Ya see those there shoes on ya left? At the time of purchase, I was of the unawares that they are The Most Painful Shoes in Existence. I made the hideous and awful mistake of going grocery shopping in them. I swore that day on my Bible, before God and man, that I would never torture my tootsies like that ever again.

So logically, that meant I was going to wear these to work today. All reason flew out the window when I rationalized that… hey (!),I am at my desk all day. It’s not like I have to actually walk anywhere.

But then there was an Official Board Room Meeting Like The Kind You See in The Movies with the long wooden table and the business suity peeps.

And I had to walk across the building to get there.

I wound up shuffle-ball-changing across the walkway and praying for sweet mercy on my feetsies.

So it’s lunchtime now, and I am ready to violently hurl them from my feet and into the fountain on the first floor  where they will drown and die and go away.

But they are cute, aren’t they?!

I keep waiting for Ashton Kutcher to appear and guffaw, “Jus’ keeeeeddings! You’ze not hiredz! You’ze firedz!”

Though that’s not what Mr. Demi Moore sounds like really, is it? Forget I mentioned that slightly dated pop culture reference because I am no longer in the loop of Cool Things, and I have absolutely no shame in admitting that.

The tunes currently rotating in my automobile music box are spandex sporting Erasure. Oh stop judging, you know you love it.

[ This Is The Point. Sort Of. ]

As far as the job?
It seems I’ve found muh callings.

Thinking about how we’ve clicked reminds me of those Childhood Saturday Morning Quadrupled Stack o’ Golden Perfect Pancakes mom would make:
1. Slathered in the mapley yum syrup
2. Sliced into perfect little squares
3. Buried in copious amounts of drippy buttery butter

Oh pancakes, I miss ye so.

On the outside?
Calm.
Composed.
Demure.

I am Jackie O.
Totally Gwynnie P.

BUT (!)
On the inside?

If you can’t even turn ON the computer without the password within the training manual you fully intended to bring with you on The First Day but totally forgot to because you were so excited that you rushed out the door and due to sheepishness opted for black pants instead of the skirty illustrations of giddiness pictured in the post down under?

The above graphic pretty much describes the synapses firing.
What if they come in and I haven’t even turned on the computer yet?!

Thank the Lord The Mister answered the phone sleepily and relayed all mandatory info.

Post spontaneous combustion?  All was golden.

This is why the Steve Sanders posters at Wal-Mart were always in stock.

[ This Is What Happens When The Mister Works All Day. ]

All groceries put in their respective homes.
All laundry folded and tidily snuggled away.
Aaaaaaaaand I get New Job Jitters for tomorrow so I decide I want to figure out what to wear and it turns into a little game of dress up and I have entirely too much fun and hey stop judging me I just lost 28 lbs that’s a marginal accomplishment of sorts. No?

Hard for me to look at my mug (hence X’s on 4 and 6).
Kind of like hearing your voice on someone else’s answering machine.

Seacrest LindeBlog out!

Yesterday, I took a lovely little periwinkle I Am On The Beach I’m So Cold I Must Cross My Arms Like This sweater into Olde Jobbe. (From here on out, aforementioned may now be referred to simply as Sweater.)

[ This Is Where Things Get Squirrely. ]

Upon realizing Sweater’s seemingly random disappearance from the back of my chair, Unreliable Coworker and I began to turn the office upside downcakes.

He was in top form: kicking in chairs and knocking down tables.  Wait.  That’s a Pet Shop Boys song. HOLD THE PHONE AND REWIND: digging through trash cans and emptying the contents of the mini-fridge (read: desperation had reached it’s pique).

“I think you left it at home,” Replacement Me Who I Was Training looked at me with googly eyes as though I were of The Crazy.

Okays, look Replacement Mes.
I is NOT crazy.
Bite lip.

After two hours of explaining my sanity, I reached my lowest point by embarrassingly confessing my extreme dorkiness (see: previous posting VisiBlog: Auf Weidersehens!) to take a picture of Olde Jobbe for memory-shaped things.

And in one of those candid shots? Sweater was alive and fully functioning on my person. (Picture deleted because I felt beastly. Damnation and hellfire, I wish I hadn’t now purely for photographic evidence.)

[ This is Where The Plot Thickens. ]

“Did you happen to see a sweater mingling on your premises?” I asked the Jester Market cashier from whom I purchased the coffees from at 8:30 that very mornings.

“I’ll check the video surveillance and get back to you.” He Sherlock Holmsed.

“Ahhhh thank you.” I sighed.

Ten minutes pass.
He entered the office to deliver his results.

“Light blue sweater.  With the v in the back.”  He folded his arms. “You were indeed wearing it at 8:30 this morning.”

Now… I’m not pointing fingers.
Or passing blame.
Or judging.

But an eency wee teeny part of me wonders (after checking everything short of climbing through the air duct vents like Judd Nelson) if the odd puffy bulge coming from Replacement Me’s bag was my loving, sad, and now forever gone Sweater.

THAT I ONLY GOT TO WEAR ONCE.

Dear Reader,
I’ve got to be completely honest with you.
Given that last day of Olde Jobbe is Friday?
I have utterly and undeniably checked out.

Like, if you went to the library, and asked for a copy of Me? Madame Librarian would tippity type onto her little wee mini keyboard, adjust her reading glasses, and mutter, “Checked out.”

Like, if you went to Blockbuster, and asked one of the employees if they could look in the Drop Box to see if there was any slight chance someone had turned Me in that day because all of the copies of Me on the shelf were gone? Said employee would pilfer apathetically through the DVD return box, shake their their head, and mumble, “Checked out.”

Like, if you went to a hotel and asked the concierge if The Room of Job Discontent was still occupied by Me because you needed to ask me a question? He’d look at you, die a little inside, and sniffle, “Checked out.”

Because it is literally taking every ounce of my soul, every teenincy fiber of my being… to care about this place anymore. (Sweet freedom fries, that is awesome.)

Seacrest LindeBlog OUT!

I think last night I may have gotten slightly overzealous with the newly purchased As Seen On TV PedEgg. Because today I feel like I just peeled my tootsies, dipped them in peroxide, and set them into a lake of fire to fry.

So I filed this little tidbit o’ info right in with the Plucking Your Eyebrows: The More You Know life lessons learned:

Stop before you think you’ve gone too far.
Because chances are?
You already have.

[ A Preface That Must Be Told. ]

Look at that DMD over there to the right.
Just bein’ itself.
Sweatin’.

I am simultaneously typing this post and applauding it’s existence.  That’s just how serious I am about the events that are about to unfold.

It must be said that my love affair with this sweet nectar of life is unbridled for the following reasons:
1. Diet Mountain Dew satisfies the quench in ways no other beverage before it could ever aspire to hold a candle to.
2. No calories.
3. Sweetness content = justright.
4. Gas-in-stomach ratio post drinkage?  Nunya. (Other diet carbo bevvies make my stomach blow up to Santa-like proportions)

Conclusion?  Fandom for life.

[ This Is The Point. ]

So bethatasitmay, I couldn’t help but notice the contents of the older gentleman’s cart behind me in line at HEB.  Normally, I wouldn’t be so bold as to comment as I am of the shy breed and apologize to you for my foot being in the wrong place if you, dear Reader, were to step on it.

But the kindredshippiness of the similarities were entirely too much to ignore.

He, too, a follower of The Diet Dew as his cart humbly and gloriously contained two lone twelve packs. The very same exact samey same thing as I was purchasing.  The rarity of this coincidence struck a chord as words began to fall out of my mouth.

“Good stuff, ” I pointed and nodded at my Diet Mountain Dew.

Who was this person speaking?
Where are these words coming from?
Have I unknowingly become the annoying jingly change pocket stranger that speaks to randoms in public?

“Incredible.”  His eyes seemed to stay in one place as his head slowly moved from side to side. The seriousness in his face let me know his love affair with The Diet Dew was just as intense as mine.

“You know, I could drink a twelve pack of this in one day,” my credit card slid seamlessly through the machine.

“Easily.”  We unisoned.  Both sets of hands slicing the air as if we were mirror images. And then we froze.

Ok.
That was weird.