Internets, it should surprise none of you that I am a compulsive doodler in meetings. Herewith, I give you a selection of:Things I Wrote in a Notebook During Meetings at Work Two to Four Years Ago (In Which I Remember Neither the Meeting, Nor Writing These Things During Them)abyssus abyssum invocathell calls hell--------Bands:--Bofus Eyes--binLaden Family Singers--------Whoooooo’s High-Pitch? This is Kelly Clarkson!--------

Girl next to me on the bus was reading a book – a “trade paperback,” as we say in the biz, not a romance novel, and my eye fell upon this actual, apparently non-ironic sentence:Nikki(1) blushed, thinking of Eric’s devil-may-care attitude(2), bad-boy smile(3) and chiseled body.(4)” Wait a minute. Did Michael Patterson write this?---------

Sorry to be all politics all the time, but seriously, this election is like a large turd hidden somewhere behind the bookcase. Sometimes you don’t really smell it all that much, but you know it’s there, somewhere just out of reach, and most of the time it’s radiating stench all out into the living room and you’re like godDAMN what is that fucking smell in here?

Remember when I said I'd found the whitest thing ever?I was wrong. THIS is the whitest thing ever (courtesy of my imaginary BFF BlabberMouse). Check out the FONKY MOVES on this fuckin guy. I'm sure Jesus is thrilled with their praise and worship. I mean, wouldn't you be?

OK, so I bet you all could guess that I hate Oprah. I’ve never bothered to blog this particular hate, because WHAT a soft target, and where would I even start?

To the silly bitches talking about your superkewl weekend plans this morning in the cafe, like it makes you Hep or something: You know, I’d LOVE to spend $500 to stand around getting sunburned in the wind (or freezing my entire nipular region off in the windy fog, or perhaps both in the same hour) enduring annoying band after annoying band all goddamn day with a bunch of hippies, hipsters, mouth-breathers from Hayward, attention-whores from all walks of life, entitled rich kids, small yappy dogs and the various human riffraff of the San Francisco

If I end up in actual, literal Hell after I, like Waring Hudsucker, have merged with the infinite, this will be the entertainment. A seven-hour Dane Cook show, every day, for eternity. 

Another peril of the all-female office is that meetings are almost never about work. Ostensibly they are, of course, but really they're about getting up in each others' grills. Take our Wednesday morning meetings, for example. A normal workday started at 8:30, but on Wednesdays, we had to report at 7:30 for our weekly team meeting.