Workin' It

So I work in an office now. A legitimate, talk-by-the-water-cooler, "who forgot to put toner in the copier?" office. It gets even better. I'm in a cubicle. I have a cup with pencils and pens in it (I prefer pencils, by the way. I am currently enjoying the neon green Zebra Fresha Automatic, a pencil that you do not click, but shake, in order to expel lead). I have pictures on my desk. I have trinkets. We have office gossip. It's the real deal. And...I kind of love it. Obviously it's not your every day boring "Corporate Accounts Payable, Nina speaking" type of office. I sit in on meetings and tell jokes with people nominated for Emmy's and who have won Peabody awards. I click links that say "NSFW" without even the slightest regard for what obscenities may lie beneath (after all, I did participate in a conversation recently with my superiors about whether I'd like to be shat on or vomited on). I have Nerf Gun fights.



















My trinkets. A calendar, red robin riding a stegosaurus, and tequila.



Other things at my desk include a hole-puncher the size of an inkjet printer, Visine, folder rack, picture of me and my roommates, a poem about me that a former employee wrote, a bumper sticker that says "Free The West Memphis 3," and Mr Potato Head. I'm really trying not to be the guy that has a million toys at his desk, but people keep giving me stuff. I just relocated to a less-cubicle-more-desk desk, which is nice because I am now in a location where strangers do not walk in and assume I am reception. I don't know why it frustrates me so much. Maybe because we pay a nice girl good money to sit at reception and smile and be nice to people, so I have absolutely no obligation to do anything but avoid eye contact, frown, and be utterly rude to any dumbass who bypasses our main entrance WITH A SIGN, only to walk into an unmarked door at the end of the hallway.

In news that people won't care about:
I starting taking Improv classes at Upright Citizens Brigade instead of Groundlings.
I ran 20 miles on Saturday.
I wasn't sore after.
The marathon is in less than three weeks.
I never go back and proofread my blogs. Fuck it.



...I actually did go back to proofread this time.