Yep. HR. Helpful as ever.
Oh nothin’. Just watchin’ the hurricane blow in.
Yeah, it’s not “off the grid” if it has “high speed internet.” I mean that’s literally ON the grid.
I think it’s that you can’t actually stop yourself from being a dick.
It’s not the fishbowl. It’s not A fishbowl. It’s the seminar room. It’s right there on the door. “Seminar Room”
I’m pretty sure they were supposed to have taken the flag down before the weather started, but it’s been awesome to watch.
It’s very loud.
But then how will I pay for my Xanax?
ffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. I have been reading the wrong goddamn chapter.
HR is a joke. Utterly useless. Everyone hates you for a reason. A valid, valid reason.
The whole entire point of converting this room was to get it on the University system and you’re telling me it’s not on the University system??
Why do people give emergency contact information in their auto replies? “If this is an emergency, please contact public safety.” Why would anyone be contacting you via email in an emergency?
I just typed course lookly instead of course lookup. I do not know what is wrong with me.
“Yeah and so, yeah. Yeah and so.”
But what about KEVIN???
It just seems like Clarence Thomas all over again to me. In other words: Utter bullshit.
I don’t actually hate that many people. Not really.
Where is my certificate? Where is my 10 year anniversary pin? WHERE IS IT??
I’d take Steve McQueen over James Dean any day.
It’s funny how you say “we,” as if you had anything at all to do with it.
OK, look. Luke’s daughter is annoying as hell.
How am I supposed to respond and wrap up if no one comments on my discussion post? Answer my own questions? I guess I could answer my own questions. That’d be weird, but whatever.
I have Just Like Heaven stuck in my head, and I am so not in the mood.
I am not the co-chair. I don’t get to make any decisions. Why do I feel like the co-chair?
I forgot my Little Debbie treat for after lunch today. Sadness.
Stupid create button. Did you HAVE to put it where the home button used to be?
I just searched my blog for the word terrified and one of the posts that came up was talking about BLTs and now I really want a BLT.
When was the last time I had a BLT? I cannot remember.
Man, I really need some new Chucks.
Well if you’re going to give it to me. OK.
I don’t know. I’m finally attempting a second run at Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life and while there are things that are still bugging me, I do like it better than the first time I watched it. I really kind of hated it the first time I watched it.
I’m not heartbroken about Neil Gaiman. There’s no point.
Huh. The wheat for Triscuits comes muchly from the Mitten. Nice.
I just saw this question on someone’s post: “Can your boss do your job and would he be willing to do it?” Yeah that’s a big fat no.
Interesting juxtaposition: The Daily Wire and Vulture in my inbox at the same time.
This work load has been shockingly light. What are you talking about?
Tomorrow is picture day!
Everything hurts. Everything. This virus is never leaving my system. I’m clearly dying.
No, really, stop texting me. I’m so pissed at you.
Everybody buy a copy of this book that my new friend Joe wrote. He’s been working with me for the last year (and my committee) to bring Gaiman to campus. This book should be really really great.
I want pizza. And also BLTs. Not so much in the mood for tacos. But mostly just a cup of French Breakfast.