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Our accountant is here today. She comes in about once a week or so, just to reconcile the books and make sure everything’s coded properly in the financial database. She’s very smart, very efficient, and at times I loathe the ground upon which she walks.

I hear you ask, “But how have you come to depise this tall, lanky, Midwestern girl who’s always been pretty good about staying out of your way?” Well, I’ve got two reasons.

1. First thing when she arrives, she sits herself down at the office manager’s desk, and for an hour they gab about kids and recipes and vacations to Florida and relatives and…well, you get the drift. It’d be fine, I guess, except the acoustics in this office absolutely suck, so even though I’m a good 10 or 20 yards away (I was never very good at football and can’t guess distances to save my life), I get to hear every single banal word of their conversation. I could close my door, but I figure prattle outweighs suffocation any day. Wine, whine, whine. Poor me.

2. I may find it in my heart to excuse high-decibel banter, but there is one thing for which I will never forgive our perky little accountant: she has taken it upon herself to include me on the CC (not BCC, mind you) list for all of her Christian email, most of which has been forwarded to her from other Amy Grant fans. (My sales rep at Apple–Apple, of all places–has taken to doing the same thing.) So 2 out of 3 mornings, I can expect to open my inbox and find therein a story about some carpenter and a couple of fish and someone’s good works and blah blah blah. I wanna nudge her into a corner and tell her, “Honey, I was raised a Southern Baptist. If you think I haven’t heard every single solitary Hallmark-sappy, Paul Harvey-style sob story, you would be sadly, sadly mistaken. So, yo, bakdafukup.” Of course, she’s pretty tall, and I think she plays a lot of sports. She might be able to take me out with very little effort. Maybe I’ll just bite my tongue.

P.S. I have officially given up on Tombraider: The Last Revelation, which Jonno gave me for x-mas (no more “Christ” in this missive). I made relatively short work of the first 5/6 of the game, but then I encountered a glitch which I’ve not been able to get around–even with many reluctant glances through the Eidos online help center. I guess I’ll just wait for the movie.

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Thanks to the sweltering heat, I’m trapped inside for most of the next two months. Normally, this wouldn’t be so bad, but I’ve got a really short attention span, and Jonno can only entertain me so many hours of the day before he gets cranky. Ergo, I need something to amuse myself. So I’ve devised a little project that should keep me occupied–and maybe you too–at least for a while.

I haven’t worked out all the kinks yet, so I’m reluctant to explain the particulars (I mean, knowing how I am, they may change), but to get started I need two of you to volunteer to participate. All you have to do is send me an email and a couple of pics of yourself (preferably a face shot and a full-length) and I’ll be in touch. There’s only one stipulation, and that’s that volunteers shouldn’t have a website of their own–or if they do, they shouldn’t have pics of themselves posted anywhere on it. I know it sounds cryptic, but I promise, it won’t be painful.

The rest of you, sit tight.

Maybe this’ll be fun, maybe it won’t. We’ll see.

P. S. On the pics, I’m not looking for nudes…. Well, not really.

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You know how sometimes on game shows like “The Newlywed Game” (get-to-know-you sort of shows) people are often asked, “If you were an animal, what sort of animal would you be?” Well, normally I’m totally confused by such questions. I mean, I’m pretty easygoing, which maybe you could call “monkey-like” (and I am a monkey in Chinese astrology), but I can also be really stubborn, much like the proverbial mule. How do you choose?

If I were asked that question right now, though, I’d know: I would be a baby harp seal.

That’s how I feel as I’m walking down the street and the scorching July sun is beating down on me like a starving Inuit. Really. It’s painful. That heat’s just unChristian.

Which reminds me of a very short story involving my friend Zod….

A couple of years back, Zod was having a late night/early morning breakfast at Shoney’s when a fousome of churchgoing women slid into the next booth. About five minutes into their conversation, Zoddie overheard one of them say, “…so I told her that I was doing the work of the Lord, and if that bitch didn’t like it, well FUCK her.”

(It was the “Christian” part that triggered it.)

Hee hee. I miss you Zoddie.

[Ed. note: Zoddie now informs me that it was, in fact, the infamous Bianca del Rio who overheard the conversation, and that she was in the waiting room at Charity Hospital, not at Shoney’s. Frankly, it’s beginning to sound a lot like an urban myth, but, well, you know, it’s still funny.]

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To anyone using Netscape for Mac, I wholeheartedly (well, how ’bout halfheartedly?) apologize for my uninformed usage of css and a troublesome background gif. If you’re seeing this after a day or so of not being able to read my tiny, tiny type, you know what I mean.

Many thanks to Casey for pointing out the error of my ways. Now if he’d only write a few more of those seedy little tales….

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Hee hee hee.

I just signed up as a member of this online community so I could throw a little early morning shade at some very humorless people who have little better to do than call Brad Pitt by his first name and critique hexafunny websites that seem to impugn Monsieur Pitt’s questionable dignity.

Anyway, since I was kinda posting a flame, I wanted a username that was a bit aggressive.

I found one.

And the confirmation email looked like this:

Hello fudgepacker,

Thank you for registering for a Global account. You may use this account to access any public community. To login,go to our homepage and enter your account information.

Tee hee. They called me “fudgepacker.”

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Six Absolut/rocks/dirty + 80-degree nighttime temperatures + an evening of slumming in drag queen/hustler bars a la John Rechy = complete, utter exhaustion. Can someone please make me a refreshing mint julep on the fly?