roasting that troublemaker
This morning the office had a party [...], thrown by the woman who always throws them, but she did it specifically so she could tell us she's going to be a grandmother for the first time. She's very excited and it was a nice break from work, so it's okay that it's the one grillionth party this year so far (okay, maybe a slight exaggeration). The best thing to come out of the party was that a coworker and I decided (it was her idea) to have a roast for our boy coworker, whose last day is July 9--he and his wife are moving to Atlanta. A roast! Oh man, this is going to be so fun, and I've already started thinking up jokes for it. My favorite so far [and seriously? tell me if this is stupid, because I don't want to make a gigantic ass of myself] is on the subject of the boy coworker's skinnyness:
“He’s like one of those little, quivering dogs, and like those little dogs, eventually he’ll bark himself into a heart attack."
Is this stupid? Because if so, I will delete it from my roast joke file. Secretly I'm hoping it is brilliant and will singlehandedly launch my career in stand-up, but sometimes it's hard to tell. There's a very fine line between brilliant and stupid.
My hair is so large lately, due to humidity. It just swells up like crazy and gives me Big Head. Not attractive. I need to move out of this state for the hair problem alone. Also to get away from the ticks--my rash is pretty much gone now, but I need to take the antibiotics for another week or so, until they're gone. Hopefully I will never get the rocky mountain spotted fever again OR I will get it so many more times that I'll break the previous RMS fever record and be put into the Guinness book. Not sure which one to hope for. Does the Guinness gig pay?
Francisco and I were talking last night about characters in the Iliad (which he is listening to on tape, and which I have never read or heard, though I Have read the Odyssey), and he was telling me about Patroclus (my rider, my prince) and Man-Killing Hector. We decided that "Man-Killing Hector" definitely needs to be on a t-shirt (someone should make fun of me for my lack of follow-through with t-shirts so far. anyone?), and also really should be a band name. A person with initiative (i.e., not me) needs to get right on that. Clap-clap! Someday I will be Man-Killing Hector for Halloween, as you are my witness.
Last night Francisco went to his Tuesday night shoot, but before he went he made Boy and I the greatest chicken salad ever, for dinner. It was a curried chicken salad, and Boy and I agreed we could've eaten it until we died. I had it for lunch today too, and oh. my. mom. So good. It almost makes me want Francisco to Never get a job, so he can continue cooking us delicious foods every day. When I finally start cooking again, I'm not going to know what the hell I'm doing. Pathetic.
I've done far too little work today, so I'll stop writing and try to actually earn some of the money they're paying me. God bless you, interweb.
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