Eleanor put your boots on.
A HUGE thanks to the people who clicked my link and made a donation for my 5k on the 26th. It makes me all warm and squishy inside that strangers donated money because I asked.
And if you haven’t donated, know that there are little children with inflamed bowels crying all over America. I’m just saying.
(hint)
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Today is Mr. Big Shot’s birthday (he’s the owner of the company I work for).
I have been amused by the HUNDREDS of phone calls that have come in from people hoping to suck up to him and wish him a happy birthday. Then when they find out he’s not here (just like every other fucking year, because he always takes his birthday off), they piss themselves to make sure I remember to make sure he gets the message that they called and that they wished him a happy birthday.
Here’s what every call has sounded like so far:
Me: Good morning, blahbetty blah blah company.
Them: This is (insert corporate suck ass’s name here). Can I speak to Mr. Big Shot?
Me: He’s out of the office today, can I take a message?
Them: What do you mean he’s not in the office?!? I was hoping to talk to him.
Me: Well, he’s not in today. Can I take a message?
Them: Hmmm. I was hoping to talk to him.
Me: I’ll let him know you called.
Them: This is [repeats name, because I’m apparently too retarded to remember the 6 seconds before]. PLEASE tell him that I called to wish him a happy birthday. MAKE SURE YOU WRITE HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
Me: OK. I’ll give it to him.
Them: He’s going to get the message, right?
Me: Uh, yes.
Them: Don’t forget to give it to him.
Me: I’ll see if I can manage. *click*
These people are so lame.
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One of things I love about Scott is that he completely gets me, and knows what kind of weird kooky crap I like. So he sent me this:
The next time he’s here, I’m totally playing that while we’re doing it.
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