Hello, my darling cherubs!
In light of the recent upheaval at my workplace, some new and exciting developments have emerged:
First, I am going to be moving into a new group, under a new executive editor, through the end of July. I will be working on a piece of software called The Data Management Tool, which will allow school administrators to map student performance from the micro: individual students at various levels of instruction, to the macro: a "zoom-out" option that compiles that student data into a hierarchical breakdown, from district- to school- to classroom-level.
Could it BE any more exciting?!?
Well, of course it could.
Then, as of August 1st, I'll be moving into a whole different group (another ESL project - the On Our Way to English revision, for those curious few), where I will once again become an invaluable, undefinable cog in the technical gears.
After that...Disneyworld!
Nah...I'll probably just be making a crapload of PowerPoint presentations.
Blergh.
And since none of that nonsense above was particularly entertaining, I will now smear a dollop of entertainment upon you as though you were toast...and my unrelenting charm was a pat of sweet-cream butter:
Amazingly enough, it looks like Julia and I may be getting a much-larger-than-normal tax return this year, and it's a significant enough chunk o' change that we could carve a nice-sized wedge out of our unending debt.
"What's the problem?" you might be asking yourselves.
The problem is...knowing that we'll be getting a big fat check in the mail any day now has activated a part of my brain I thought to be long dead, or at least in hibernation: the I-can-buy-sh*t lobe.
Yes, we could carve a nice-sized wedge out of our unending debt...or...I could buy me some golf clubs.
Naturally, my vast intellectual arsenal has fixed upon this possibility, and boy, is Julia thrilled.
To ensure that she maintains a constant thrill-a-delic state, I'll continue to describe to her all the benefits that come with a new set of clubs. Now, I know that I shouldn't do this, because I run the risk of annoying her into a steaming lather until she finally kills me using only her eyeballs.
But I cain't help it. Hee-hee!
Golf is awesome.
I see why you and Husbanks are friends. :)
ReplyDeleteI remember when you used to dream about buying cool stuff....
ReplyDeleteI am indeed in a constant thrill-a-delic state, in perpetual anticipation of the next riveting description of wedges and irons and brands and angles and HOLY COW I STILL LOVE YOU LIKE CRAZYCAKES despite your descent (or ascension?) into extremes of golf-nerdery.
ReplyDeleteThat is all.
Wow. lots of changes! Don't buy the clubs, or Someone may wrap them around your skull.
ReplyDeleteI agree. No clubs. Instead, buy Comic books, funyuns, items for the nursery, deodorant, things for Julia and John, buttered popcorn, electronic gadgets, etc...
ReplyDeleteI agree with johnf in that you should buy buttered poppin' corn but disagree to the funyuns. It's Munchos, baby, all the way. Or maybe Sabritones.
ReplyDeleteSabritones!!! And that, dear readers, is why she is miss kitty fantastica....
ReplyDeleteNope. You all are wrong (except Julia...but she was being sarcastic, so it's not the GOOD kind of right).
ReplyDeleteAnd except for Hilary, but she was THINKIN' wrong, I just know it.
What you wimmenfolk don't understand is that, once I purchase those new clubs, you're not gonna hear about it anymore. Think of it as "purchasing my silence."
And Mike...ahem...Mr. Queg...just 'cause you're all newly employed and such doesn't make you any less of a wiener. Congratulations on the job, by the way...you wiener.
And don't think I didn't spot that "items for the nursery" line, Fiedler. We'll have babies when you adopt our dogs.
And Sabritones DO, in fact, kick ass, Miss Kitty. You got me there.