So far mine's going about as fast as a Chilean miner rescue. Oy, so slow. It'd be great to ramp it up to bacterial oil-slick gobblin' speeds, but I can't convince the minutes to tick by as fast as all that.
Something about document conversions makes time ooze as though each minute was hanging on for dear life. It's a sure thing that each of us has something that makes time crawl slower than a loaded cement truck - why not share YOUR time suck in the comments? We can whinge and moan together. It'll be fun.
(Skip this next bit if bodily function talk turns you off or grosses you out. I won't mind. MUCH).
I read someplace that the average human bean passes about 4 L of wind a day. FOUR!
Slackers, is what I say to that. Ever since doctors cut out a chunk of my colon 40+ years ago, I pull duty for 2 or 3 people on a regular day. Things get truly impressive if there's, uh, fuel added to that fire. Like, Biff made some of the best chili ever this past weekend, and there was a LOT of it, and I LOVE CHILI, so as a result let's just say that the people at work should thank me for working at home as much as I did this week.
Ahem. Little things amuse me. Just play along.
Which brings me to another work-related AND flatus-related item: the Pharter. Remember him? The dude who would just let 'em rip at his desk whenever he felt like it, no matter who might have been around to hear or otherwise 'experience'? This is the guy who caused me to go to HR and lodge a complaint it was so bad. Seriously. Talk about your tricky work conundrum.
Well, he either changed his diet or installed a butt cork or has learned to CLENCH, because it's been mercifully quiet in the ol' cube farm for many months now. Somehow, someone got the message across that blowing the butt trumpet at work is so not cool.
And now? I actually like the guy. But if he'd continued to play the farfelonial flute at random intervals and VERY audible volume, today would have been a great day to exact revenge.
I am just saying, is all.
(checks watch. is amazed how little times has passed. sighs dramatically.)
The Great Bathroom Remodel of aught ten is alllllmost done. Paint is on the walls, there's an awesome new track lighting setup bedecorating the room with cool industrial-looking fixtures and a ton of light (squee!), and there's talk of actually putting some art on the walls to luxe up the place to a ridiculous level. All that needs doing is to paint the 2 new doors, finish painting the shoe moulding, and install the doorknobs.
By this point we've replaced everything in that room except the sink cabinet, which is too bad because it's ugly, but with a new coat of paint and some new pulls it will get enough of a facelift to be bearable for a few years, until we finally have saved enough to just rip the bathroom off the back of the house and replace it with a whole new one.
Oh yes, we have plans. But for now, I'm thrilled as a toddler in a ball pit.
Except for one thing. Those new lights have caused me to spring a lot more wrinkles than I thought I had. I suspect, therefore, that the lights are defective. That's the most sensible explanation, right?
Y'all rock your weekends. Tiff out.