It says a lot about the adjacent-to-reality world that Anfy and I live in that when I say, "Functional ceramics," he says, "What, like brakes?"

Or maybe we've just been watching too much Top Gear.

(Maybe? HAH.)

In the course of my work today, it became appropriate for me to write on the back of my hand: "Email Hitler."

It's the little things that give my life zest.

Adventures in my workplace:

Boss: Can you print this out?
Me: Only if you attach it...
Boss: Cheeky bugger!

Me: This is going to be a big book, by the way.
Boss: How big?
Me: Well, 360 pages so far and I'm just halfway.
Boss: Fuck!
Me: They're wordy fuckers.
Boss: At C format?
Me: ...C format?
Boss: Yeah, that changed when I saw them on the weekend. Sorry, has this fucked everything up?
Me: No, I just need to... tweak*.

* tweak vb to alter absolutely everything

Dear person who I suspect is a telemarketer of some description who keeps ringing in the middle of the day, letting it ring three times (aka just enough to disconnent my internet) and then hanging up,

STOP IT!

Three rings isn't even enough time for me to decide whether I can be arsed answering. Which I probably can't be. But if you disconnect me in the middle of my Kwon-Tom Loop again, there will be blood. Probably mine, but still! BLOOD!

Love and giggles,
Dee

I honestly don't see why I should have to tell authors (twice) that no, they can't have a 100+ page chapter, especially when all their other chapters weigh in at ~20 pages.

In a non-fiction book, too. It's not like they can wank on about the neeeeds of the story, daaaaahling!