Yes, I am a child

I'm creating a report called "Discover Analysis for Blah Blah," and I just looked down at the taskbar and saw that the only part of the title that was showing was 'Discover Anal." Oh, how different my life would be if my job actually did involve creating powerpoint presentations on Discovering Anal.

 

(And to all the Anons who reminded me about FB's limited friend function: thanks! Everything's all good now.)

A Second Heaping of Holy Crap

I've been meaning to set up an email-based game of Scrabble with my dad for over month now. This could be seen as a relatively large "step" in our "relationship," for although I've always enjoyed playing word games with him, we've never talked much, and since I've been living on my own we've spoken on the phone under 10 times Likely under 5 times. In 10 months. Yeah. Anyways, I finally got around to starting a game a couple days ago, and we quickly ran into trouble when he first didn't get the email about it and then couldn't submit his move. The website guys told me they were working on fixing some problems, so when I accidentally called my dad this morning from the bathroom at work, I relayed the news to him. He said, "Oh, ok, I thought I needed to have a Facebook account." (I told him about how I play through Facebook when I explained about email Scrabble.)

 

I explained that no, our game was separate from Facebook. He was fine with waiting it out, but since I am an idiot and forgot that I still would like to keep my parents shielded from my personal life even though I am supporting myself and technically don't have to care what they say about what I'm doing and also I didn't think he would want to do this, I made an offhand remark that if he did get on Facebook we could start a game right away.

 

If you didn't guess already from my frantic run-on sentence and justifications, he thought that was a swell idea. So now my father is going to be on FB. With me. Most likely friending me. If he wants to be my friend, I honestly don't know what I would do. I can't DENY my FATHER, but also: he's my FATHER. FB is for people I get drunk and high and make racist jokes with and complain about my parents to. How am I supposed to lie about what I'm doing if he can see the truth? But how am I supposed to say, "Um, yeah, I really don't want you seeing evidence of what I've been doing behind your back for the past 5 or 6 years" without looking like I'm trying to hide something? This isn't rhetorical-if anybody has any suggestions (besides "get over it and grow up you giant pussy") I would love to hear them.

 

Oh fuck, the pictures...

Holy Crap*

I went over to Part-Timer's desk to give her her Christmas present (yes, on January 3), and as we started talking she asked how I'm liking the new job. I answered with a "Boooring!"

 

Her: Really?

Me, in a high-pitched voice: I'm finally starting to really get bored with this job.

Her: Oh, no.

Me, ten minutes later, in head: Oh, NO. CuteBritishBoss sits ten feet away from HR Lady. Holy shit, I need to not talk about things. Ever. And goddamn, these tights aren't fucking around with the whole tightness thing. It's making it kind of uncomfortable to breathe. I need to poop. Ow.

 

*Peter: "He left after I asked him to buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks."

Brian: "I don't care if he ever gets back... I wasn't being cute; I really hope he's dead."

Shameful Admission Time!

I just read this Overhead quote:

 

Pop Quiz: For What Size Wheel Is This True? Show Your Work.

 

Young child in line for ferris wheel: Mom, what does 'Four RPM' mean?
Mom: Four miles per hour.

 

 and... I did what the title asked me to do. Halfway through, I stopped, wondered why the fuck I was doing this, and went back to work. But I couldn't resist that siren call of an SAT math problem waiting to be solved, so I went back and finished it. I even converted from miles to feet.

 

What is wrong with me?