Don't forget your lunch. If you do, you will end up spending an astronomical amount of money on a coffee cup filled with mediocre fruit and a dinky bottle of grapefruit juice. Oh and the delivery guy will make fun of you for ordering such a wussy lunch.
Filing is God's punishment for those who have ever experienced a moment of happiness in their lives. Anyone who has ever enjoyed a cold beer on a hot day or celebrated when their team won or kissed someone or smiled? God will smite you by making you file.
There is no better feeling in the world than taking off your work clothes and putting on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt you've had since 1998.
When bursting out laughing, pick a better moment than when your supervisor is walking by. This wasn't my fault, though. Seriously. I emailed Dan to let him know that I had a shamrock sugar cookie for him ('cause I'm a good fiance and pass on all the baked goods that are given to me) and he responded with, "Mmmm....Irish weed cookie. Wait a minute...."
Working a nine-to-five will lead the creation of a tapeworm in your stomach. Seriously. I came home last night and ate grinder the size of a toddler. A grinder, in case you're unfamiliar with Philly vernacular, is a glorious sandwich filled with deliciousness and then, topped with cheese and broiled. Imagine Victoria's Secret models copulating with rockstars. Yeah. That's how good it is.
The last twenty minutes of every day are the longest of your life. Every infernal sixty second increment crawls by as slow as the express lane at the supermarket when an old lady decides to pay in pennies.
In other news:
Jill and Jaime's Birthday Bash Bonanza is happening this Saturday in Dub C. I don't know where we'll end up, but if you see a tipsy little brown girl around town, buy her another drink! She's cute, she's perky and she's almost 25!
Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip makes me want to be a writer. No. Wait. Me being me makes me want to be a writer. Studio 60 just makes me jones for the writer's room even more.
I almost dislocated my neck on Wednesday because I thought I saw Ron Livingston on the road. My fantasy came crashing down around my ankles when I realized that:
A) Ron Livingston probably wouldn't be driving a silver Ford Focus.
B) Aside from the obvious 'coming to sweep me off my feet', there isn't really any reason for Livingston to be in the Philly suburbs.
I was heartbroken. Dan was not. You know, in some ways -- we are very different people.
Filing is God's punishment for those who have ever experienced a moment of happiness in their lives. Anyone who has ever enjoyed a cold beer on a hot day or celebrated when their team won or kissed someone or smiled? God will smite you by making you file.
There is no better feeling in the world than taking off your work clothes and putting on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt you've had since 1998.
When bursting out laughing, pick a better moment than when your supervisor is walking by. This wasn't my fault, though. Seriously. I emailed Dan to let him know that I had a shamrock sugar cookie for him ('cause I'm a good fiance and pass on all the baked goods that are given to me) and he responded with, "Mmmm....Irish weed cookie. Wait a minute...."
Working a nine-to-five will lead the creation of a tapeworm in your stomach. Seriously. I came home last night and ate grinder the size of a toddler. A grinder, in case you're unfamiliar with Philly vernacular, is a glorious sandwich filled with deliciousness and then, topped with cheese and broiled. Imagine Victoria's Secret models copulating with rockstars. Yeah. That's how good it is.
The last twenty minutes of every day are the longest of your life. Every infernal sixty second increment crawls by as slow as the express lane at the supermarket when an old lady decides to pay in pennies.
In other news:
Jill and Jaime's Birthday Bash Bonanza is happening this Saturday in Dub C. I don't know where we'll end up, but if you see a tipsy little brown girl around town, buy her another drink! She's cute, she's perky and she's almost 25!
Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip makes me want to be a writer. No. Wait. Me being me makes me want to be a writer. Studio 60 just makes me jones for the writer's room even more.
I almost dislocated my neck on Wednesday because I thought I saw Ron Livingston on the road. My fantasy came crashing down around my ankles when I realized that:
A) Ron Livingston probably wouldn't be driving a silver Ford Focus.
B) Aside from the obvious 'coming to sweep me off my feet', there isn't really any reason for Livingston to be in the Philly suburbs.
I was heartbroken. Dan was not. You know, in some ways -- we are very different people.
1 comments on "Lessons I've Learned In The Workplace"
Welp. Looks like you have the working world all figured out. There's not much to it beyond that. :)
Happy pre-birthday weekend!
Post a Comment