spring forward, fall back down

I sent this to almost everyone I know. Now it's your turn, blog friends.

From: HaikuGirl
Sent: Fri 5/26/2006 5:13 PM
To: All who were silly enough to give me their e-mail addess!
Subject: "There was this one time ... "

Hello Friends, Romans, Countrymen.

As many of you already know, I’ve been slowly churning out a kid’s book illustration portfolio and dabbling with ideas to also write a little something something to submit along with it. Inspiration finally struck and the book is going to be about things that make 6 year olds cry. Not real things like daddy hitting mommy or cats getting run over by cars - - but silly things. Like not being able to have a cupcake for breakfast or being forced to wear velour.

I’m looking for your stories! Remember throwing a tantrum over something as simple as the crust still being on the bread? Witness a kid throw down in Target because they were out of pink toothbrushes? Clue me in! If it makes the cut, I’ll thank you, take you to lunch and hide an Ode To You in the illustration. I also will sign a waver so the Ode does not amount to your 15 Minutes Of Fame because that would seem like a total waste of your 15 Minutes.

Thank you in advance to the kind souls who share their stories. I will be forever in your debt.

xoxo,
HaikuGirl

everything smells like pink

Today, my friend Diana found an entire hard boiled egg in her egg salad sandwich. An apparent lack of Quality Assurance (or QA as the corporate kids like to call it) in egg salad making. She didn’t eat it. Oddly enough, it kinda grossed her out. Even stranger, it kinda grossed me out. So we did what any normal duo would do and photographed it. I’m awaiting the camera phone picture as I write this. And of course, I will share its clammy white entirety with you when it comes.

The egg has been a topic of conversation now for almost 4 hours.

It’s that horrifying to us.

Meanwhile.

My terrible ex-boss interviewed at the place I like to call heaven, i.e. my new job. Diana and I launched Operation Khaki when he was detected on the premises. Khaki because he was such a fan of the drab. His skin, his hair, his pants – all khaki. Had they not been pleated, he might have made the cut for a GapEvilDictator commercial.

Did I mention that Diana use to work at the same place I use to work? We over-lapped by, oh, about three days. Here though, we’ve become pals.

Sooooo.

Operation Khaki consisted of batting eyelashes at security guards to peek at visitor logs, chit chatting to secure elevator rides with the Evil Dictator in order to find out which floor he was going to, scouring the company intranet for possible job postings, making plans to “bump” into key decision makers while sporting our hand made t-shirts that say “Only Goofballs Hire Guys In Pleated Khakis” and so on. We’ve also peed all over the building figuring if the t-shirts didn’t work, our estrogen laced pee would surely keep that woman-hater at bay.

The story continues to unfold. Perhaps the whole egg in the egg salad is some sort of terrible prophecy.

What else. What else.

I’m making some art. I’m buying some clothes. I’m dying my hair a darker shade of brown. It makes me look Belgian. Aw, yeah. ”I'm Belgium!” Again, I said that aloud and wasn’t even drunk. I’m your friendly blogging nation-state!

Did I ever tell you guys that my cat has a really tiny head?

She does. It’s wee.

Did I ever tell you guys that I like to sing jazz standards in the shower?

You should hear me. It’s lovely.

And.

Last thing.

I’m pretty sure that I have magic powers. Ask me nice and I’ll turn your stapler into a monkey.