Eskimos, Frozen Peas and Peeons

I promised myself that I wouldn't subject all of you to another summer full of my whining and bellyaching over the lack o' air conditioning up in this office. I know ya'll have got to be tired of hearing the same old crap, year after year as I go on and on about under boob sweat, swollen ankles the size of tree trunks and my threats to show up at the Cubicle Asylum naked.

So I won't say anything about the fact that it's broken again. Or that the humidity is so high that I fully expect a storm cloud to go rolling by at any moment.

Some friends suggested I stick bags of frozen peas in my bra to cool the girls. It sounds absurd at 9:00 a.m., but by around twoish? It starts to sound like pure genius.

Aside from that ventilation issue that I've promised myself not to mention, the Peeon Brigade.. me, Lulu and Thelma.. have been staying in pretty good spirits. We've been broke for so long now that we just laugh it off and make the best of it. The management staff, however, have developed a wee bit of an attitude problem. They stomp around, pout, complain and pitch whining fits to put any toddler to shame.

Yesterday, I threatened to put PG (Purchasing Guy) in time out. The rest of the Peeons found it hilarious. PG.. did not.

Go ahead.. ask me if I give a rat's patootie.

Meanwhile, back at the trailer...

The little kitty is growing like a weed. If she ever fills out to match her freakishly long legs, she's going to be the size of a mountain lion. She's already got the personality. Someone approached the Amazon at the Pump n' Go the other day and gently implied that the cuts and scratches on her forearms looked like those of girls you see documentaries about, the ones who cut themselves. She tried to convince the well meaning lady that it was just the work of her hyper active kitten, but I think she still had her doubts.

The kitten, whom the Amazon calls Rory, but I choose to refer to as Scratchy McEvilbritches, attacks Yoda repeatedly, leaping from furniture, the fireplace mantle or the top of the refrigerator, wrapping her paws around his neck and wrestling his short, little round body to the ground, then taking off running through the house like her tail's on fire.

I try to hide the tears of laughter as I console the poor little dog.. but it ain't easy.

Anywho...

I'd better get my nose to the grindstone. It's Humpday ya'll. Hump it like an Eskimo on a Hawaiian holiday.

Ya'll have a good one.

Later Taters!