After yesterday's long plunge off the gloom dive (and I'm SO sorry about that), there was a rebound. By the time I got home from work I was practically giddy.
There's a medication for that, isn't there? ;)
A very nice lady at work sent around a cute lil' slide show of the Office Summer Olympics that were helda week or so ago. Looks like it was fun. I did not go, even tho' I was in the building. Things like that make me feel uncomfortable. I also do not go to the monthly birthday celebrations; not because I'm antisocial (well, maybe I am, a tiny touchworth), but the thought of standing around eating cake with people I barely know seems so very New Years Eve, all false jocularity and such. No, I'd prefer to stay holed up in my wee taupe cubicle with the knocked-out back wall (so very Office Space of me, I know), safe in the knowledge that if I don't attend these get-togethers, there's precious little chance I might put my foot in my mouth or knock a glass of punch over onto a CEO or something.
Not that the CEO would have any clue who I am, of course, but we do all wear ID badges while at work and so a quick glance at my proximal chestal area would tell him all he needed to know about the malfeasor who'd drenched him in sticky liquid. Which he, in one way or another, paid for. Nope, better off to stay firmly planted in my rut, thanks, than to risk being IDed as THAT kind of employee.
Back to the slide show! Yes, the photos were fun, and I very much appreciated the thought that went into the making of the summary o' fun and games, but something on the cover page made my jaw clench hard enough to crack a walnut:
RTP Enjoy's The Office Summer Olympics.
DO YOU SEE THAT?
It makes my brain hurt to know that some people can't tell when to apostrophize and when to NOT. Enjoys isn't a concatentation of 'enjoy' and 'is,' you know? That doesn't even make sense! You don't say "the flock of sheep run's to the fence," now do you? You wouldn't write "the millionaire's club feast's on white rice and wine at nine," WOULD YOU?
I know you wouldn't, and good on you for that, but at least ONE person at my place of business did.
So, I did what any good writer-for-hire would do,; I forwarded a snarky e-mail to my boss, with exclamations of pain and high disappointment. Who else was I going to complain to/feel superior with?
He wrote back this morning, saying : It is time to don your superhero mask, red Shapie, and bottle of Liquid Paper. Apostro to the rescue!!
Have I mentioned lately how cool my boss is?
Walked a little over two miles last night after getting home from work (all part of my 'can't drinkity-drink until I workity-out' program). I think I should have stopped at 1.5. It's just SO not fun when butt muscles hurt.
Sheesh. From WALKING, no less. That's just embarassing. So, of course - I have to tell EVERYONE all about it.
Hey y'all, that's all. Gotta go make the dough, yo. Heave Ho!