A Night Filled With Douche-Canoes, Stinky Men, The Damn Cooler And Other Very Serious Work Crap

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So I kinda suck at serious meetings and such.  I just want to clarify that, even though by now, anyone reading this probably should have been able to figure that one out.  I mean, hello!, I get distracted by wondering about how armless people wipe their butts!  So, once again, just to clarify–I suck at serious meetings and such.  We had a meeting tonight after work to discus the many issues we have been snarking about for a while now.  I was totally going to be all good and snarky and stuff.  That was the plan.  The plan evaporated the second the meeting started.  One minute I’m all “I am so gonna snark about rinsing out the damn mop after every use, and filling the damn pop wall and the stupid cooler, and a bunch of other really seriously work-ish matters”, the next minute, I’m all “I am so not going to stand over here….over there looks nicer….omg it’s story-time! YAY! Let me babble and goof and generally act like a complete whack-a-doodle!”  I really wish I was exaggerating.  I don’t know what happens to me during these types of situations!  It’s like I simply must provide comedic relief–bad comic relief that is probably not really appreciated, but comic relief none the less.  And it’s not just during meetings!  Baby showers, wedding showers, various product parties (you know, like 31 or Passion or Origami Owl–that sort of thing)–nothing is safe from my comic relief.  Perhaps it’s some psychological thing, a way to deal with social situations or whatever.  Whatever it is, I am utterly powerless to stop it.  I apologize for past occurrences as well as any and all future occurrences as well.   Just remember that you have been warned.  If you insist on inviting me to anything, ever, do not blame me for my blathering idiot behavior.  So there.

Daily randomosity:  Who decided to name a fancy, over-priced vacuum cleaner the Shark?  Like, seriously, who came up with that?  When I think of sharks, I do not think of vacuum cleaners.  When I think of vacuum cleaners, I never think of sharks.  Puzzling.  What kind of psychopath thought up waxing?  Someone looked at melted wax and thought, “I bet if I poured that excruciatingly hot stuff on my body and let it get all solid again, then ripped it off, I bet it would get rid of that unsightly leg hair!”  And did they try it on themselves, or did they get their friend super drunk and talk them into being the guinea pig?  I miss the Budweiser frogs.  And the Taco Bell dog.  Oh, and that little old lady who snarked about skimpy burgers and asked “Where’s the beef?”.  If there is ever a zombie apocalypse, a lot of those fellas who wear their pants all hugely baggy and saggy are gonna die.  They are going to get all tripped up in their own pants and get eaten before they figure out to just ditch the pants and run.  Sad, yet oddly satisfying.

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Kay. Bye then!

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