Fun at the OfficeMy, my. I've been MIA, haven't I? It was a wild week at work. Spring at a landscape company is a bit busy. BUT. I finally have an assistant. Only part time, and possibly only temporary. BUT. I have help. It's been a huge relief. I mean, now I can do the important stuff like paint my nails, read a book or two, flip through a magazine, play games.
I kid. I kid so much it makes me hurt.
And, we now have a water cooler at the office - with hot and cold water. I'm totally stoked about it, too. See? It takes so little to make me happy.
Amidst the craziness at the office, we received this message from our stellar answering service: Wants estimate on cleaning daughters.
Well, I guess that'd all depend on what size they are. We charge more for the big girls.
Fun Away From the Office
I took today off, and it was wonderful. I lollygagged. I meandered. I lounged. I dabbled. I even puttered.
I've decided that I love the word "lollygag", and I'm going to try and use it whenever possible. Lollygag. It's just fun to say. Kind of like polliwog.
I even sat tonight on the porch swing listening to the night sounds. We have an abundance of frogs out here, and as I was sitting there listening to the cacophony of their mating sounds, I thought, "Dear god, they're some horny little fuckers." Ah yes, that's how I commune with nature.
In closing, I'll leave you with a little poem that is my tribute to little froglets everywhere.
Croakin’ the Blues
A frog jumped from his lily pad
and looking at his warty dad,
he spoke of his predicament,
and here’s the froggy's sad lament.
“I’m sick and tired of this gig
I think I’d rather be a pig.
At least then I would know my place,
and wouldn’t have to keep this pace.
I feel my life could be sublime
except I waste all of my time
in leaping from my swimming hole
then back onto the grassy knoll.
Why can I not just swim about
the lake like all the bass and trout?
Or maybe I could be a dog,
and end this game of leapy frog.
First I am wet and then I’m dry
I get so chapped I want to cry.
This in and out has got to stop
before my eyeballs finally pop.
Now you may think I have it made,
but I must tell you, I’m afraid
that it’s no longer any fun
being an amphibian.