Worky worky, Turkey Lurkey

I have this perspective, and I am glad I have it, but sometimes, I think it gets me into trouble. And it is this. No matter how hard I am working? I never really think that I am working that hard. I think this is what happens to people when they are brought up by people who have had to work really, really hard, in a real sense. No First World middle class crybaby status inbred into them and so it is just not tolerated in my family. Like, ever. Not even a little bit. And Nordic Boy and his family are the same, which just compounds the whole thing. But every once in a while, I have some days where I look around and I think Self? You are working like your hair is on fire. Ok, fine, yes, you have shoes on your feet and a house and running water and you get vacation time if you want it and you never have to worry about eating and your heat is not going to get shut off for want of bill-paying. And those are things that seem real to you, because you know people who don't have these things and you were brought up to never forget it. So I really do think, 99% of the time, that no matter how hard I am working or how busy I feel, that really? I need to just get over it and not cry into my Pampers. My picture of myself is one where I don't think of myself as a hard ass in any way, shape, or form, but on this subject? I am sort of a hard ass.

This is all just a preface to say that I realized yesterday that I actually work sort of hard. Well, I mean, in perspective. Compared to many people I am now associated with, I work super ridonk hard. Compared to most of the world, I am a big sissypants.

The extra laughable thing about what I am saying right now is that I am only saying any of it as an apology for not blogging much this week. Oh yes. That's right. I work so friggin' hard that I don't have TIME TO BLOG MY USUAL NONSENSE.

Someone needs to slap me immediately for typing that last sentence there. Seriously. It's just gross.

In other news, I was sick over the weekend, which caused me to do dumb things like watch an entire season of The L Word in one sitting. Which, in turn, got the theme song into my head for the rest of the week. And I think that that show just might have the worst, most annoying theme song in the history of theme songs. Including Saved By the Bell.

The other thing about being sick is that now that I am better, I still have residual sniffligiousness, and so I am the asshole in meetings that is honking their schnoz every two seconds and who carries a wad of tissues in both claws at all times.

The third thing that is of note that happened to me yesterday, was that I was at a meeting with a bunch of Very Important People (well at least they would think so if you polled them on their own Importantcy Factor) and there was a jug of orange juice in the snack area. I went over to get a bit of the OJ and picked up the bottle, which had the cap on it, and shook the everloving crap out of it. Only, the person who had partaken of the OJ before me didn't screw the cap on. They just lightly put the cap on top of the jug in a clear attempt to instigate some buffoonery at the VIP meeting. Result? OJ TORNADO! I sprayed the entire table with OJ, and myself, and the food that was set out. I don't know how so much OJ came out of one bottle. Plus, it turns out that the sweater I was wearing was made, apparently, out of the same exact material that they make Always With Wings or Depend Undergarments, because the immediate absorbency of the OJ into my torso region was impressive. I had to go into the bathroom, take off my sweater, and wring out OJ into the sink. Can you tell that I am sort of proud of this whole thing? You would be correct.

That is all, friends. I must return to my toil. Woe unto me.