Thursday, January 15, 2009

Like A Writing Desk

This used to be a friend's desktop image for her computer:



Amazingly she's still alive!

Lancelot



Out of nowhere today I started thinking about this guy I used to know. We went to college together, and we hung out a few times. He was this skinny little blond guy, and none of my really close friends knew him. If I had taken the time to ask around about him before doing anything, I would have found out how disliked and lame he was. He had longish hair, with a ridiculous almost pageboy-like cut. I didn't find out until everything was over with him that everyone called him Lancelot behind his back. He was extremely arrogant. I should have known better than to trust a gay male with a "Viva! Bush" sign in his window. We were never officially an item, but he got all pissy when I told him I kissed someone else. He demanded that we have sex right then and there, and I really don't like being bullied. So we stopped talking. Then I heard all about how all the gays on campus despised him, and I really wished I had been apprised of the situation going into it. Then I started hearing that he told people we stopped hanging out because I suggested we have a threesome with his ex. The truth was Lancelot was the one who proposed the threesome which I flatout refused. I wasn't very happy when I heard that. He showed up to a party that my house was hosting, and my friends and I didn't take it too kindly. I was so mad that he was lying to people about what happened, so I decided I needed to do something. Something mean. Something embarrassing. My best friend said he was down to back me up, so I told him to follow my lead. Lancelot was out in the courtyard sitting at a garishly painted picnic table surrounded by his minions. I sat down next to him pretending to be really drunk and sloshed a little of my nearly full beer on his jeans. He immediately stood up in alarm and after a moment, poured the rest of his beer on my pants. There was about one shot's worth of beer that hit my tacky pleather pants, so it just rolled right off. At this point I smiled because I felt he had given me the opening to overreact like an asshole. I poured my entire drink over his head making sure to get his prized hair soaked. My bff did the same with his drink about two seconds later, and Lancelot could do nothing but stare, slack jawed.

p.s. I went to the doctor today, and my doc laughed because apparently my chart says that I'm African American. Sweet!

Word




There was an incident a few weeks ago that prompted an email from our office manager to the work list having to do with the use of work email. There was a little blurb at the end about how internet usage at work should be kept to a minimum and that it can all be logged. I have to laugh when I imagine what they might find if they checked mine. It would be nothing more scandalous than Google image searches for "jockstrap" and "Joe Jonas."