Shampoo Solo

It’s late. Scott is putting away the blackjack shoe. I’ve almost doubled my (fake) $200 buy-in.

Scott: Did you notice how quiet the shoe was tonight?
Me: Um. Actually, no.
Scott: I WD40-ed it after we last played. it’s quiet and unsqueaky now.
Me: Wow. Marry me?

Just before 2 p.m. the other day, I was in a meeting with a huge group of people, and a random guy walked into the conference room.

Random Guy: Is this the tech meeting?
Coworker #1: Do we look like nerds?
Coworker #2: Um, there are girls in this room.
Coworker #3: Of course, the tech meetings always start at 1:55.

Scott always falls asleep before I do. He’s a when-my-head-hits-the-pillow person, and I’m a nine-different-positions, review-entire-day’s-events, think-about-tomorrow, mentally-write-to-do-list kind of person. I wouldn’t say that his quickness to sleep drives me crazy, it just gives me rest envy.

Last night, he did his typical asleep-in-five-minutes thing. I stayed very still for another few minutes, and then, ever so gently, touched his arm, and said, ever so softly, “Baby, it’s time to wake up for work.”

For some reason I thought for sure he’d know I was full of shit, but he actually got up out of bed and headed for the shower; it took several repetitions of “It’s not even 11!” (we had to get up really early today; I’m talking an hour that starts with a 5) before he got back into bed and fell IMMEDIATELY back to sleep. And then I laid in bed for an hour feeling vaguely guilty, and when I asked him about it in the real morning, he had no recollection of the whole thing.

Tonight I’m going to tell him that the house is on fire.

Her: So, how have things been since the last time we met?
Me: Really good … Scott has been hitting me a lot less.

Unfortunately, she’s now accustomed to our snarky comments and they don’t throw her off her game anymore. Thus, we’ve been forced to resort to chest-bumping and high-fiving, which doesn’t translate as well into prose.

We redecorated our home office (nee second bedroom) not too long ago. I wish we had thought to take “Before” photos, but we totally forgot. Let me say this much: It was ugly and disorganized; we had a broken down desk facing the wall, with one chair that we had to compete for anytime either of us wanted to pay bills or check email or watch porn.

Anyway, the main thing is that we got a plain white dining table that we set up perpendicular to the wall, and we call it “the partner desk” and we sit facing each other and on Saturday mornings, when we’re not sure what to do with a whole wide open day that’s all ours, I’ll write down suggestions (like “Take me to breakfast!” or “Pool!”) on the back of a junk mail envelope and I’ll say, “This is my final offer” and then we’ll go do the opposite of whatever I wrote down.

This is my side of the desk:

We still really need to do something with that wall, but I’m not sure what. I am too lazy for painting and very much against installing any kind of shelfing. Maybe some Blik wall decals? Also, does anyone have any magic tricks for hiding cords? I HATE CORDS. The day every electronic is wireless will be the happiest day of my life. Even if I’m 100 years dead.

This is his side of the desk:

This is the reorganized Expedit (aka The Home Must-Have for Collectors of Records, Books, and Other Assorted Junk):

This is a closeup of one of the chairs:

We just had the following conversation while each sitting on our own sides of the partner desk:

Me: I just put a post up that you might enjoy!
Him: Let me hit refresh!

I found that amusing, because it means he’s kind of a stalker, and kind of full of shit, both being qualities that I find extremely attractive in men.

What’s also fun is that sometimes, when we’re both sitting at the desk working or paying bills or watching porn, I’ll reach over really quietly and unplug his USB mouse, and then watch as he gets more and more irritated that THE MOUSE JUST UP AND STOPPED WORKING AND IT SEEMS LIKE THAT IS REALLY HAPPENING A LOT LATELY. And eventually I’ll crack up and he’ll figure it out. Again.

Oh, and there’s a cat tent.

What’s an office without a cat tent? The feline partners here require a lot of naps.

My coworker’s four-year-old daughter is kind of a staple around the office. She’s adorable, and she screams a lot (in a fun discovering-her-big-new-voice kind of way, not an I’m-an-annoying-child way), and the one time that she came to happy hour with us, she demanded that she be allowed to sit next to me and furthermore, she demanded that I read her Dr. Seuss. I sipped wine, she sipped milk. It was lovely. In fact, it was probably one of the best first dates I’ve ever had in life.

A few days ago, she asked her dad if I was married. He told her not yet, to which she responded:

‘Good. I’m going to marry her when I turn 12.’

I was extremely flattered — she’d enjoyed our first date, too! — until I found out that she said the same thing about her grandfather.

1. I Can Has Cheezburger: This needs no explanation.

2. Spoon, Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga: If you haven’t heard it yet, you can listen by clicking.

3. Joshua Ferris, Then We Came to the End: If you work in an office, doing anything semi-creative (writing, editing, marketing, avoiding your boss), you will see yourself in this book.

4. Lee Angel Jewelry: Particularly this necklace and this ring.

5. Swingy Tops in Neutral Colors: Like this top, for example (which I purchased yesterday). I love how I can throw a blazer on over them and be ready to go.

6. Our DVR: Normally, I love it because it fills up with episodes of Lost and The Office and the like, but right now, I like it because it’s completely empty, because nothing’s on TV, and I like the feeling of being totally free in the evenings. Free to drink tea and read #3 and shake feathers and strings at cats.

7. The MINI USA Owner’s Lounge Website: Every day, it tells me exactly where my car is on its journey to meet me. Yesterday, it was on a boat crossing the Atlantic, playing shuffleboard. Today, it’s en route to a distribution center in New Jersey. In two weeks, the keys will be in my hands.

8. Wii Tennis: After months of spazz-like play and constant losses, I am finally beating Scott with some regularity.

9. Ryan Reynolds: Smokin’ Aces? Try smokin’ freaking hot. I watched that crapulous movie last night (seriously? it was maybe the worst thing I’ve ever seen) with Scott under the condition that we would turn it off immediately when and if his character died. He looks pretty, but he’s not much of an actor — there’s one scene where he tells Andy Garcia to “Talk to me like a man” and he pronounced “man” just like Mike Meyers/Austin Powers does when he says “It’s a man, baby!” We had to rewind that at least four times before we could finally pick ourselves up off the floor and watch the rest of the movie. We should’ve quit while we were ahead.

(Call me!)

I recently decided that I would no longer, never ever, wear my hair down (whether straightened or curly) to the office. There are two reasons for this:

1. I am lazy. (And the blow drying and the straightening and the putting products in and the climbing back into bed for 10 minutes to then make it look like I didn’t spend any time on it really eats up a valuable chunk of time that I could be spending sleeping, reading, or, you know, even working.)

2. When I do wear it down, I feel like I am constantly playing with it. Making me, then, The Girl Who Is Constantly Playing With Her Hair. And I really don’t want to project that image — I much prefer being The Girl Who Is Obsessed With Her Cell Phone.

This means that I am wearing my hair up, in some kind of bun (smooth or bumpy) every day now. Which is fine. Easy. Quick. Aerodynamic. I suppose I’m also now The Girl Who Looks Kinda Like a Librarian but that’s OK, too.

The next date I will likely wear my hair down is when the bun is no longer an option — i.e., post-wedding, when I chop it all off and go short again. Sometimes I am tempted to do that now, because I wonder if, after the wedding, when it’s short, if I won’t regret holding on to All This Hair for months and months when I didn’t really want it, just for the sake of some photos.

Of course, the memory of my last short haircut, and my father constantly referring to me as Paul Kariya … that’s what’s keeping me out of my stylist’s chair.

It’s kind of risky to name your movie ‘Superbad.’

I’m just sayin’.

You can watch an R-rated clip from the movie here and read a NYTimes profile of Michael here, if you are so inclined, which you probably are.

Me: Look! Brad Pitt and I have the same phone!
Scott: Brad Pitt has a pink Juicy Couture Sidekick?!

And that reminds me — I have actually retired my Sidekick and my corresponding 703 number, so if you’re the type of reader who is also a texter or a caller, e-mail me if you haven’t gotten a note with my new number yet. (I don’t remember how to make e-mail hyperlinks anymore, so FYI, it’s shampoo solo 17 at aol dot com.)