Did you see Dylan McDermott is getting a divorce? Why, do you think? Is there a possibility it is because he loves me and hasn’t had the nerve to tell me yet? Do you think he’s secretly reading this blog? He’s Tee, isn’t he? I mean, I have no real proof that Tee is a woman. A man could say phrases like "For crying in the cream," right?
Tomorrow is my 30-day review at work. Woo! Do you think I’ll get a raise?
Also tomorrow at work, we are having a competition with the other office, to see who walks around our respective walking tracks the most. You walk around the track as many times as you can, report it to our on-site nurse (yes, we have a full-time nurse there. Yes, I have already been there with a hypochondriacal illness. Did you really think I could go a month without one?), and then she tallies who the winner is.
I do not know what we get as a prize if we beat the other site. Maybe we get to edit them to death or something. At any rate, the guy I walk with on breaks is gonna join me walking around the track 750 times rather than our usual walk through the whole campus. Yes, they call it a campus. No, it is not a school.
Is that even legal?
And speaking of the guy I walk with, which this next part really isn’t, I think I figured out why my pants are falling down and I look like I should be in the Crips or some gang actually from this decade. It is probably because my coworker and I — let’s call him Christopher Walken from now on — walk twice a day for 18 minutes each time, and pretty briskly. So that’s 36 minutes a day, cause I’m a math whiz like that, and then I walk a really frisky 30-pound dog every evening for about 30 minutes.
That adds up to like 12 hours a day of walking. So there you go.
And in conclusion, thank you all for coming out tonight and enjoying this fine chicken. Do you really want to hear the why-she’s-my-ex-best-friend story? I’ve been thinking, should I really sell out my ex just to have a good blog story? Hells yeah.
So, I am thinking I will tell it. I have to review it in my mind, cause at the time it was just a rush of sad, depressing times and then it was over. And it was worse than breaking up with a boyfriend. It was probably worse than divorcing Dylan McDermott. At least he knows where he can come to pick up the pieces. Greensboro! In the house! Wooo!