Friday, June 21, 2002
I keep a Hotmail account so I have an address to give away on shady Websites that require one. While browsing through my Junk Mail folder the other day, I came across a most unusual E-mail. In its entirety, it read:
SMUTTY NASTY DOGFART SLUTS!
CLICK HERE!
I stared at it for a couple of seconds before bursting into hysterical laughter. It went on for some time. After I'd calmed down a bit, my husband wandered up the stairs and asked, "What were you laughing about?" And that just started it all over again, except this time I crossed that line into manic teary guffaws.
The next day, we were having dinner with my folks, and my husband prodded, "Tell your parents about that spam you got yesterday." Well, that set me off yet again. I couldn't tell them--not out of embarrassment or anything, but out of sheer physical impossibility. I was simply laughing too hard. Eventually I managed (through much effort) to write it down for them. And a good time was had by all.
Now someone's going to write and tell me that "dogfart" is a certain kind of sexual trick. If it is, I don't want to know about it.
Wednesday, June 19, 2002
Oh, yeah. That macro thingy (see 29 May) didn't work out. Obviously, as I've been a total slacker when it comes to this thing. It's too bad--I really want to maintain it, to write in it on a fairly regular basis (if not daily).
One of my inspirations was Jeb's journal, something which has helped me while away many a long, boring day. Jeb, if you're listening: thanks! You're brilliant!
The receptionist came up to me today with the name of a "Japanese hydrangea" she was pretty sure she was "saying wrong" and she wanted me to get more info on it, thinking my PC was somehow better equipped to, like, run Google. Do you know what a pain in the ass it is to search for something when you really don't know the name? She said "High-noo-ka", but who the hell really knows how it's pronounced or spelled. This is Ishy we're talking about here.
Speaking of pains in the ass, I started heading for the lunchroom fridge this afternoon for my sandwiches when I saw the custodian woman vigorously scrubbing the fridge doors. Not wanting to get in her way, I silently padded back out to my desk. I went back in there ten minutes later--she was fiddling with the paper towel dispenser and nowhere near the fridge, so I figured I was safe. Well, sometime in those ten minutes she had also mopped the floor in front of the fridge. Down I went, onto my ass, hard. The lunchroom floor is Linoleum over concrete. I bruise easily as it is--I'm going to be purple come tomorrow morning. Oh, well.
