Oh, the irony of working at an interactive LLC.

And not updating my entries here anymore. Well, damn. And it feels like we have so much to catch up on, don't we?

Like right now, I am listening to some people here discuss things, which is something I had forgotten that people do. One person is commenting on vegetarians showing up to a Thanksgiving Day dinner and complaining about how they can't eat turkey. Even though I'm not actively participating, even though I don't care one way or the other about the topic, I forgot that I fit in with this, forgot where 'here' actually was, and I just think it's funny. At my other job, I'd gotten so used to hearing either the sound of nothing, which sounds a lot like pain, or hearing this one guy jingle his change and his nuts all the way down the hall, then boom out something pedestrian in the bombed-out halls, and then laugh at his own jokes. I'm afraid I'll never be far enough down the street to not hear his voice at times.

But I like this place a lot. Everyone is cool in his, her or Scott's own ways. But I miss my friends at the old job. And I miss my chair. And I miss my Mac. And my garbage can, but not the nutjiggler who needs to shut the fuck up and let those people do the right thing, which would be to express themselves. But he won't because he's a big useless penis sore. (Substitute "cottage cheese" here if you'd like, but "a big useless penis sore" was the worst thing I could think of for people who micromanage and squelch talent, drive and motivation.)

You won't believe this about the new place. This is too good to be true, but the new parking garage smells like big, fake roses. Yes it does. Or deep-fried food -- either smell trumps the sticky, elephant piss and rhino DNA stairwells any day and is easy to like. Unless you are just weird. So for this, I'm thankful that I am not that kind of weird.

Well, Thanksgiving is on the way, and again it seems like it always gets treated as an inconvenience to Christmas, especially in the greeting card racks and retail shelves. I'll take it though, even though trying to find a Thanksgiving Day card was like searching for an albino gorilla. There were ten designs to choose from, and they were all fairly benign and lame. In the end, I just felt sorry for them and bought four of the least sickly gooey cornball-esque of them. They were cowering in the corner just waiting for Friday to come along so they can be gathered and trashed. Poor inanimate cards.

This year, Ron and I are staying in and cooking our own handicapable turkey. That's right, check us out: Equal Opportunity Carnivores. We bought a bird with no legs. Why pay for legs when you really don't want them anyway. If it were a personal option for me, concerning myself, I'd think about legs as an option, just to develop my arms to the buffness I've always wanted, and to stop complaining about the extra weight I could stand to lose. No pun intended.

That sentence before last was shoddy and bordeline insensitive. So have you missed me? I missed you. No, really. So now it's time to go home for wine and inspiration.

I'm proud of myself, by the way, that I lit my gas heater last night without blowing up or catching on fire. Huzzah for me. This year, I will be thankful for eyebrows.