Professional

Mr Baskerville today sent an important email to a new client, cc-ing his nemesis. He was polite, it was spelled correctly, and he thought he'd successfully proved that he does actually know how to do this job.

However, he forgot the attachment. Fuck, fuckity fuck.

Alarm Clock Blues

I have to set the alarm for tomorrow morning. It's been weeks since I set the alarm. How will I function properly without 10 hours of sleep?

Too Much?

Dent

I think there's a dent in my futon/couch from my ass. I realized yesterday, that I do all my 'work' from that one spot. So I moved my ass to the other side of the couch. It felt weird.

Blunt

We all miss Mrs Eaves here in production. We miss her so much.

She stole the only pencil sharpener in the building.

communication is a four letter word

Mr Baskerville is back at work after an extended road trip. Work is almost unbearable now Mrs Eaves is not here.

Loyal reader will know that Mr B and Mrs E's nemesis, who will now simply be referred to as Queen Cnut, could not even manage a piss-up in a brewery. Mr B had barely sat down this morning before discovering:

the deadline for Thursday's paper has been changed.  Queen Cnut recently sacked the production manager, but apparently did not think to ensure the production department was informed of the earlier deadline.

the page size of our paper will soon be changed. Queen Cnut evidently assumes all one has to do to alter 83 templates is press a couple of buttons and we're good to go.

all the ad sizes will now be wrong.

that is all, but it's only Monday. Who knows what joyful discoveries we'll make tomorrow!

Mr Baskerville needs a Vegas-style takeaway cocktail. ASAP. In a pint glass.

SKOOL

I wanna go back. Is there a way to become a professional student?

♥

The ♥ symbol makes me happy. It's so cute. I also like ☠.
I smell Charlie.

I Smell Charlie

There is a local skunk in my neighbourhood. His name is Charlie. I meet up with him in the alley a couple of times a week. But I can smell him every night. From 9pm-ish until I go to sleep, I smell him in varying degrees. I assume I still smell him in my sleep, but I am not conscious, so I don't know for sure. Sometimes the smell is so strong, I think that Charlie may be in my apartment, in a kitchen cupboard.

Recently, I have started to smell him in the (late) mornings when I get up. I am worried that Charlie is becoming domesticated and loosing his nocturnal instinct.

In case Mr B has forgotten what I look like, I have posted a recent pic.

I ♥ Not Working Part II

Today I bought two dresses.
One dress was: $4.24
the other dress was: $3.11
How would I find time for this kind of budget shopping if I was working full time?

I ♥ Not Working

Today I woke up at 10am, met a friend for coffee, which was followed by lunch, and then a beer in the sun. Then came home, napped until about 6-ish, applied to a couple of jobs, then watched a movie. Am exhausted now, the stress of it all!

who needs Freud

Never mind the code...whilst walking through the maze of crazy, tacky and yet exceedingly fun casinos, Mr Baskerville's companion was commenting on the dichotomy of camping in national parks then suddenly arriving in Vegas. However, a very well endowed woman approached during this conversation, so Mr B's companion said, quite loudly, how discomboobulating it all was.

Mr B, who had a cocktail by then, laughed like an idiot.

Road Trip minutiae

so far on this road trip, Mr Baskerville has seen:

mice
random scampering creatures
a condor
a tarantula
a snake (not trouser)
a moth

He only screamed like a girl at one of these things. Can you guess which? Fabulous prize if you do!

Also, he got heat exhaustion in the desert, and destroyed a hiking boot, because he is so fucking extreme.

He is now in Vegas, therefore cannot post more, due to the code.

Dear Mr Baskerville

I hope you're having a great trip and all that shite. But I miss you.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Eaves

Dear HR Woman

Stop calling me and leaving me voicemails. I hate you.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Eaves

Dear Mr. Lawyer Man

I am sorry for snapping at you for googling something while I was in your office yesterday. But you see, I have google at home, and well, my hourly rate is a lot less than yours.

There was no reason to clarify over and over again that your boss comes up with an hourly rate, and it's not all for you. I know you are rich, you know I am unemployed, it's all good.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Eaves

PS: I stole your pen, but not on purpose. I don't even like using pens.

PSS: You had lovely, sparkly green eyes, but I wanted to untuck your shirt and mess up your hair.

Men ♥ Unemployed Women

In an interesting turn of events, the inbox on my online dating site, has filled up. Suddenly everyone wants a piece of Mrs. Eaves. I really don't blame them, but why now? Of course, if we go on a date, dinner is on YOU. And we are NOT going to BurgerVille.

What will they do when they find out I am unemployed?

Dear Mr. Gov't Man

I am sorry for crying in your face today, and slamming your pencil on the counter. I have my period and you kinda looked like my ex-boyfriend.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Eaves

I am extra weird

If it is possible at all, I have turned even weirder. Yesterday, I decided to cook one of those boxes of flavoured rice... you know, add some water, boil, stir, and you're done. I read the instructions about 4 times and I still made it wrong! I added too much water and did not sautée the rice first. And since when does one have to sautee the rice?

Today, I turned on channel 2, the scrolling words, to see what was on TV. 13 minutes later, I realized I was still watching channel 2. I was looking at the screen, not doing anything else. It's actually quite a good show.

I am weird.

Road Trip

Mr Baskerville is on a road trip. He is outraged about Mrs Eaves' work situation. Well, outraged isn't the right word. Disgusted, appalled, sickened, insane with rage...all of these, and more. If he even thinks of the publisher, he is liable to have a heart attack. the cnut.

anyway, road trip. so far: hours of driving compared with minutes of drinking. not his favourite proportion, but kids, don't drink and drive!

So far, Mr B has seen: an entire, decapitated, deer's head (complete with antlers) tied to the roof of a redneck's truck; a warehouse full of guns; a huge wind farm; an enormously long train; a llama; AND BEER IN SUPERMARKETS!!!!

Who's Hiring?

I need a job.

Bearfriend

I need a bearfriend.

Fuckwits

Bloody buggering bollocks.

Man vs. Bear

I think having a bear could be better than having a man, and this is why:

• Bears love to sleep, especially in winter.
• Bears like to eat, and so do I.
• We could walk in the woods together, and bear would protect me from men.
• Bear would let me paint it's claws with pink nail polish.
• Bear could do housework while I am at work.
• I could read to bear, and it would be romantic.
• Bear could teach me new skills; hunting, eating berries, growling, clawing, etc.
• I could teach bear new skills: how to get into bear proof garbages, how to identify a trap, etc.
• We could have picnics and prevent forest fires together.

One thing concerns me. Perhaps Mr. Baskerville can help me with this. Mr. B, do bears have soft lips?

Only Wednesday

Dread has now become a continuous state of being for me. I now lack the motivation or creativity to post. I just don’t have anything to say. Sad, sad times.

4:05 PM

This is the time that I will start to drink today. Bad day. Or was it a good day? They are all moulding into one big, long, sad day.

Full Circle

I am very sad to announce that my job now has just become EXACTLY the same as the first job I had fresh out of college. This means for eight years, I have had the same job, learning no new skills, no higher on the ladder. I am totally screwed. Who would higher me?

A New Low

Mr Baskerville is about to quit work.

No tea, no milk and now...no water! We cannot flush. Argh.