Joyce's secret admirer


I was going to post an entry yesterday but I didn't get to it before a long meeting we had in the afternoon, and then after the meeting we went out for drinks, for we needed them. One thing I wanted to tell you yesterday is Joyce got a fax, and not a work-related one. This fax was from an 'Alice', asking Joyce to confirm their lunch plans. I faxed back from Joyce to say of course the lunch plans were still on, but I don't know who had the fax sent (it originated from a company in a town about 30 miles from here), because everyone in the office swears they didn't do it. I suspected the guy from the other office, with the imaginary secretary named Erika, but now I don't know. This is because today, when I got into work, there was a love letter for Joyce on my desk, complete with mangled Italian [I only know it's mangled because Iseult translated it for me] and a photo of a very old and beardy man. I made the rounds at work and, believe it or not, my number one suspect is BMW Barbie, because the ladies who work downstairs swear no one came into the office to deliver the letter, so I don't think it could be Erika's boss, and everyone else I suspected has convinced me they didn't do it. BMW Barbie has shown herself to be a bit more sly than I thought she was at first, and she seems fond of practical jokes, so I think I may have misjudged her, but that's nothing new because I seem to misjudge everyone. What I'd like to do is get here a little before 8 tomorrow morning and hide in my office closet, watching to see if anything is delivered tomorrow. If someone comes in to put something on my desk, I can leap out and catch them in the act, thus proving once and for all that I am stubborn and have little to no perspective when it comes to unimportant matters.

Get this: on Sunday I was talking to The Boy and I noticed his upper lip seemed shadowy. I looked closer and OMG HE HAS SOME FINE DARK HAIRS GROWING ON HIS LIP. My kid is getting facial hair!! I ran shrieking to Francisco, and he said he'd noticed it a few days earlier. I commenced to flail in panic while Boy snickered in the background. He seems unfazed, but to me, this is HUGE, and as much as I'm looking forward to him being an adult some day, I don't think I like this new development.

When Esther sits on my lap, as she is wont to do, she likes to arrange herself so her ass is hanging off of my lap proper. If I don't put a hand under her to support her ass, eventually she begins to slide off and will dig her claws into my leg when she pulls herself back up. Therefore I always hold her ass up, and the other day I did some rough calculations (very rough, involving no actual calculation) and figured out I've spent at least a week of my life, cumulatively, supporting my cat's ass. It's no wonder I haven't written that Pulitzer Prize winning novel yet--I've been BUSY.

Okay, Joyce just got another fax, from someone confirming her Friday appointment for a job interview. The nerve! After all I've done for her, Joyce is going to up and leave me?? Not if I can help it. The fax was from the cardiology department at the hospital and said:

I just wanted to remind you of your scheduled interview with me on Friday, March 4th, at 10:00 a.m. I am hopeful that this job will be more appealing to you than the one you currently have. After all, we do pay alot [sic] more, shorter hours and I am a really nice person to work for. We also give clothing allowances.

I sent him a fax right back:

"Dear Sconzo,
This harassment of my secretary, Joyce Frankel, must stop. She is not interested in working for you, no matter how much you promise to pay her, in terms of salary OR clothing allowance. Joyce would like to cancel her Friday interview, on the grounds that her senses were impaired when she made the appointment with you; she did not realize bourbon and PCP do not mix. After her high wore off and I managed to coax her out of the large Douglas fir in the park next to my house, she recalled making the appointment with you and asked me to cancel it as soon as possible. I have been delayed in doing so, as Joyce thought your name was Scoogle, and that you were a woman.

I no longer suspect BMW Barbie; I don't think she knows very many people in this area, and I don't think she would think of something like that. So we shall see.

The other night I had a disturbing dream that I was pregnant (I wasn't married to Francisco; I wasn't even really me) and the father of the baby had very menacing, almost mobster-type parents who insisted we get married. I had no intention of getting married to that guy, and at first I considered trying to miscarry, but then decided to keep the baby and run off in the middle of the night. I kept making a bunch of plans for when and how I was going to leave, but I woke up before I could actually do it. The dream has stuck with me and I think it's because I didn't get to go through with my plan of running away, even though I had thought it all through very thoroughly. Or maybe I'm just crazy. Whatev.

Max has come up with the most brilliant idea for a movie--I've been thinking about it all day. She and I will, of course, be the stars of the movie, but we would also like to feature Leslie Hall and that woman from Napoleon Dynamite who covets the sailboat that comes with the 24 piece container set. This is another reason I need to get rich; so I can actually make films instead of just thinking about them. I mean, I have the digital video camera now, but I can't afford to pay for things like travel and wardrobe (necessary for this particular film) for all involved. Hence the need to be rich. If anyone knows of a good moneymaking job, let me know.

Gotta go work.
E |


come over some time & see me - 2011-02-25
let's not say goodbye - 2011-02-23
the Rachel Zoe collection - 2011-02-10
I feel happy today - 2011-02-04
the tiny snow stalker - 2011-01-25

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