Got a new-hire orientation to present today. Starting this week off smooth with a two-cup load, and a plan to crescendo into a full-pot cacophony of closing, come the week’s end.
Finally feel 100% after a week of fighting the flu. Slugged down half a pot before work this morning. Feel like I could karate-chop down a sequoia. Lookout, day.
Went to a hockey game on a first date once. It also happened to be her first hockey game. We had a good time, but looking back, probably wouldn’t risk the whole “yeah this is actually really boring” thing. If both people are into it though, a game is a great mix of distraction and interaction.
I’ve reached a point in my life where I do a scan and scrub of the last 20-30 pics in my photo app before I go anywhere socially. Not sure if it’s smart or paranoid, but it works!
Beyond doing it because going to the bathroom can be gross and germy, washing your hands then also helps with all the other shit you touch all day that doesn’t get washed. Gotta use the wireless keyboard and mouse in the conference room? I’d rather lick the sole of my shoe (after going to the bathroom, of course).
Just wait ’til you get them back and spot the obligatory black-and-white photo that has just the irises of your eyes colorized an unnatural shade of Fun-Dip Raspberry Blue. Then you’ll know you’ve made it.
We need a cameo by Bobby Bonilla just to remind the world that he gets a little over a million dollars per year, until 2035. (He hasn’t played since 2001.) Deferred payments, baby.
I echo the sentiments of everyone else here appreciating the fruits of 2003’s laboring youth, but man. Did the conference-room-reservation-of-avoidance-and-shame ever blow my mind. Your world can change in a second, let me tell you hhh-what.
Even striving to prevent some of the negatives of getting older (as there are many positives) can back-fire. My lower back has been made of string cheese all week after tweaking it at the gym; a place I go in an effort to feel less achey, creaky, and generally, less-old. C’est la vie.
The person who always pulls the “I went on a fast food run without telling anyone and brought back $75 bucks of greasy, glorious, gut sponges for you writhing urchins to devour” maneuver at 1:30am deserves a standing ovation at morning-after brunch.
Not only did they do you a kindness that cannot be repaid, they kept their shit together all night – presumably while tolerating you losing yours – to be able to present this offering the the masses. MVP.
Luc Longley was on that flu-game team. Horace Grant and BJ Armstrong were not. Just floatin’ that out.
LIFT THAT NEW LIFE UP ON HIGH, AND GIVE IT A CUPPA.
Be the ten-cup guy you always knew you could be but never dared to!
Got a new-hire orientation to present today. Starting this week off smooth with a two-cup load, and a plan to crescendo into a full-pot cacophony of closing, come the week’s end.
BUT DID THEY LOG THEIR COFFEE THOUGHTS?
Finally feel 100% after a week of fighting the flu. Slugged down half a pot before work this morning. Feel like I could karate-chop down a sequoia. Lookout, day.
Right here, this is how big things happen to people.
Oven-roasted potatoes and veggies. Could be worse?
Never once saw one.
This is the first year I’ve been able to place an order, thanks to a new coworker. I’ve never been so happy to know somebody with a child.
Went to a hockey game on a first date once. It also happened to be her first hockey game. We had a good time, but looking back, probably wouldn’t risk the whole “yeah this is actually really boring” thing. If both people are into it though, a game is a great mix of distraction and interaction.
I’ve reached a point in my life where I do a scan and scrub of the last 20-30 pics in my photo app before I go anywhere socially. Not sure if it’s smart or paranoid, but it works!
There is no end or beginning to the intersection of Ron Swanson and Nick Offerman.
Poop pen. Slick.
Beyond doing it because going to the bathroom can be gross and germy, washing your hands then also helps with all the other shit you touch all day that doesn’t get washed. Gotta use the wireless keyboard and mouse in the conference room? I’d rather lick the sole of my shoe (after going to the bathroom, of course).
Just wait ’til you get them back and spot the obligatory black-and-white photo that has just the irises of your eyes colorized an unnatural shade of Fun-Dip Raspberry Blue. Then you’ll know you’ve made it.
We need a cameo by Bobby Bonilla just to remind the world that he gets a little over a million dollars per year, until 2035. (He hasn’t played since 2001.) Deferred payments, baby.
I echo the sentiments of everyone else here appreciating the fruits of 2003’s laboring youth, but man. Did the conference-room-reservation-of-avoidance-and-shame ever blow my mind. Your world can change in a second, let me tell you hhh-what.
Even striving to prevent some of the negatives of getting older (as there are many positives) can back-fire. My lower back has been made of string cheese all week after tweaking it at the gym; a place I go in an effort to feel less achey, creaky, and generally, less-old. C’est la vie.
The person who always pulls the “I went on a fast food run without telling anyone and brought back $75 bucks of greasy, glorious, gut sponges for you writhing urchins to devour” maneuver at 1:30am deserves a standing ovation at morning-after brunch.
Not only did they do you a kindness that cannot be repaid, they kept their shit together all night – presumably while tolerating you losing yours – to be able to present this offering the the masses. MVP.