imagine these married and then you have my cube-banner
I find nothing wrong with Playboy ... except the pictures of the centerfolds when they were little always freak me out
There's one other copywriter in the whole company, and her name is Jill. Yesterday I told Jill that I'm really glad we get along, because God, I cannot imagine how terrible it would be to work together if we absolutely hated what the other person wrote. But in fact Jill and I get along smashingly, and we often mock our clients, and then we make fun of each other. I mock her part-time co-op job; she mocks me because in any given meeting, I am sure to drop my pen on the floor at least four times. She's a granola-eater. I'm a fidgeter. We pair nicely.
Today I told Jill that I hated her, because she stayed late last night to finish writing foundation letters for a client. And then she drew me pictures and strung up a banner over my desk that proclaimed it was my birthday and she even used the color printer for the word "birthday." There were flowers and a great handpainted coffee mug, too, from the other people that keep me sane at work, and the entire spectacle was quite touching, and not a little unlike birthdays celebrated in high school, where I'd arrive to learn that the AV and others had wrapped my locker in wrapping paper and ribbons, and once, some feminine pads. Which were ununsed but taken down quickly all the same.
Then I came home to find another present on my other desk, and this one was wrapped in centerfolds. All in all, a very touching display/confirmation that perhaps I am not entirely the giant d-bag that I think I am.
Now: Mexican food, margaritas, a patio, and a film. Maybe at one of the world's two Sundance theatres, because that's how us snobby liberal white kids roll. WITH SPOTTED COW AND ARTSY-FARTSY FILMS. LATER WE'LL LISTEN TO NPR AND ATTEND A OBAMA RALLY WHILE EATING BRIE. THEN WE'LL COME HOME AND POLISH OUR FRAMED MASTERS DEGREES. IT'S WHAT WE DO.
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