10. Boxes everywhere! Seriously! All over the place! In my new house! Big boxes full of stuff I probably don’t REALLY need! And dust! Big boxes full of stuff and DUST! Dear LORD, the dust!

9. I am frantically putting the finishing touches on the PowerPoint I needed to post, like, last week, for the presentation I am giving in Cincinnati NEXT week. And, everyone knows–as Dwight Shrute once said–”PowerPoints are LAME.”

8. I will be leading a session at an industry Expo next week using said heretofore unfinished PowerPoint (see 9).

7. Despite several calls and frantic emails, I still have not been able to successfully register for my GovTrip account.

6. I do not have a travel itinerary for my business trip next week, mainly because I CANNOT SUCCESSFULLY REGISTER FOR GOVTRIP and therefore have not been able to buy my plane tickets.

5. I can’t find my favorite comfy jeans. Because there are BOXES ALL OVER MY HOUSE!

4. My allergies are out of control. Probably because of the dust. You know, in the boxes? All over my house?

3. I’m 99 percent sure I have a room reserved at the conference center in Cincinnati to which I may or may not have transportation. It’s that remaining 1 percent of uncertainty that has me by the short hairs.

2. Speaking of… my previously straightened hair is being completely ornery about all this humidity, and is like “Aw, hell no!” the minute I step out the door. Naturally, my flatiron is no where to be found. YOU know why. Honestly. Don’t MAKE me explain the “Boxes! Boxes Everywhere!” situation again.

1. New houses awesome! Physically moving, however? NOT awesome.

Flash forward to me, today, approaching the door to the suite of offices on my boss’s floor. I waved and smiled at a group of my colleagues who were waiting at the elevators, reached for my ID badge, and steeled myself for the imminent embarrassment of Cat’s Oh-So Tragic Hair Day Which Will Live Forever In Infamy. But then? I spotted my opportunity! An opportunity of golden proportions! It was FedEx Delivery Dude! I am so not joking. I like to think it was fate’s little way of looking out for me and my fragile ego. Because if I hurried I could catch up to FedEx Delivery Dude and sneak right in behind him, no badge (and subsequent self-loathing) necessary! Score! Sadly, FedEx Delivery Dude was way too busy and important to hold the door for me and my ID badge of shame, but I totally sped up behind him and JUST caught the door before it could swing shut.

“Ha HA!” I triumphed, perhaps a bit louder than I intended. A tad. Perhaps. I may have also pumped my fist. I don’t know. It’s all a blur now.

Bursts of laughter followed me in from the hallway, only to be cut short when the door fell closed behind me. The secretaries in the foyer eyed me warily as I stumbled to a stop in front of their desks (the momentum of my hustle may have propelled me through the door at a pace a bit more energetic than is considered seemly and/or work-appropriate), but I just smiled and went about my business. Because DUDE… I freaking snaked it, yo?

In other news, occasionally I am heedless and strange.

Why?!

No, really. It’s like she has Fate by the short hairs and is all, “Oh, yeah. I’m doing this! WHILE WE ARE MOVING. Consequences and/or permanent blindness be damned! Because I have mad liquid eyelining skillz, biznitches! What up?! Now step off! I shall now floss and shave my legs before the next stop.”

Sure, it could be worse. I mean, at least she isn’t DRIVING. But whatever. Personally, I prefer to apply cosmetics when the ground isn’t shaking. Call it my wacky personal preference.

Yup. I’m like a limited edition Sick Bobblehead Chassy Cat.

On clearance.

Um, or that I HAVE a sweet new job?! That is totally sweet?! Full o’ the awesome sweetness?!

No?

Oh. Well, I do. And it is.

Just thought I’d share.

Eh.

So I made this wicked awesome header logo for my Chassy Studios website (to match, but not totally match, DWM and TechnoGeekery) and I want to brag and whatnot, not to mention plug my services (dude, again with the dirty), even though I am actually too busy right now to take on any new clients, which is completely beside the point, clearly, but I thought I’d mention it, so step OFF me! GOSH.

What?

Ah, yes! The header logo! Shameless plug! Because of the wicked awesomeness!

Check it:

Eh? Eh?! With the Chassy Car and the Chassy Town and the Chassy Tree and Chassy Buildings and e’rything?!  Right?!

Wicked awesome. I’m just saying.

So… there you have it.

Oh, I’m shameless. I just wanted you to know.
Oh, I’m down on my knees… shameless.

Hmmm… there’s a joke in there somewhere. I just KNOW it.

Okay, a raise of hands: How many of you just reflexively shouted out “chicken butt!” (or at least thought it enthusiastically)? Don’t lie! I don’t judge.

But we were guessing, right? After indulging in a moment of juvenile humor, of course. Seriously, stop denying it.

I’ve been MIA for a bit of time– just a teensy bit!– because I finally “officially” launched my little side bidness I mentioned, oh, say, about a year ago? Give or take? Yup. Check me out! I am ALL about the website design and maintenance! Yessirree, Bob!

CHECK. ME. OUT.

I’ve already got some clients (hoo! I said “clients”! in a sentence in which it refers to people who will pay me money! MONEY! exchanging HANDS!), so I’ve been a little busy getting my bearings and whatnot, but I am determined– I’m making my determined face right now– determined, I say! to get back to blogging the snark on a regular basis.

Plus, we have TV again, so download Skype and give me a holler if you want to shoot the snarky breeze with Chassy Cat and friends for the TV recap podcast I am STRONGLY considering calling Boob Tube REWIND. Just so you know. I’m not sure if boobs will be a prerequisite for chatting, but if we swing that way, perhaps man boobs will be sufficient.

And I just said “boobs” way too many times for one whole post that is not in any way related to the loverly Kat McPhee.

Chassy Cat, OUT.

Oh. Em. GEE. Guys? GUYS?! Guess WHAT?! I arrived at work, and there they were! I kid you not! Just right there! In my cubicle! There I was, moseying into work, just minding my own grumpy Monday morning business, then BLAMMO! TASTY BEVERAGE! So beautiful, like a towering pyramid of caffeinated goodness, all geometrical and Dr. Peppery and whatnot…

*sigh*

Ha! Take THAT, 3rd Floor Lounge Diet Dr. Pepper Thief.

“Well, if their business is making lots of money, then they can afford to go to college, right?” Hannah asked.

“Because you have to go to college to learn.” Alli added with eight-year-old conviction.

“Well, that’s not necessarily true,” I said, ever the fair and balanced educator. “You don’t need to got to college to learn. People can learn in many different ways, you know, like through reading books or gaining life experience.”

The girls, while busily stuffing their mouths with (not so dainty) bites of pancakes, were nodding their heads, as if to say, “Uh-huh… uh-huh…”

Encouraged, I took it a little further, “Don’t get me wrong, I think college is a wonderful idea, a solid investment in your future, even if you already have a successful family business or career. I’m just saying there are more ways to learn. I mean, at college you’re really just reading books and discussing what you read, anyway, but–”

“And going to parties,” Alli chimed in, matter-of-factly, before reaching for her glass and swigging her milk.

My eyes widened. The Bureau of Labor statistics I had at the ready flew out the window.

Hannah pointed a pancake-laden fork at Alli. “Yeah. And kissing boys,” she added, then popped the pancake in her mouth and chewed happily.

And with that, my lecture–all about how people with more education make more money, but college is also about developing communication, social, and logical thinking skills–stalled out before I could even bring it up to cruising speed.

I looked back and forth between my grinning eight and nine-year old daughters, who were looking at each other and nodding in a rare moment of sisterly camaraderie–envisioning frat parties and kissable college boys, no doubt! and beer! probably beer! at the parties?! with the college boys!– and there were no words. Which NEVER happens.

Then, with indisputable Because-I’m-the-momma, that’s-why! finality, I said, “Yeah, you two are so not allowed to go to college.”

Ha! Take THAT, horny little frat boys.

“Hey!” Hannah and Alli wailed in unison.

From the living room, I could hear TGIM laughing quietly.

Stupid shenanigans.

That’s all I have to say about that.

On the bright side, a new couple has replaced Veronica Mars and Logan Echolls in my romantical heart. Plus, they’re Canadian! I KNOW, right?! They say things like “aboat,” which I’m 99.9% sure means “about, and “soary” for “sorry.” Which… awesome?! So very Gilbert Blythe of them, you know? Plus? They have RED fifty dollar bills! I’m not even joking! And those fifties are HUGE, y’all. Like, ginormous. All big and whatnot. And the rest of the money? Totally colorful, all purple and brown and green and blue, colors which I think are infinitely more exciting than our boring old greenbacks, I tell you what. Plus… bigger.

But how did I get to talking about Canadian money? I meant to wax eloquent aboat the romantical couple, who put Veronica and Logan UST (Unresolved Sexual Tension) to SHAME. I hate to say it, but Veronica Mars missed the boat; if they had written or directed Veronica and Logan the way this couple has been written, they’d be aces right now, instead of threatened with cancellation. Yes, this couple is THAT hot. And the show is totally PG, so it’s romantic hot, not porn hot. Not that I think porn is hot. Because I don’t. Porn is the devil. Or something. Stripping, on the other hand… lucrative!

What? Who is the couple? Well, didn’t I say already?! Sheesh! Pay attention! I told you right after the part aboat the–

Oops. My bad.

Okay, I’ll just say it. Mock me if you will, but I am now completely in love with a Canadian television show called… (wait for it… wait for it…) Instant Star. There! I said it! I don’t care! Jude and Tommy are da bomb DIGGITY! Tommy? PRETTY. And Jude? She’s rocks! No, literally. She’s a rock star. And Tommy is her producer. And they luuuuuuv each other, but the timing is never right. Plus, he’s way older than her. And she’s underage. But they’re sweet. And they get involved in other romantic relationships, but it always comes back down to them. And amazingly, it WORKS. Plus? The music is very catchy. “Waste my time! Waste my tiiiime! Not so sure if I’ll be yours and baby you could be miiiiine!” How does THAT grab ya? Eh? Eh?

Come on! Who’s with me? Any Canadians out there? Besides Nilbo, who I’m pretty sure is NOT in the demographic for this show? (Soary, dude.)

Seriously. This show eases the stress and unhappiness I am experiencing right now due to SHENANIGANS, so I shall love it forever. Unless they keep Jude and Tommy apart, in which case I will cry and vow vengeance. I’m just saying.

There. Let the mocking commence.

(Stupid, STUPID shenanigans.)

… a person shouldn’t freak the hell out when random, apparently illiterate people post super rude, wildly inappropriate comments at said person’s YouTube site because, seriously, while said person is obviously podcasting purely for the fun of it– and doesn’t really care what her hair looked like that day, couldn’t care less whether or not she “turned you on,” and has no idea what “you sound like ur in high school, in the valley” means anyway– those commenters have absolutely no excuse for their obstinate eschewal of the fundamentals of grammar coupled with a surprising lack of imagination. Plus, they’re obviously stupid. And probably very ugly.

So why sweat it? I say bring it ON. Everybody knows that God (and YouTube) invented the “Delete Comment” function for just this type of “small stuff.” That’s right, biznitches!

CLICK.

So there I was at Panera, totally doing my work-at-home thing. Er, while not a home, but it COUNTS, okay? I had just given myself wholly to the pleasure of eating– nay, savoring– an absolutely decadent pecan roll (that bad boy contained more fat calories than I normally consume in a week, but dude… it’s the culinary equivalent of sweet, sweet loving, that’s all I’m saying) when the loud, nasally voice of a short, youngish, stylishly suited-up dude interrupted me. He sat down a few tables from me and commenced loudly and insistently bloviating about an “exciting new business opportunity” that he felt “obligated to share” with this poor sucker he had more than likely accosted in the book aisle at Target or Walmart. Seriously. These network marketing people are EVERYWHERE. And they really, really like TGIM. A LOT. For whatever reason. It’s inexplicable.

A quick look around told me I wasn’t the only pastry-cum-free-internet customer sporting raised eyebrows and a Boy Howdy! Glad That’s Not Me grin. I toyed with the idea of breaking out the iPod and drowning the relentless hum of bromidic blather spewing like liquid hot magma from this slick little dude’s mouth, but I couldn’t help myself. It was like really bad performance art. Riveting.

In full-on Veronica Mars spy-girl mode, I cast several surreptitious glances their way. I could only see the back of the guy on the receiving end of this sales pitch– let’s call him Mark, shall we? (Hoo! Get it?! Do ya?! Thank you! I’m here ’til Thursday…)– but he was obviously putting a considerable amount of energy into scribbling down every platitudinous morsel this young man let drop.

(Hey. That is a GREAT word. Platitudinous. I shall use it more often. Fooyah! But I digress…)

I wondered what in the Sam Hill he could possibly be gleaning from the words, words, WORDS cascading over him like warm, gooey glaze over a Panera pecan roll. (Seriously. You need to taste one. Seriously.) Because there was no mention of any kind of company or product, mind you. Just “blah, blah, make money doing nothing, blahcakes.” So, what was there to write, really? “Why must he spit whilst he speaks?” “I can’t believe he didn’t even buy me a scone.” Or perhaps even “This guy is a total douchetard!”

Good golly, Miss Molly. I had to see that notepad. Curse my sudden but inevitable fit of curiosity! I mean, honestly, how did Mark’s notes stack up against my mental ones? Unfortunately, my work computer, PDA smartphone, and ginormous stack of document files prevented me from going all covert ops and scoring a peek, but I imagine the comparison would have looked much like this:

“…making money for almost no effort…” Oh, for the love of...

“…two thousand to four thousand a month…” The hell, you say? Er, I mean, ’shah…

“…residual income…” Uh-oh… wait for it…

“…exciting business opportunity!…” Thar she blows!

“…go into business with little or no start-up capital…” Call me Ishmael. Heh. Wait, what?

“…home-based business franchising…” Mayday! Mayday!

“…retire younger and richer…” The Captain goes down with the ship! The Captain goes down with the ship!

“…attend opportunity meeting…” All systems fail! Abort mission! Eject! For the love of God, EJECT!

Yes, my mind is a very intense place to be sometimes. Um, most of the time.

I must say that at this point I would not have stuttered a keystroke if the slick little dude suddenly tossed aside his half-eaten bagel, jumped up on the table, and shouted “How many of you want to be rich, rich, RICH?!” while dancing the Running Man. Yawn. Nor would I have batted an eyelash if he then proceeded to invite any Panera patrons interested in becoming a cog in his downline to join hands with him and sing a chorus or two of Kumbaya. Because, honestly? Dude was on FIRE.

Sure, you could tell his sales pitch was canned– he’d obviously rehearsed it, complete with pauses for effect and creepy, unwavering eye-contact– but he was a born salesman. He laid out the whole plan. And Mark, bless him– with the nods and the wide, trusting eyes– was kindling to his flame.

In the interest of full disclosure, when he came to the sticking point, I may have been completely sucked in to his spiel. Perhaps. I’m not really sure. It’s all a blur now, but MAYBE. Even though I already have a good job that I enjoy. And a family consisting of one TGIM and three high-maintenance kiddos. And a brand-new side business of my very own. And no free time. And Guitar Hero practice. And common sense.

So when he asked Mark, with the hint of a smirk and a dare in his eyes, “Are you ready to learn how to go into business for yourself with little or no start-up capital so you can retire young with plenty of cash?” I was all, “Heck, YES, I’m ready! Throw in a some gum and a pony and you’ve got yourself a deal!”

Okay, I didn’t say that. But I THOUGHT it, so points for effort, even if I didn’t actually say it aloud. Dang. I hate it when I miss an opportunity to be obnoxious, especially when it coincides with an opportunity to show a network sales person the error of his ways and possibly save said sales person from a life of thwarted purpose.

Man. I bet William would have said it. Right out loud. William! Where are you when I need you?!

I’d like to say there’s a happy ending to this story, but alas. Slick little dude wound down his spiel, entered all of Mark’s personal information in his slick little phone, and they stood to shake hands, the best of good friends. I imagine they are together right now, at the aforementioned “opportunity meeting,” swaying in unison while chanting “Mo-NEY! Mo-NEY! Mo-NEY!” with one hundred other network marketers, who will then go out and accost me in the linens aisle at Target.

“Hi! Those are some really nice bath towels you’ve selected there. Yes, ma’am. Nice. Soooo, you seem to like the finer things… how would you like the opportunity to find out how to make more money and retire young…”

Heaven help us all.

Amen.

Details to be disclosed at a later date. You know, so as to detract potential idea thieves from stealing my (if I do say so myself) supah sweet, super cool business name, not to even mention my absolutely brilliant and pop-culturally relevant (yet timeless) slogan? No, seriously. They are SO catchy. Everyone (TGIM) says so.

Plus, I simply cannot wait to offer a different kind of supah sweet, super cool product for a heretofore unmet demand in this competitive, turbulent, fast-moving economy of ours. Oooh! Somebody STOP me!

Honestly. It’s a darn good thing I’m not given to too much hubris, or this whole business venture could totally end in DISASTER, am I right? Huh?! I am so right.

Gosh. I must admit, I am feeling vastly entrepreneury right about now. And quite puffed up in my own esteem.

*rushes off to Borders to pick up latest copy of PINK*

Buying over-priced caffeinated beverages in order to calm my nerves while at the same time hopping myself up with liquid courage of the non-alcoholic variety:  $3.00

Succumbing to peer pressure (and a tad bit of caffeine-related hyperactivity) and splurging a little more cash to wow the crowd with my heartfelt performance of the Georgia Satellites’ classic Keep Your Hands to Yourself, complete with hand gestures, air guitar, and appropriate twang:  $1.00

Charging the stage with a colleague to bust the funky music and break it down Village People-style in order to support a few of our peeps who were valiantly struggling through YMCA:  Priceless

Good times.

If you’re in the mood to mock me, feel free to head on over to Mommycast.com and check out today’s episode. This is just one in a series of World Wide Education Summit podcasts in which Paige and Gretchen focus on education around the world. I especially enjoyed the interview with the mom whose children attended school in Africa. It’s sheer craziness. Just so you know.

Oh, and totally check out the episode with Dr. Tierno, the germ doctor (he’s toward the end of the Education in Germany podcast). Aaaw… cute! I want to wrap him up and put him in my pocket! “Wash your hands while humming the tune of ‘Happy Birthday’… twice.” Seriously! I want to hug him, and squeeze him, and call him “George”! Oh, and he was way informative, too, yo?

When WAHing, it is VITAL that one stays away from the internet if at all possible. Nothing good can come of it. Just so you know.

(Edited to add: Both “See the Sun” AND “Ecstacy” by Black Lab are featured in this podcast.)

Cat reveals secret tips to being the most productive WAHer EVAH!

No, really. You’ll probably get a raise or something because your boss? Will LOVE you.

Dear Rude Person Who Ate All The Cookies,

Joe brought those for my birthday and I didn’t get even one. So thanks a whole lot, you pig! I hope you get fat! And then die!

Sincerely,
Joan

Because honestly, you don’t need that kind of negativity on top of the heartburn.

__________________________________________________________________

Okay. Can someone please explain to me how Barnyard– the highly-anticipated, probably quite expensive to produce, summer blockbuster family movie, complete with big name celebrity voices (Kevin James, Courtney Cox, Danny Glover, et al)– ever got past the pitching phase? Seriously?! In my head, that meeting SHOULD have gone a little something like this:

Brain Trust: And then? This cow? Otis is his name… see, he sneaks into the bedroom and totally tips the KID! HA! He tips him! Get it! I love that part! I mean–

Executive: Wait. You named the cow Otis?

Brain Trust: Yep. Sounds nice and country doesn’t it? Otis.

Executive: (matter-of-fact voice) You named the cow Otis. HIS name is Otis.

Brain Trust: That’s right.

Executive: Um, you do realize that cows are, you know… female? What with the udders? And the milk?

Brain Trust: No, no… but this is a BOY cow, see? Otis. And–

Executive: (pointing to mock-up drawings) Good GOD. He’s got an udder, man! Cow tits! Can someone please get this idiot out of here?

Brain Trust: But… but…wait! He’s a BOY cow!…

Executive: They’re called BULLS, you moron… and they don’t have cow tits! Freak of nature!

And… scene.

Seriously. TGIM and I saw the trailer when we went to see Superman Returns (RAWR!) and we were like, “The voice of that cow, you know, the one with the prominent udder? Is totally being dubbed by a man. A man! Who the hell makes a movie about barnyards and doesn’t know that cow’s milk comes from the momma cow, not the daddy? WHO doesn’t know that?! Good LORD!” Well, clearly the geniuses producing this movie for starters. I’m going to give them the benefit of the doubt and chalk it up to lactose intolerance.

BUT… I simply cannot in good conscience endorse a movie full of such glaring inconsistencies with real life. Sure, I can willingly suspend disbelief when the barnyard animals crack jokes and dance the Running Man while standing upright– because really, who hasn’t imagined that at one point or another in his/her life, am I right?! Cows! Bustin’ the Running Man!– but a “boy cow” with an udder? Really? Nope. It just can’t be done.

I mean honestly.

Teats on a “boy cow.” That’s where I draw the line.

Now here’s the thing: This jump into scary video podcasting waters would mean investing in microphones and cameras and tripods and batteries and updated software and my own Desperate Working Mommas domain and… and… and lots of other way important, possibly expensive stuff! Stuff that my children would break in a heartbeat if they were anywhere near it! So I must weigh this out carefully in my mind.

Good LORD! The agony of indecision!

But seriously? I think I am totally going to do it. Well, once I figure out how the hell all this stuff works, naturally. It could be a while. I am SO not even joking. Podcasting is hard, yo?

But still! Exciting!

Although I think my videos would be more like Cat-on-the-Street-casts, and I don’t even know if that is technically “video podcasting.” It could just be “acting the fool.” Whatever.

Anyhoos, video podcasting… (*shakes head ruefully*) What will they think of next? TV shows we can watch on our iPods?! Ha! I know, right? Silly Cat. As if.

“The last movie I saw? Um, oh, yeah, it was X-Men 3: The Last Stand,” said Tom (all names have been changed to protect… well, me.)

“Me, too!” I piped in.

Katie asked, “So how’d you like it? I was disappointed in X-3, myself. It was nothing like the comic books.”

“I liked it,” I said. “I mean, the special effects alone… But I’ve never read the comics, so… yeah.”

Not to be outdone, Tom added his two cents: “Well, what bothered me was that the first two X-Men movies had this great subtext of nonconformity and minority discrimination, whereas X3 pushed that all aside and focused more on a mutant cure. And the whole cure thing just didn’t work as a parallel for me because mutants– who have powers and could conceivable be a threat to society– had the choice to become ‘normal,’ whereas, say, Jews in WWII– who were not a threat to anyone– never had a choice to conform. It wasn’t like they could just take a pill and stop being Jewish.”

Okay, so maybe it was more like ten cents. Or twenty, perhaps. Fine, let’s say he added his two hundred and forty-two cents and call it good, mm’kay? Geez. What an overachiever.

Anyway, I was still trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about when Katie nodded in solemn agreement and said, “You know, in the comics not all mutants had superpowers. Some were just different colors, but in the movie they were all superheroes. And don’t even get me started on the Phoenix–

The Phoenix?! YES!

“Oooh! Oooh! I totally loved The Dark Phoenix! Man, Jean Grey looked WICKED COOL! With the flaming hair?! And the uber superpowers?! Because Famke Janssen?…” I whistled appreciatively. “WOW. She looked amazing, right? Right? DAAAYUM.”

Tom and Katie stared at me. Which… rude?

“Well, she did.”

Our food came then, and the conversation drifted to a classical music concert Tom had recently attended. Which was too bad, honestly, because I was just about to launch into my spiel– which is simply brilliant, if I do say so myself, like Buffy brilliant!– on how exactly Rogue could have worked around the whole sucks-the-life-out-of-anything-she-touches thing so she could totally get it freaking ON with Iceman without giving up her mutant powers.

Eh. Maybe next time.

It is entirely possible, in fact, that at our last staff meeting I volunteered to take on the next extraordinarily difficult, time-consuming docket coming our way because when asked if anyone wanted to tackle it, I may have expressed an interest due to the tawdry nature of the topic. I don’t know for sure. It’s all a blur now. But I believe my exact words may have been, “I’ll take it. I like [topic]. It’s taaaaawdry.” Good lord. An extraordinarily difficult, time-consuming docket and tawdry topic equals… well, it equals something decidedly not good, of this I am sure. This is obviously “bad news.” And annoying.

Clearly it’s time for me to pick a new favorite word. Perhaps something a tad easier to integrate into any standard office conversation…

I’m thinking “misanthrope.”

2) Baby boomers know how to give good phone. Note it.

3) Standing Room Only is no fun at all. Always find a wall on which to lean. Don’t be shy. Crowd those wall hoggers. They don’t own the wall. Tell them so if necessary.

4) Spray-on tans look reeeeally creepy on women’s feet. For reals. That ain’t right.

5) Hello?! Sloppy dress equals sloppy work? Leave the jogging suits and beach sandals at home, GOSH! (Note to self: change out of flip-flops when get back to cube.)

So now that Taylor Hicks has successfully spazzed his way into America’s heart, Veronica Mars has discovered who killed the busload of Neptune High students, and Jim has finally declared his love for Pam, what the hell are we supposed to talk about around the proverbial water cooler? Huh? Politics? Pass. Religion? Be serious. SPORTS?! Bitch, please.

No more impromptu meetings in Cat’s cube where we defend our latest AI pick or speculate wildly about whodunnit on Veronica Mars. No more “JimtotallykissedPamandwasn’tthatlikethecutestthingEVAH?” and “Didn’t my wee Ryan look especially fine last night with the scruffiness and the ironic tee under a suit coat and whatnot?…” Yep. It’s arrivederci “OMG! Did you see Kat’s boobs last night?!” and hullo “Did you do something with your hair? No?… Oh.”

*sigh*

Seriously. There is nothing on television. NOTHING.

Summer hiatus is no fun at all.