The golden poon.

This week has been… rough. You know how every single time someone speaks to you, you want to gouge their eyes out and shove them down their throat? That’s how I have felt most of this week.

I won’t go into a long diatribe about work, because, a) I am at work and the IT fucks here can track my every single keystroke, and b) I am sure people get tired of hearing about the morons I work with. I know I do.

I will relay this little work tidbit though (since it involves what a moron I am, and not a co-worker): this week was our national sales and managers meeting, which means all the operations and sales managers from all of our offices come here to hear Mr. Big Shot tell them how they have to make more! more! more! money for the company. This is our company’s second record year in a row, and he is still not happy (probably because he wants to buy a vineyard and let the company pay for it, but that’s another story for another day).

Whatever. I digress.

So all the managers and sales guys that I talk to on the phone all year are here, and we’re chit chatting and what not, and I manage to get an invitation to the big dinner (by dinner I mean mass alcohol consumption that may or may not include food) they will all be at later that night. Given my love of bullshitting with these guys, free drinks and free food, and the Celestia piss-off factor, I accepted (the lowly peons don’t usually get to go...it’s for upper management only).

A couple of glasses of wine in (my first real drink in months), I am drunk. I am sitting with a guy from our Florida office, Houston office, and Dallas office. Dallas guy flirts with me on the phone all the time, and I flirt back. It’s all in fun.

Well, it took about two seconds after my buzz set in for me to start flirting my ass off with this guy. How could I not? He was telling me how funny I was, and how fun I must be to hang out with, and what an “all around great girl” I am. So I was giggling like a retard, and doing my best charming girlie-girl act. I didn’t even realize I was doing all this until Florida guy (who is one of my favorite people on Earth, and as big a smartass as I am) leans over and whispers, “Gee, Andria… you never flip your hair like that when you talk to ME!”

Holy shit. Again with the hair flipping.

I am just lucky I didn’t do the smooth move of becoming the office skank who gets drunk and makes out with a co-worker at a party. But don’t think I didn’t think about it.

The only consolation I have is that everyone was so COMPLETELY HAMMERED that no one remembered a thing of what happened. Thank god.

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I have had more google hits for “Beyonce sing French” in the last week than every other google hit since I started this drivel.What the hell, people?

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Procrastination sucks ass. Every damn day for weeks, on my way home, there is this frozen yogurt place called “golden spoon” that had one letter in the sign burned out, so it said “golden poon”. And every day I told myself to bring my digital camera so I could take a picture of it, and when I finally did bring the camera, the fuckers fixed the sign.

Golden poon! That’s comedy, people.

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I never had my favorite movie, The Godfather, on dvd. I had a VHS copy, but I wore it out. Then I tivo’d it before I jumped onto the whole dvd train. Then, my tivo erased it to make more hours to record whatever dumb MTV reality show I was recording.

So I finally ordered it from the dvd club I am in. After I mailed the little card in, I saw an online offer (from the same club… they know I am a sucker, clearly) that was too good to pass up, and it was in a bundle of three dvd’s for $22. So now I have two copies coming.

I feel like it’s so cliché to say The Godfather is my favorite movie, because so many people do, but it kicks serious ass, man. That movie rules.

Leave the gun, take the canolis.

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Mix CD’s rock (literally!). I am like a music geek with all the mix CD’s I make. I will be getting one in the mail from this chick, and I will be making one and sending it to this guy.

I love to see what other people put together. My tastes are so broad that the chances of me not liking it are pretty slim. I have been a total music whore since I was about eight, I think, and bought my very first record with my own money, “Off the Wall”, by Michael Jackson.

Hell yes I was into Micheal Jackson.

Three words: Victory Tour, bitches.