Senseless Babbling

I just went to get a cup of coffee and this very strange, veeerrrry large man in my office sees me at the coffee pot and says "A little coffee action this morning?" Only he said it in the creepiest way and made it sound totally dirty.

Oh, and I forgot to mention, he didn't actually say this to me... he said it directly to my chest. and he wasn't even subtle about it. It's 7:45 in the freaking morning, how the hell are you even awake enough to take the act of getting a cup of coffee and turn it into a sexual innuendo, you freaking perv?

While this annoys me a tad, had the hot Italian guy in my office asked the same question, my chest probably would have answered him.

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Nick and I were talking the other night and I was pondering what to write about today, so I asked him for some suggestions. He was no help whatsoever.

Nick: Did you already write about the time you kicked your underwear at that old man?

Me: Yes...don't you read the freaking thing?

Nick: When I have the time. Write about that time your sister was a little kid and was in the kiddie pool. You know what I'm talking about right?

Me: Yes, I know what you're talking about, but I'm quite fond of my sister and would prefer she didn't hack my body up into little bits, spread the bits on toast points and feed them to Young Republicans. Seriously...that's one damn embarrassing story.

Nick: Where would your sister run into Young Republicans?

Me: Nevermind. Do you think I should write about that time I got drunk and fell down?

Nick: Which time?

Me: I don't know. Maybe I could do a retrospective of some sort and briefly write about all of the times.

Nick: Honey, that might take awhile, especially if you count all the times you've fallen off your shoes while drunk. Do you really want the internet to think you're an alcoholic?

Me: Piss off.

See? No help whatsoever!!!
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Later today we're going to pick out all the stuff like carpeting, paint colors, cabinets, etc. for the new house. I fear that this is the adult equilivant of being faced with one of those brand new, 64 count boxes of crayons. Nothing good is going to come of this.

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The hot Italian guy just came into my office and asked if I had any inter-office envelopes he could borrow. Rather than just answering him and handing over the damn envelopes I pause for the loooongest time while having a conversation with myself in my head while the hot Italian guy is looking at me like I've lost my mind.

Self: Screw the envelopes, lets go to Lake Como and have babies!

Conscience: Um, hey dipshit...you're married.

Self: But, but....hot Italian guy...pretty babies...very pretty....gah.

Conscience: You're still married and the Italian guy is rather short. You hate short guys.

Self: Damn you Conscience, damn you to hell!!! You let me go to Lake Como with hot Italian guy and have babies. YOU CANNOT STOP ME!!!

Hot Italian Guy: Um...do you have the envelopes?

Me: Uh, sure. Here.

Conscience: You can't even speak a complete sentence around him. He's never going to take you to Lake Como.

Self: Fuck off.
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Okay, yes...I realize this entry was total crap, but it's early and my brain isn't working yet and it's hard to be amusing when it's exactly 17 degrees in your office and your fingers are in danger of frostbite.

I promise something more interesting tomorrow. Maybe I'll tell all you lovely internet people about the time my friend Frank thought a hospital was on fire (it wasn't) and tried to rescue old people from the not-on-fire-there-was-nothing-wrong-with-it-at-all hospital.