Chalk on the side of the Sweeties building this morning read:

SEX
are ye matey
I want your booty
free coffee (with an arrow pointing to a ledge with a Dunkin Donuts coffee cup on it)

At work we are finally upgrading to the newest OS, which means lots of problems but ultimately some goodness. We have a training session tomorrow that's scheduled during lunch (12:30-2:30), but we were told that not only was lunch not being provided but we shouldn't bring any lunch in to eat during it. The whole thing reminds me of having my "lunch" time being assigned at random every year in elementary school and how much that sucked ass. Back then I had the metabolism of a rabbit and would end up nearly fainting from hunger around 1:00 since my lunch had been at 10:45 or whatever. My god, public school SUCKS. I know it's a cliche, but it's true: The whole 12-year process exists in order to produce children ready-made for the unnatural-ness of corporate life.

Anyway. On Saturday I drove to Laconia to visit my 88-year-old grandmother. It was a three hour drive, and it flew by due to the five Ricky Gervais Show podcasts I had downloaded. There were a few times I was laughing so hard while I was driving that I feared for my safety. I am serious. He's doing a series of 12. I got them via itunes, which might be the easiest way to get them (and not through the link above).

My grandmother is fine. She was very pleased to see me and the rest of the family, and proud to show us off at the "supper" at her nursing home dining room. The food was, well, made for 88-year-olds, which is strikingly similar to airplane food (back when there was such a thing as airplane food...). My niece is in a magical developmental stage where she's funny and cheerful and always exploring and doing odd things with serious determination like rearranging the boxes of pasta in the pantry. During breakfast I drew her a picture on her mini magna-doodle, and she named it correctly as a house and a tree. Then my mom noticed that my tree didn't have a Trauma Hole* (which is good, since it means I don't have hidden trauma) but my house didn't have a chimney (which is bad, since it means I have no release for my anger). I told her I was trying to make the house look like a brownstone, where my niece lives and which has no chimney, but then I was told by my brother-in-law that their building does have a chimney, so I threw my coffee cup against the wall and told them to go fuck themselves.

*The trauma hole is the hole that I'd wager 99% of children put in the trunk of their trees, since that's how kids learn how to draw them; maybe there have been a bunch of traumatized adults teaching generations of kids how to draw, I don't know. I remember often drawing little squirrels peeking out of my tree-holes, and apparently that's a sign I am managing my trauma, or that someone is protecting me, or something. I just thought it looked cute, but clearly I'm not a trained professional.