![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
A cannoli kind of day
Nov. 18th, 2015 12:25 amStopped by the bakery on my way in to work & picked up some cannoli. Left one on Purple's desk. I spied my manager and flagged her down for one. The third was mine.
Lunch was weird: the French dip sandwich was made with smoked meat & was therefore more of a bbq dip. Purple was dissatisfied with his chicken.
It has been chilly, so as threatened, Purple wore his winter jacket. He is easily spotted, as it is teal with purple trim and red accents. (It is clearly from the late 90s in Ohio. He wears it two weeks a year here. He will never replace it.)
Life goals: if I had wanted to be part of a conversation which clarified "what kind of tapioca pudding?" with a wanking gesture, followed by some ostentatious pianist/typist hand stretches, then that life goal would be complete. Context started at the premise that if the restaurant needs the locale of origin of the food in its name, the food is unlikely to convince you of the origin. It got weirder from there.
Afternoon was a super long meeting. It was an all-hands that my team felt the pressing need to attend in person. The exec went half an hour over his allotted time with finance nerdery that he was clearly super enthusiastic about explaining.
Purple was antisocial and bailed before I was out of the queue for food, but I got to chat with phone's Overlord.
Purple is unaccountably pleased by my purplish hair.
I ended yesterday evening crying in rage over an imaginary entity I call Hypothetical Woman. Hypothetical Woman is the embodiment of your irrational or rational fears of rejection. When she sees your entirely harmless but socially unacceptable (or symbolically socially unacceptable) aspects, she ridicules and shuns you. You give up hobbies to please her. I loathe her and am powerless to banish her from the sphere of attention of my dear friends. How I wish I could.
Today, I have a plan to counteract her damage in some small way.
Lunch was weird: the French dip sandwich was made with smoked meat & was therefore more of a bbq dip. Purple was dissatisfied with his chicken.
It has been chilly, so as threatened, Purple wore his winter jacket. He is easily spotted, as it is teal with purple trim and red accents. (It is clearly from the late 90s in Ohio. He wears it two weeks a year here. He will never replace it.)
Life goals: if I had wanted to be part of a conversation which clarified "what kind of tapioca pudding?" with a wanking gesture, followed by some ostentatious pianist/typist hand stretches, then that life goal would be complete. Context started at the premise that if the restaurant needs the locale of origin of the food in its name, the food is unlikely to convince you of the origin. It got weirder from there.
Afternoon was a super long meeting. It was an all-hands that my team felt the pressing need to attend in person. The exec went half an hour over his allotted time with finance nerdery that he was clearly super enthusiastic about explaining.
Purple was antisocial and bailed before I was out of the queue for food, but I got to chat with phone's Overlord.
Purple is unaccountably pleased by my purplish hair.
I ended yesterday evening crying in rage over an imaginary entity I call Hypothetical Woman. Hypothetical Woman is the embodiment of your irrational or rational fears of rejection. When she sees your entirely harmless but socially unacceptable (or symbolically socially unacceptable) aspects, she ridicules and shuns you. You give up hobbies to please her. I loathe her and am powerless to banish her from the sphere of attention of my dear friends. How I wish I could.
Today, I have a plan to counteract her damage in some small way.
