Here in the peanut gallery, there's not a whole lot going on.
My Relief Society lesson went okay, my work is stress-free, my room is almost clean...things are pretty good. Work is kinda boring, and I've been through every single song on my iPod at least 8 times in the last month...and it's time to invest in audiobooks. But for the last week, I've spent my time writing mental notes about everyone I come in contact with. It's an odd quirk, but I enjoy it.
Dear Cute Boy at work who went missing last week:
I miss you. You are the only nice person to me at work! I wish we were friends outside of QA-ing and scanning. Especially since it's been a week and you haven't shown up. I think I remember you telling me that you were getting surgery, or visiting your mission-land. But wherever you are, your presence is sorely missed. As well as your beautiful eyes, and tan legs. Baby come back!
Dear Creepy Boy at work who won't leave me alone:
I think I'm young enough to be your daughter. Exaggeration...maybe your "surprise!" younger sister that your mother had when you were a senior in high school. Except I'm really glad I'm not related to you. Scratch that--maybe you'd stop hitting on me if we were related. But either way....I'm seriously getting creeper vibes from you, and YES. I had good weekend, 6 days ago, please stop asking. I may be making up a fake boyfriend over this weekend so I have some story to scare you away with. My sincere apologies.
Dear Mystery Boy who sits across from me.
I'm sorry I didn't notice you until this week. Cute Boy was taking up all my attention. Your face is beautiful enough to make a sculpture of. I sometimes pretend those times when you accidentally drop something right next to my desk, that you really just want to reach over by me and make me faint with your mysteriousness. Please talk to me. Also, I have to keep an eye out for you because your stylish shoulder bag and excessive consumption of juice and Starbucks makes me think you probably will never be attracted to me. . . . shoot.
Dear Young Boy on the later shift.
I seriously cannot wait for 11:53-ish to happen everyday, because you come up to my desk. Even though it's just because you're waiting for me to clock out, I like to think that it's because you think the back of my head is ridiculous. And the front of my head is cute. But I think I remember someone telling me you haven't gone on a mission yet--because you aren't old enough. Which makes me feel like a cougar, but your masculine face makes me wish otherwise. Thank you for giving me something to look forward to. Marry me, because I would like to date you. (ntm [name that movie]) But first, serve a mission. You'll be even more masculine-looking afterwards.
There you have it. The good, the bad, and the ugly. More like the cute, the creepy, the mysterious, and the young. There may or may not be more details in the future. I'll refer to them as previously stated.
Good night. And happy memorial.