Sitting in the Sandy Blvd. (in Portland, OR) office, chugging water (have to go buy a a/c unit soon) and watching the magic of a Windows XP installation unfold before me. Hair Nation is quietly serenading me from the Sirius radio. The sound of traffic and leaves rustling are coming through the window along with a gentle breeze. Nikki is on her way to meet me down here for some steamer clams at Pal's Shanty next door.
Gregster is moving out of this space since he has plenty of room at his house to accomplish what he can here. And, his house is closer to Putters (his watering hole) than this office is. I'm replacing him with a hide-a-bed, which will make this the sweetest bachelor-pad-office ever.
It's funny, I told my Mom during a drive to Salem on Mother's Day that Greg was moving out of the office. Her first response was "Is everything alright with you and Greg?" I knew what she meant, but it just sounds funny in the context in which it was said.
"Actually, Mom, I think he's sharing an office with someone else behind my back." Can you imagine the argument? "So, Greg... who the fuck is he? What... does his office have air conditioning? More square footage? A T-1 internet connection? What, is my DSL not good enough for you? Who is he? Or is it a she... you fucking fag!"
I think the funny part is when I call him a homosexual because he might be spending time with a female office mate.
goochout
2 comments:
wow, your office is a lot closer to mey house than I realized.
It's true... I've been cheating on you... I've found a better office with a receptionist, vending machine and easy access to Sushi... I don't need you any more... Goodbye Sandy Beaches... I'll never forget the time we had together...
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