See? I knew hearing about everyone's sex life would be riveting.
How many of you felt bad because of it? Several people emailed me to say hearing about how often others are having sex made them feel bad. Some wondered if their significant other was happy, now, or is there something wrong with them and what a can of worms that opened.
Why do you think that is? Why did so many of us stampede to comparing and contrasting like that? Why do we make this particular topic so important?
June's blog, man. Where you come for the deep thoughts.
In the meantime, I just found out that they are moving where I sit at work and thank all that is holy. I've already told you I sit right near the door that no one can seem to manage. There's a three-digit code you have to push, and it's NOT LIKE THE CODE GETS CHANGED A LOT, yet all day long I have to hear: click, click, click FLOOMP. Click, click, click FLOOMP. NO ONE EVER GETS THE GODDAMN CODE RIGHT. EVVVVVERRRRRRRR.
Plus, I am not in a cubicle. It's bad enough to BE in a cubicle rather than an office, particularly when your WHOLE JOB is to READ SOMETHING extra super carefully and you have to hear the person in the next cube. "SO THEN WE WENT TO THE MALL? YOU KNOW? AND I TRIED ON THOSE NEW JEANS AND OHMYGOD I GOT BA-DONK-A-DONK BUTT NOW! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! I NEED A VACATION FROM MY VACATION! HAHAHAHAHAH!"
If there is anything I detest, it's people who say, "You back? How was it? Looks like you need a vacation from your vacation! HAHAHAH!"
Actually, the guy who sits next to me currently is very quiet and hard-working, and I enjoy sitting next to him quite a bit. Also, I cannot imagine him saying "ba-donk-a-donk" if you paid him. But you get my point. And I don't even have CUBICLE WALLS. I'm just OUT there, in the ROOM, exposed to EVERYONE, and even worse I'm near the copy machine.
No, I have never once said, "Makin' copieeeees."
And here is the thing. I don't know if it's cause I'm ME or if this would happen to anyone, but NO ONE, NOOOO ONNNNNNE can pass my desk without saying something to me. "Hey, June." "How's it going, June?" "ploink!" (some people, VILHELM OYSTER, knock stuff over on my desk to be hilarious) "knock knock" (SOME people just fucking knock on my desk as they pass).
YES, I KNOW YOU CAN SEE ME. THIS DOES NOT MEAN YOU HAVE TO ACKNOWLEDGE ME EVERY TIME.
Did I mention my job involves READING REALLY CAREFULLY all day? And you need, oh, CONCENTRATION? Oh, and also I have no overhead light and I am in a windowless room. I failed to mention that part. Did I mention the, you know, reading thing? And that a lot of it is legal-sized font?
So yeah. Been hating my desk for quite a while now. Am rejoicing at actual walls and a light. And distance from click, click, click FLUMP.
OH MY GOD IT'S THREE DIGITS. PUSH THEM IN! PUSSSSHHHH THEMMM INNNNNNN.
Sometimes I get cranky at work.
So I guess that's my biggest news. Oh, and my dishwasher is broken. It washes the dishes and they all smell like dead fish when they come out, which is just the scent I was hoping for. So I have to come back here at 10:00 and meet the repairman. Am looking forward to that whole rigmarole. Won't I be embarrassed if he actually pulls out a dead fish like cats find in alleys in the cartoons. Oooo, I kind of wish I HAD some kind of hilarious fish skeleton now, so I could put it in there and confuse the hell out of the repairman.
I always think of these things too late, just like how I always wish for a cobweb suit to put on when one friend of mine finishes her never-ending stories. "Oh, is that over already?" I could say, covered in cobwebs. Never remember till she's in the midst.
Okay, that's all. Take off your cobweb suit, there, Miss Funny. I'm done.