A ridiculous story. That's sort of two. But they are related.

Note 1: this started as an email to Jamie and Jo, but realized that this story must be shared with the world.
Note 2: Two posts in one day, MY GOD THIS IS ALL-CAPS WORTHY.

This has nothing to do with my idiot sister, BTW (ha!). Also, this is kinda squicky.

So we have had a roach problem on our floor at work for some time – this happens every year from spring to fall, and no matter how many times the bug dude comes and sprays, we still see them fairly often. This year it’s gotten a bit worse, and the vermin have been making appearances in the large conference room my division uses for most of their meetings. There was an incident yesterday in the middle of our division staff meeting (which of course I was not at, because all the notable stuff has to happen WHEN I’M NOT THERE), in which a roach was crawling on the back of the chair of one of our mid-managers who was at the head table. One of my coworkers decided the best remedy for this situation was to try to brush the bug off the chair with his foot without any explanation, so to anyone who hadn’t seen the bug, it looked like he was walking up to this manager and kicking the back of her chair. I’m told that his explanation of, “Oh, there was a roach on the back of her chair” caused my Big Boss, her Second, and Semi Big Boss to squeal, raise their feet off the floor, and push away from the table in one fluid, girly motion. (I got a very detailed play-by-play after the fact, complete with reaction shots and sound effects.) Eventually, the roach was located and destroyed, in very dramatic fashion, by a co-worker at the front of the room, mid-presentation. I think they may have thrown a parade in his honor. Anyway.

Sooooo, I came in to work this morning for my 6 a.m. telecon, in the same conference room. It is 6:20, and we are all bleary-eyed and quiet, waiting for the translator to, uh, translate the point just made by one of the international dudes on the line. Then all of a sudden, my (very pregnant and adorable) co-worker rises out of her chair, squealing, and my first thought is, OH MY GOD HER WATER BROKE SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE AND GET ME A BALL OF TWINE AND ALL THE CLEAN TOWELS YOU CAN FIND, AND THE SCISSORS, AND DON’T COME TELLING ME YOU CAN’T FIND THEM. Turns out there was a huge roach crawling on the arm of her chair. And so there commenced wailing and gnashing of teeth as we all tried to run away without looking like too much of a fool. Meanwhile, the international dudes are still on the line, and they are all, WHAT THE EFF IS HAPPENING OVER THERE. It took several tries, interrupted by more squeals as the roach changed directions in its skittering, to communicate that, Yes, we here in Texas are freaking out over the appearance of a bug in the conference room. Eventually things calmed down, and the roach was destroyed, but we were never the same. I couldn’t bring myself to put my feet on the floor, because I’m wearing a skirt and open-toed shoes and what if another one crawls over here and OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT BRUSHING AGAINST MY LEG. Also, the international dudes probably think we are a bunch of candyass wusses, but YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN THE SIZE OF THIS THING.

But some of them will be in town in a few days, for a week-long conference in this building, where they will (probably, unfortunately) be able to see for themselves that everything is, in fact, bigger in Texas.

Pic of actual roach in our actual conference room, although not of the actual roaches in either story - this was taken for a previous, uh, experiment. Mad props to C for actually getting close enough to take a picture of a roach, while simultaneously holding a pocket flashlight for better lighting, as I cowered in the opposite corner of the room and played lookout so no one would see we were taking pictures of roaches in the conference room.

UGH. GROSS. MUST GO WASH HANDS AND SCRUB SKIN RAW.

I was up at 4:30 this morning in order to make a 6 a.m. telecon here at work.
My first thought upon waking: "DUDE, it would be SO AWESOME if Glee did a version of George Michael's 'Freedom '90'!"

Can't you see Finn belting the shit out of this?




With the rest of the New Directions tearing it up with the "FREEDOM!'s" in the background? And Mercedes taking on some pretty serious melismas at the end?





Actually, a George Michael/Wham! episode of Glee would be pretty amazing, no?



I smell a production number!





Dear Fox,
GET ON IT.

Love,
G

Pleasing.

Running the side of a pen over a fold in the paper, in order to make a nice, sharp crease.

Hitting the heel of your hand on the flat site of the knife in order to crack open a clove of garlic.

Opening a new trashbag, and snapping your wrists so it makes a nice POPping sound, scaring the cats a little bit (ha!)

The first scrawl of your pen on a fresh notepad.

Pumping gas and having your total end on a nice, round number.

Making plans with friends many weeks in advance, so you have a good long time to savor your excitement.

Winding up the cord properly on the vacuum, instead of lazily looping over the top.

Remembering the words to a song you haven’t heard in probably ten years.

Sipping wine and cooking a delicious dinner while dirtying a ridiculous amount of dishes while you sing along to the radio and purposely avoid dealing with the unpleasantness of the outside world.

I just made this my desktop background.



Thank you for giving me a sign, Paige.

Do you have friends that you are like, “You are so awesome! I’m so glad we’re friends! I wish we had somehow been friends, like, years sooner! Because think of all that WASTED TIME when we could have been entertaining each other!”

‘Cause I have some of those.

Also, thank you.

This is for you.

It is 2:40 a.m., and I am painfully awake, my brain still a little addled and my abdomen pretty crampy.
My alarm will go off in two hours so I can get up, shower, and be at work in time for a 6 a.m. telecon.

This is so not happening.

Instead, I am in here on the computer, stagewhisperyelling at the cat for thinking that my being up at this ungodly hour gives him license to be an asshole and tear up my furniture (unless this is something he does *every* night, which could explain a lot and also debunk my theory that friendly but naughty elves sneak into the house each night and muss things up and drink all the tea in the fridge and THAT is why the pitcher is always nearly empty, not because I forget/am too lazy to make more).

I am suddenly inspired to bake these cookies that I watched Giada make on TV this morning. Also, I am struck with the urge to vacuum, because on Monday we went to That Orange Home Improvement Place to finally pick up my Dyson - I compromised and went with the original yellow, no-fancy-ball-or-magical-pet-hair-cleaning-properties model, because it was on sale for $318 (vs. $399), and I have been scouring and had not seen a better deal. So we brought it home - I didn't have time to whip up a Welcome Home banner, but I think it got the gist that it is somewhere it will be loved and cherished - and I used it right away, and I have to say, it's everything I hoped it would be (short of pouring mama a glass of wine and then running itself). So I am very, very pleased with my purchase. But I didn't get to do *all* of the rooms because I had to do stupid crap like cook dinner and write a longwinded whiny post about my retarded ovaries.

However, I will refrain from engaging in either of these activities, as I think John might not take kindly to being awakened in the middle of the night, wondering what kind of crazy Suzy "Cokehead" Homemaker he finds himself married to.

Now it's 3 a.m.! {Yay!} The perfect time to officially call in to work today, and then settle in for some infomercial watching.

This is gonna be the best day ever.