Eucalyptus, immaturity, baseball, and…

September 30, 2005 at 8:12 am (Uncategorized)

My new super-sleek, super-speedy upgraded work computer arrived today. It was delivered and configured by one of the Bobs. Somehow the ccomputer guys are all Bobs…there are 4. FOUR. My Bob, with shoulders wider than my refrigerator, and an accent like Casey Affleck in Good Will Hunting, smelled distinctly of eucalyptus. It was like he went straight from Gillete Stadium into a pore minimizing wrap at the Elizabeth Arden Red Door spa before picking up the computer and making a beeline to my desk. Really, the smell was much appreciated. It covered the new carpet and cafeteria soup mix we had going on. So, I dub him Eucalyptus Bob and he shall freshen my kingdom for all eternity. Hey, it’s as good a way to tell them all apart as any.

After 2 hours in traffic, I made it up to visit a very good former work friend at a party celebrating her latest project. It was a rather bizarre feeling watching my dear friend be congratulated repeatedly for something that I had nothing to do with professionally. She has 7 years on me, and yet I watched her enjoying her well-earned glory and felt a tremendous sense of…there just isn’t a better word for it…pride. It sounds almost patronizing when I write it down, but I was the one who felt like a child. I wanted to run around the place tugging on sleeves, pointing to my friend and yelling, “I know her! I know her! She made this happen. And she’s sooooo cool.”

It’s official. October baseball begins a day early this year. Hell, it began four days ago. And does it get any better than tonight’s game? I think I may have to cheat on my boyfriend with Jonathan Papelbon. The kid is a lot closer to my age. And I seem to be attracted to men with ice water in their veins (honestly at 25, shouldn’t I be over my bad boy phase?) and an almost imperceptible smirk. And did I mention? 6’4″ 230. Don’t worry Tek, it’s just sex, it will mean nothing to me.

One final thought, stemming (pun intended) from my late night trip to the grocery store. If you look at white asparagus and see anything other than a very sad, very pale little penis, you’re just kidding yourself.

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