed and delivered later next week for us to mail. Get it? So yeah, my Stress Phase 1 is extended to Thursday which will be rewarded by dinner with my girls that very same evening. Margaritas for everbody! Stress Phase 2 comes right after we return on Monday to crank out the brand spanking new website. (Oh yeah, Veteran’s Day off, baby!) God. I. Need. To. Cook. So. Bad. Yes. I’m a stress cook. I stress and I cook. Or bake. Can we PLEASE talk about our mountain of debts after I make this chicken in marsala-mascarpone sauce? As long as I can get home by 7 p.m. with all the groceries ready to go, I’ll cook until I go to bed. Please refer to last Thursday night. My coworkers benefit from that little stress cooking fit I had. They all had lemon cupcakes. Ah crap! Talk about stress! I forgot to do my Dreamweaver homework tonight! Now I’d have to try to do that at Terri’s office while Brandon works on her network tomorrow night. Arggh!
The Admission: I have several purple personal massagers. In the office.
No. Really. We have cases of them from FedEx, leftover swag from our gala event a few weeks ago. They are really those handheld personal massagers. Purple obnoxious vibrating pieces of plastic. Seriously. These monsters ain’t covert enough to double as pocket rockets. Not unless you want to wake up the neighbors. And I have a box of them under my desk.
Okay. For a real admission. It actually is purple…
Thank you Oakley. I needed that.
My Rant: Stupid busy work. I have an IQ and I intend on using it. Although, sometimes these things just have to be done.
My Admission: Sheesh. Kinda putting me on the spot, huh? I wanted to be a journalist. But I flaked out in college because I didn’t want to go interview perfect strangers.