oh me oh my...love that country pie

The secret to happiness is homemade bread. You heard it here first. Oh the things you can do with some Hawaiian bread mix, some lemon peppered chicken, some Muenster cheese, and some peppercorn ranch salad dressing in place of mayo. I think I just came.

Wait. No....WAIT! YES! I just came.

We gots one of them there new-fangled city-living type guest bedrooms in our new house. I guess it could be any kind of room we want it to be, but the missus wants it to be a guest bedroom because we are absolutely overcome with people wanting to sleep over (READ: nodamnbody) and we couldn't go without a guest bedroom for one second longer (READ: we've never ever had a guest).

So today Squeeks is at the house with her mom fru-fruing the everloving fuck out of that room. I'm talking flowers both pink and purple in great abundance. I told her to knock herself out but she can't fru-fru anything else up in our house or I'd give her the ol' 1-2. The knuckle sandwich. The coldcock. Oh wait....I gave her that last night.

SAUCY!

Work sucks. I don't hate the job so much as I hate the fact that I haven't connected with anyone here. For instance...I'm so overcome with anxiety at the thought of sitting at a community table in the breakroom with a bunch of people whose name I don't even know that today I went out to my car and ate my sandwich (the same sandwich i spoke so highly of in the first paragraph) by myself while I stared out the window at the impending tornado clouds.

But the saddest thing is that everytime I saw someone coming my way in the parking lot I quickly picked up my cellphone and set my sandwich down so I could pretend that I came out to my car to make a call rather than be a lonely luncher.

Once this woman named Sheila walked by and I picked the phone up but I had a mouthful of freshly bitten off sandwich that I had to chew or else choke on it. I hope it looked like I was gabbing away full of joy to whatever imaginary person was on the other end of the line, but I just know it looked like I was eatin' the phone.

I've got a rubberband ball here at my desk that's as big as my fucking fist!

That's the kind of job I have.

May 23, 2002 | 1:34 p.m.

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