Hi, All

You're lucky your name isn't Ally.  This afternoon I got an email that started, "Hi All" and as I read through it I was overcome with with increasing bewilderment and fury. 'What does this ridiculous bullshit have to do with ME?' I thought.  'When did remembering to use designated parking spaces become MY problem?'  I was about to stomp around the building roaring like a small business dinosaur when I abruptly remembered that a) I don't have a car and b) probably I should calm down and do some actual work.  

On a completely unrelated note, here is the text of my last post, converted into word art by the bank. Yes! By the bank. I know, you would think they have more important banking things to do, but apparently not. BNZ was tweeting about this new words-to-pictures generator and I made a very witty remark ("WHEN BANKS MEET BANKSY?!") and then they replied with THIS:

Banks are the best.  The only confusing thing is that logically I know BNZ have a very talented social media team but their mascot is a small pig, and because of this every time they tweet I imagine the pig is sending it, and then I start thinking "but how does it type with trotters, they must have some sort of voice recognition thing" and then once again I realise that probably I should calm down and do some actual work.

I also have a bad cold - there was originally a paragraph here about how I'm producing enough snot to sustain a small economy, but  I deleted it because it got too gross after I started talking about Snotroleum™. It's a biofuel. No more questions.  

Here's a picture of a butterfly to help you stop thinking about it.

Handsome Boss Boyfriend was away last week; I did quite a decent job of keeping everything together, apart from the day when I forgot I had a client meeting and turned up to the office wearing a bright blue t-shirt with the company mascot on it, fluoro pink nail polish, and near-vertical hair.  "I should really have txt you this morning," said Button*, "saying 'you have a meeting today, try not to look ridiculous.'" 

So the next day I looked highly non-ridiculous in a collared shirt, work pants, boots, silver earrings and a necklace which is a Pegasus, except its butt broke off.  SO CLOSE, AND YET SO FAR.  Also I kept telling people about the Pegasus butt thing.  "I like your necklace," says one of the copywriting team.  "Thanks," I say excitedly, "his butt broke off!"  And then I hold up the necklace to show them, and they peer at it for about 1.5 seconds and say, "...so it has."  Why do I think everyone needs to know the exciting backstory of the Pegasus necklace?  I don't know.  

While HB was away I also got to exercise my driving skills, specifically "I'm On The Motorway, But I Don't Need To Panic" and the classic 'Yeah... Nah' merge. This is a driving technique where you change lanes, realise you didn't need to, and change back again.  Other drivers love to see a good Yeah... Nah merge in practice.  Trust me.  Sometimes they toot their horns or, as I like to call it, "road applaud".

I'm just sort of rambling on here and, as much as I like to ramble, I could be watching Vikings right now so I shall leave you with the best work typo I have found recently: "$235 for a Large Chicken Coup."

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, TODAY ONLY ON GRABONE STORE! RECRUIT YOUR OWN AVIAN REBEL ARMY FOR THE MERE SUM OF $235*** AND OVERTHROW THE FOWL  CHICKTATORSHIP THAT RULES THE ROOST! 

PLUCK YOUR CITIZENS FROM THE TALONS OF - ok sorry I'll stop now.


*Button is one of my colleagues. She is very good at her job, heading expeditions to the pub, and saying things like, "Well, that's a fart on my face" when things go wrong in the office. "Button," we say sometimes, "there is Management about.  They may not be interested in hearing about the fart on your face" "Give a fuck!" she says. Then she does a dance which is not unlike the Chicken Dance, except you are squatting and jumping up and down while you're doing it. I am fond of Button.

***plus freight