oh craig, you sly devil...

so, i'm sitting in the model home where us sales people have come to lurk since our internet is completely gone at the office.

babyface has turned on the t.v. to SMOOTHJazz for a little background music, i'm not much for tacky elevator jazz, but what choice do i have?

both sales guys leave for lunch...

But, hark! What joyous golden songbird has swooped down from the pearly gates themselves to tease me with music from Heaven above?

i stop typing and look up...
and for a moment, time is frozen.
my breathing stops.
we lock eyes.

we lock mustaches.

me and craig.

pure sax.

oh craig!

i get you!
do you feel that?

our moment was brief! but real.

real jazzy.

i look forward to the next interlude. until then, sax on...

epiphany.

It struck me as I was walking out the door last night.

A co-worker made a joke that I'm the guy from Office Space who keeps showing up to work even though I'm not getting a paycheck.

The saddest part is that I don't even have a stapler that I like. Noooo, nooo, that's not the sad part. The sad part is that it's true.
YOUR MOM IS TRUE.

(what? I couldn't go out on a sad note)

someone farted.

and that means i'm out of here.

someone's insides are seriously pissed. no pun intended. unless, of course, the pun was MEANT to be intentional and then that changes everything. maybe the pun managed to manifest in the form of a foul stench courtesy of one my cubemates and its sole intent was to make me seriously rethink my lunch decision today and every day after..?

well, then, if that's the case, then the pun has certainly made it's point.

you are a worthy opponent, pun, but now i'm keen to your wily ways...

oh, you're damn right i'm keeping score, too.

pun 1, me 0.

for now...

(scary music plays)

Born with it? Ha!

Look, I don't know who this Mabelline person is, but I would like to thank her for creating the perfect red lipstick color.

I am not a lipstick wearer, or a color wearer - by genetics alone I am a lip nudist (I have no idea what that means, but go with it). On a recent trip to New York I decided to start wearing color again, and not just any color...red, baby!

RED.

Hooker-heels-slow-motion-lick-your-lips-red. Black-lace-bra-under-a-thin-white-tshirt-red. I-want-my-money-red.

You know the one.

So, here it is. The perfect red. Some search their whole lives for it, but not you, friend. I did all the work for you. Because I love you.

And for that? You owe me. Like, SO big. Like, I don't even know what you owe me yet? But it's a LOT. And by a lot I mean, maybe your first born? (*cough*Trent*cough*)

I'm just saying.

You owe me, Molly*.

BIG.

No, I take that back.

You owe me HUGE.

Like, how the Pope owes hat designers big. Like, how the mountains owe the canyons cause they look that much bigger, big. Like, how nerds owe Star Wars cause it gave them validation, big. You understand what I'm saying here?

HEY! Look at me when I'm talking to you.

Freaking A.

No respect. Unbelieveable.

Oh, well then. Here's the lipstick, as if you even deserve it. Psccht. Maybelline. Red Revival, yeah, yeah. You're welcome.

(Ptooey!) You make me sick. And a little hungry. Wanna grab a snack? No? Just a coffee? I mean, yeah, I could go for a coffee...you decide. Whatever. I could do either. Seriously.

*And anyone who's NOT Molly. You know who you are. Posers. Sick 'em, Molly!

Seriously?

You're telling me that I've managed to be in this hell hole long enough for Self Righteous to go through meathead boyfriend to new guy to husband, actually get knocked up, have the baby and actually return from maternity leave?

Oh, HELLO, Rock Bottom!

HI!!!!!!!

I've, like, toooootally missed you! You know, you're not as bad as everyone says...is it weird that I'm almost comfortable with you? I feel so close to you...

Call me, k?