We sensed something was wrong as soon as we neared the track. Scores upon scores of middle-aged white people, all wearing Hawaiian shirts and all really, really drunk.
Then we saw a stuffed parrot. And more shirts. Pretty colors, sure, but, well, there were lots of them and we were somewhat scared. We thought we'd ease the fear by playing some of his fine music on our iPod. Fit in, so to speak.
Then we remembered we don't have any Jimmy Buffet because he sucks.
Are we alone on this? Are we? Really?
You have the two tickets and paradise. We get it.
Don't worry, though. Jimmy Buffet got even. We had a nightmare that our deceased great grandmother called us worthless and unaccountable. Ouch. And in the same somewhat restless sleep, we talked to the entire Dave Matthews Band and tried to pimp our own, um, musical endeavor.
Mr. Matthews said he'd give a listen.
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To the loud lady a few cubes over, proud that she is not moving her office:
Yesterday, you squealed, loudly and obnoxiously, "They're moving me from this office?! To the third floor?! GOD HOW CAN THIS BE?!"
Today, you're telling what could be the most boring "and then" story we've ever heard. Bottom line is they got your name wrong and you're not moving, someone with a similar name is.
Ah. But we know differently.
Oh how we can't wait until you have to move offices for real just so we can hear the squealing. Again. Hopefully soon.
Please. Help. Us.
Oh. And to clarify: Great Grandma was an awesome lady. She lived into her 90s and constantly, everyday constantly, smoked her cigs.
We stayed with her for a week once. Very nice lady, that Double G.
Ah. To answer truthfully...
Lady at Work: Hey (OMS). How are you?
OMS: Good.*
LAW: Got any big plans for the weekend?
OMS: Nothin'.** And (we're) OK with that.***
* Hungover. Like shaking after eating an Italian sub, but we're OK. We'll just have to drink more later. And we will. Oh hell yes, we will.
** Drinking. More. We've spent three-plus hours at our desk today and all we can think about is a nap, maybe running, beer of some sort, and oh yeah, laundry.
*** And hitting the city again tomorrow, thank God, for good times and shameless flirting with anyone in a skirt and pretty eyes.
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