Human Behavior

Dogs love undies. I’m pretty sure at this point it’s undisputed fact. And worse, dogs love DIRTY undies because, I’m guessing, the smell of you is that much stronger. I’ve grown accustomed to it — since Sunny and I have lived together, she’s come barreling into the bedroom with my bra on her head more times than I can really count. However, things reached a new low today when she ran into the downstairs laundry room and came running out with my neighbor’s thong wrapped around her legs, the crotch firmly set in her jaw. My neighbor’s dirty thong.

In Charmed news (I know! It should be its own CATEGORY and yes, I know you’re SICK OF IT), I realized things may have gone too far today when I settled in for my typical hour of admin-y work (invoicing, e-mail, mindless shit), which I usually like to accompany with a fresh episode only to discover that I screwed up the TiVo and there was no Charmed. I audibly gasped and found myself tut-tutting and actually yelling aloud, “Oh my God, how can something like this HAPPEN?” My reaction was so wildly inappropriate that I wonder if I should cut the cord, because I may … I may be addicted to Charmed. And I’m only wrapping up season TWO. There are SIX MORE SEASONS.

I was talking to a former colleague-turned-client today and in addition to screaming my fool head off because three wasps just APPEARED OUT OF NOWHERE while I was on the phone (“Jonna? Jonna? Are you okay?”), I learned that one of our old coworkers is getting a divorce because — wait for it — her husband walked in on her having sex with their tennis pro. Am I the only one who didn’t think this actually existed outside of movies and The Real Housewives of New York City? THE TENNIS PRO. So tacky. So Jackie Collins.

I know I’m painfully naive in the ways of the world, but this is like the TWELFTH former coworker from the same job to find him/herself in a similar situation. Perhaps my favorite experience was the fine summer afternoon when the vice president’s wife showed up ON THE JOB to confront her husband and the 22-year-old intern he was having an affair with. While I realize that this is normally the type of sordid excitement that has staffers craning their necks for more, I have to tell you, it was so sad that I hunkered down in my office with four junior employees in near-tears because really, while the guy was a dirtball, she had NO IDEA. And worse, what she didn’t realize was that the intern was the fourth woman from the same office that he’d shacked up with, sometimes in the conference room (surprise!), and we had witnessed countless jilted lovers confront, cry and leave. For us, it had gotten old, but for her, it was a completely new revelation.

I won’t even mention the fact that I’d worked with this guy before and he pulled the same shit there, too. And I wonder: do women KNOW they’re marrying that kind of guy? Do they think they can change him? And further, who the HELL has an affair with the tennis pro? And how much play (uh, ha ha?) do you think a tennis pro gets? (My guess: PLENTY)

And with that, I’m off to throw up, because the Celtics are on and this evening has the potential to be the most miserable or the most jubilant. It all depends. I’m sure I’ll edit this later, because I’m CLUTCHING MY BOWELS.

Edit: NO LONGER CLUTCHING BOWELS. THANK GOD. (Oh Kevin Garnett. I love you. And Paul Pierce? THANK GOD. And I haven’t even touched Ray Allen! Also, there was CRYING when I saw Bill Russell and KG. FULL ON CRYING. )

Happy (almost) Wednesday!

*Bjork

28 comments June 17th, 2008