and once upon a time in the office

While I was innocently having my jaw drilled into by my dentist, whose children I will be possibly sending to MIT, at work, Drama brewed.

I'd like to state, for the record, that I am deeply disturbed that the drama centers around, of all things, flower deliveries.

Despite being chairman of the inappropriately named Courtesy Committee, we who order cake for birthdays, cards for weddings, and flowers for hospitals and deaths, I have avoided any kind of actual *leadership* role in hopes that others would take up the slack, except when it comes to speeches, because oh yeah, your truly is *all over the speeches*. This strategy usually works. Yesterday, however, it somehow failed.

And so there is Drama. I need to repeat this, because I just--over *flowers*. And I wasn't here, and no less than four people came with very serious expressions to discuss it and apparently it was brought up with the fricking associate commissioner--WHETHER OR NOT TO SEND FLOWERS WAS BROUGHT UP TO THE COMMISSIONER--and while I was trying for unconscious while a dentist drilled, drilled, drilled at my jaw, resolutions were passed and thoughts were reached and I had to be told four times in stereo from teh beginning all about it.

So I have scheduled a meeting--I'm actually saying this with a straight face--I have scheduled a meeting with the committee to discuss new protocols to set in place for deaths and illnesses--do we send only for immediate nuclear family? Do we send cross country, in-state, or in office only? More importantly, how do we finance this? Because I can guarantee that no, if people keep dropping like flies, we are so many kinds of screwed that the kama sutra would look on in awe.

And the bad part is, the resolutions? Pretty much what I would have agreed to yesterday, but since I wasn't here and it was all done without me, I feel all possessive and tred upon and apparently my mood has been transmitted to my committee, so we're all--*waves hand*--you know. Hostile.

Over flowers.

You know, I have no idea whether to slowly laugh my way into a hernia or start firing off offended emails about how I wasn't consulted.

Over flowers.

hmmm

Jenn: Okay, see, I turned in my remix on time
Jenn: But I can't stop *editing* the fucker.
Jenn: And so the version there is goinng ot end up *so freaking differnet* from the one on my site if this doesn't end.
justabi: It'll be like two for the price of one.
justabi: Or, you could just stop.
Jenn: You say that like I can.
Jenn: well, I did close it.
Jenn: That is something.
Jenn: I just keep seeing comma splices and places Rodney could start his own religion.

You know, there has to be something I could be working on right now that isn't, you know, rekilling the dead horse.

Like this.

( panama, or things that happen when one can't take over the plane )