Work, work, work, work. Hey boys! How ya doin'? Didja miss me?

I was giving my number to a woman on the phone at work, so she could call me back, when I said, "Four, zero, one, one. Yep. And my extension is 2001." Her reply was, "Oh! I like that extension. That's a good extension." So I mindlessly replied with, "That's what SHE said... I mean... uh... Thanks."

Okay, so I only said "that's what she said" silently to myself. But my brain was like, "Say it! SAY IT. SAYITSAYITSAYITSAYIT." Clearly, I need a nap. Or a drink. Damn me for leaving my cosmopolitan-boots at home.

Work has been so entertaining lately. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation. Or the lack of serious pressure and insanity that I have been dealing with for the past year and a half. Or both. Or all three. 

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As I go through my day, I tend to get burnt out on working and decide to play on Facebook   edit photos from last weekend's party   brush up on my NFL stats   stare blankly into space read the BBC world news. I occasionally hit up CNN, but I find that the best reporting on the US tends to come from anywhere but the US. And the BBC is awesome.

I came across an article today that was about how the children of sperm donors are finding their half-siblings, and occasionally even tracking down the donors. It was really interesting, but I had to read it three times to really grasp what was being said. Why? Because the last name of one of the children the article highlights is -wait for it- CLAPOFF. As in, to clap one off? As in spanking the monkey? As in choking the snake, as in jerking it in a cup to pay for the large pizza with the works and the six pack of PBR you're going to consume later that night?

So the article was like, "The offspring of blah blah sperm donor blah CLAPOFF." And then I would start laughing maniacally to myself, and then I would think of other euphamisms for male masturbation, and then I would realize that my eyes were still reading the article, and my brain was trying to follow and pretend as though it wasn't amused (even though it totally was), so I'd pay attention again and read, "...sperm donation enabled two mothers to give birth blah blah blah the internet age has allowed their twins Jonah and Hilit Jacobson in Georgia and Jesse and Jayme CLAPOFF...." And it would start all over again.

I was going to ask if I ought to be concerned about what I thought was immaturity on my part. That was the point of this post, initially. But, actually, the Clapoff thing is REALLY fucking hysterical, and totally chock full of high-brow laughs. I wonder if the guys at CNN tracked those kids down to do a story on insanely, hilariously ironic last names and then their brilliant story was shot down by The Man, a.k.a. their boss that had never taken a single journalism class or known anything about what gathers public interest, so they just went with what they could find in a pinch, while sticking with the same general subject.

I'm sure that's what happened. I mean, come on- HAHAHA, oh, I totally just said "come on"! Hahaha..... Man. That's fucking awesome. What was I talking about?

BOWNED. Fuck. I mean owned.

I just went to type a charming, but still somewhat professional email to my boss. And yet, for some reason, my hand-eye-coordination thinks that professionalism is bullshit. It also thinks it isn't getting enough action, because Hand-Eye Coordination is being a HUGE slut today.

For example, instead of typing "I would love to," I wrote, "I would love you." It gets worse.

"I know you're busy as hell," became, "I know you're busty as hell."

"I have that log at my desk [referring to the credit card log I use for collections, etc.]" became, "I have that flog at my desk."

Those are the only examples of the skanky typos (though there were a few normal, G-rated typos, too).

True story. And I am so very glad that I proofread my emails before sending them. At least, usually. God, I grope. HOPE. I mean hope.

And that didn't happen because I'm thinking about such inappropriate things while I ought to be working probably. Get your minds out of the gutter. JEEZ (with an "e"....).

P.S. Just so you know, I'm not currently drunk. Here's a photo for comparison.

Me, being drunk at karaoke.

P.P.S. Do you remember that part in Crocodile Dundee (you have to pronounce it "dun DEE") where that kid pulls out a knife, and Crocodile Dundee says, "That's not a knoife. This is a knoife." And then he pulls a machete out of his boot? I can't get that out of my head, because I keep hearing, "That's not a drunk. This is a drunk." Except that I'm not going to pull a cosmopolitan out of my boot because 1) I'm not wearing boots, I'm wearing really cute sandals that are not conducive to hiding liquor; and 2) I'm at work, and it would be a bit really unprofessional to hide a cosmo in my boot while at work, and probably worse to drink said shoe-cosmo. Hear that, Hand-Eye Coordination? That's called keeping my job.