Werk It

My French co-worker being on holidays (yes, I have one co-worker - we work in a bilingual, dynamic team of two. A duo, if you will. A bilingual duo), I have a new Irishperson sitting beside me this week. Subsequently, and perhaps because the ejaculations flow more freely when I'm thinking in English, it has come to my attention that I have a tendency to yelp and squeal while reading my emails. Eek, I'll say, I didn't reply to that guy. or Oh fucky glasses, I forgot to do that. Also, if I'm sending an email that I don't want to send, say to the Entire Company, including the European offices, after I press 'send', I am inclined to jump out of my chair and run away screaming, as if the recipients are reading my email at the other end, and saying to themselves I've had just about enough of this Babette and her constant demands for us to 'please print in black and white where possible' etc. I've a good mind to go down there and slit her throat (cue me running away from my desk, horror movie-style, waving my hands in the air and tripping over things in the corridor cos I'm looking behind me to check my computer isn't following me).

The same is true of when I screen calls from suppliers who are owed money. Literally, I need to get out of my seat.

Also, I sing all the time when I'm working. Mostly without knowing.

I think it is safe to say that I am a fucking nightmare to work with in English.

I'm much cooler in French. I don't even bother opening my eyes until I've had my second beer. C'est simply pas le quoi.

Anyway, I'm now officially a office werker. Permanently. I am going to shave my beard and start wearing a tie, and put away my sketchbooks in a box under the bed, where my grown up children will discover them when looking for my old wedding dress, which they will plan to cut up into patches to make into a spaceship. Mom? they'll say, You used to be like us? But you're such a hard-nosed gym-going business werker. And I'll page through the sketch books, and they're mostly naked pictures of you, and I'll wonder what ever happened to you. What are you doing now?

For The Weekend

Just so we're clear, I’m not here because I like you; I’m here because I don’t want you to get over me.

Anyway,didn’t Heather Armstrong used to be kind of normal? Or cool or something, I can’t remember. I just remember she was tolerable back when I started blogging. Now she has a video in the sidebar under which is written : Watch Heather discuss her feelings about vaccinations on this episode of Momversation. Like. Gross. And she seems to be advertising an electric baby-wipe warmer. And anti-anxiety remedies. Maybe? You should get a job?
Speaking of which, I have decided to resign myself to the facts of my actual life and stay in my current job instead of a) looking for someone to tell me I'm good good goood and Oh! so PhD or b) pretending like this job is just something I'm doing to get ideas for my novel. I have decided to engage with the real world. Which may mean you see me here either more or less, I don't yet know which.

We went to see Year One the other day which, considering it had (ping) Michael Cera and (pong) Jack Black was about as disappointing as it could possibly have been. Such flagrant disregard for the passage of millennia I have never seen. See very very generous review here by someone who was getting a blow-job during the movie.

Mimi Smartypants , my role model, has moved. I don't like it.