Never in my life have I been so excited about receiving work-related freebies:
That’s right, I’m going to the grand opening of Club Paris on Friday. Seriously, wouldn’t you, especially knowing there’s a chance that crazy heiress will be there? And who could resist a “decadent VIP section” that has a “cozy boudoir area perfect for intimate encounters”?
Hannah appreciates (and is possibly amused) that I buy things I have no intention of consuming by myself.
Today, the metro editor sent me an instant message asking my opinion on a potential interviewee, someone I lived/worked with on Cape Cod. I — in full freak-out mode — ran across the newsroom to give said opinion. Never have I run so fast while wearing linen pants.
Fun fact: Her resume objective is to “find a reporting job in a coastal city.” I would suggest the coast of the Bering Sea.
I thought I should alert you that this briefly existed two weeks ago — the result of my beard experiment:
That picture was actually after a lot of shaving. It was much more luscious and white-trashy (all the way down to my chin — think of the Hulkster) before I decided to document it. And then I realized I couldn’t possible go to work a mustache, so I killed it. I killed it good. But first I visited Nascar.com to make the experience authentic.
Hurricane season started the first of the month. It’s my first one, and I’m pumped. And apparently the deity of your choice is so mad at me (or America, or gay people, etc., depending on which crazy person is on FoxNews today) that he is throwing a storm directly at Jacksonville already!
