Squeezy cheese, yes. Peas, no.

Hey! I talk about my job a lot! Did I mention I'm obsessive? I didn't? I might be obsessive. Just a little. On Tuesdays. Hey, today is Tuesday! IT'S A GOOD DAY TO BE OBSESSIVE.


ahem


First, some stuff about work (O-B-S-E-S-S-I-V-E):


Last Thursday was a lot of fun at Kata. We started the day with a jam session -- the rallying/team spirit kind, not the Smuckers kind -- and it really made the rest of the day fun. At first, I was very 'Mornings suuuuck MOAR KOFFEY NAO,' but literal shouts of JAM! were infectious and did a lot to get us all amped for the last day of the work week. (It helped that we all uttered some form of JAM! throughout the day, generally in praise. Example: It's Thursday, which is our Friday. All: *cheers* JAM! JAM JAMMINESS! *applause*


Yeah, we're weird. I fit in pretty well there.


At the end of the meeting, we gathered around the campfire went around the room sharing nice statements about the company. Despite the sometimes-crater-deep issues that have plagued our six-month-old department, there are a number of nice things that can be said about Kata. I don't remember the Oscar-worthy speech I gave (and meant every word of), but it included the true statement I've shared here before: Kata is like the Army because it's the toughest job I've ever loved.


I'm writing almost exclusively for Cheese! now, which suits me just fine. I'm actually one article ahead this week. Wrote five articles on Monday almost like I'd always done it. I kept flipping back in my notes to look at the one article I'd completed the previous Monday and wondered how things could change so radically in  a week.


Second, there's this:


I wish I liked peas, but I do not. It's too bad because they're fun to flick at people play with. It's a texture thing. I don't mind that they're small and round. I rather like that. I do have to say that peas and carrots mixed together bother me, but I can't really explain why. Something about the jarring colors, maybe. Or that I have to force myself to eat carrots because *pleh* Y U NO TASTE BETTER? That said, peas and onions is also disturbing. Okay, this is solely a peas issue. I should give peas a chance. HAHAHAHA. (Did I mention I stopped seeing my therapist?)


Betty Crocker found out that I can hear her doing the mattress mambo with her beau. Actually, she asked and I told her the truth. I assured her it was only, uh, right at the end but that didn't help. I decided to keep "Four times on Sunday? Well done, you!" to myself.


I have started my Chrismakwanzaakuh Yulexmastice planning and shopping. Before my birthday (SUNDAY!). Before Thanksgiving. BEFORE FUCKING DECEMBER. I don't know what all this "advance planning" and "spending money wisely" is about but I would like. it. to. stop. Showing signs of maturity -- pff!


I'm glad I get to spend Thanksgiving with my folks. I sure miss our big family gatherings that my late grandparents used to host. I'm glad to have the time with King V and Queen S, though, and especially glad that Mack Daddy Smooth arrives in just over a month for his annual visit. 


Longtime readers of this blog may remember Prince Asshat, whom I tragically and inexplicably later referred to as Cecil. Newer readers, he was a coworker when I worked for King V. He drove me crazy because apparently everything bothers me but I grew to like him better. Anyway, he and his wife welcomed their first child yesterday. As King V remains close with PA/C, I emailed his highness and told him his proxy grandchild had been born. #thiswombisnotyourwomb


Third, some other crap:


I'm getting paid to tweet on Cheese!'s behalf. Well, I'm writing the tweets and I guess someone else will strategically post them. It's the closest to speech writing I've ever been. Well. Except for writing speeches in college. I guess that counts too.


My folks asked for my birthday/Xmas wish list the other day. It included a teapot (not this one, but only because I *der* just now thought to match said pot to my Fancy Adult Dishes™), memoirs, this t-shirt, and Queen Latifah. Yes, seriously. Never hurts to ask. (See also: Pony?!, Where is My.)


I'll try to be back with something interesting to say before I turn 38. No promises.