Did Omarosa have a concussion or anything? I'm hoping that was the segue.

Oh yeah, kind of -- she was hit in the head with a tiny piece of plaster at a construction site, and claimed to have a concussion and didn't do any more work for the entire rest of the project. (Being a pathological liar who seemed physically fine except for all the whining, the chances of her actually having a concussion were slim.)

t /fountain of useless knowledge

There are two smokers in our office who take regular smoke breaks throughout the day. When they come back in, they smell really stong and I hate having to sit by them in a meeting, but the smell seems to dissapte(sp?) pretty quickly.

Still, a co-worker is calling me Omarosa.

I am happy to kill this person. Please to start calling her Johnny Fairplay.

I love Molly Ivins. I would be her, if she wasn't still doing it. I think anyone calling you that might be calling you a bitca ita. They must want to die young, too.

I am one with febreeze, candles, and incense. Also, since I live in a single, I find that regularly cleaning the rug and washing my bedding is helpful to keeping the place from becoming a total ashtray

I have a smoking friend here who pretty much does this. I NEVER notice smoke in her apartment.

Please to start calling her Johnny Fairplay.

Hee! I hate that guy.

So, anyone know an organization that does diversity training that has an HR person who would answer some questions over email? t /casual

I am happy to kill this person. Please to start calling her Johnny Fairplay.

BWAH! msbelle is wise in the ways of reality-obnoxiousness.

insent, Jesse.

"Heeeeyyyyy."

" If I drink it you have to drink it"

laughter

"Just don't splatter it all over the walls."

silence

" I want to see how he reacts."

Conversation next door. I don't want to know.

(Being a pathological liar who seemed physically fine except for all the whining, the chances of her actually having a concussion were slim.)

Oh, and she's not a pathalogical liar, she's playing an unscripted character. Or some shit. I only watched her on Surreal Life.

Someone just sent me a link to a great (if long) article in Conde Nast Traveller about eating in Chicago--Around the World in 80 Meals. From the paragraph on Polish Highlander cuisine:

Triangles of shepherd's bread, salty sheep's milk cheese, and a silky pork pâté are followed by cheese pierogis topped with sour cream and green onions. When I ask what's in the pâté, the waitress has to go back to the kitchen to retrieve the words in English. She returns with a triumphant smile on her face. "Lard!"

Hee. Reading the article made me alternate between severe drooling to gag reflexes (the description of eyeball tacos on the South Side).