We just finished a Company Thanksgiving.
Everyone brought a tremendous amount of food. (I brought my bourbon-cranberry sauce and some bread toasties and some brie, and a ham/endive/gruyere gratin. Mmm. Me likey.) Everyone is in a sleepy little stupor. I have declared today to be a vacation day in which I do nothing at work -- and what makes this different from other days, is that today I have decided not to be guilty about my lack of productivity. We cannot be expected to eat that much food and still do anything worthwhile for the rest of the afternoon.
Besides, dessert is in half an hour. Pie. Piiiiiiiiiiie.
Good lord, I do love the word "pie."
You know what else I love? Happy Hardcore CDs. I have been listening to this one for the past week straight. It's sick. Somehow I cannot muster the energy today to bob my head to the beat, though. I am, instead, sleepily lowering my eyelids to the beat. I probably look really stoned.
And before I forget, my H.R. lady once again completely rocks my face. She organized the Company Thanksgiving and is just about the sweetest thing on legs.
In other news, I just took a "Who's Your Inner Gay Man" test. I am loath to disclose my results -- but in the interest of honesty, I suppose I must: Jack, from Will & Grace. I may never live this down.