03.11.02 - 5:27 p.m.

Bassie sent me a happy Bobbins wallpaper to keep me from being such a grumpy bear. Alas, my love alone for my sister does not prevent my sadness - otherwise, I would never be unhappy for I love her cute face every day!

Eeeep. The gods are looking upon me in small ways, however. Because we decided last week that I'd be doing the late shift tomorrow, I escape having to be here at 7:30 - yes, 7:30 am - while Jack and Evan have to get up at that ungodly hour. Mwah ha ha. Of course, both of them live in the city and have a shorter commute than I do, so they are the logical choices anyway, but I feel that my prayers have been answered in some small way.

Dan bought Travis underwear as a surprise for me! Ha ha, I will tell it, I have no shame. Dan, you are so cute and easily embarrassed and you are the first boy who ever wore sexy undies for my benefit. And I like to ogle your package. It makes me grin all silly-like when I am sitting here bored out of my gourd. And while I should be retyping a boring "publicity primer" but thought I should get some daily diary action instead.

I saw a truck on the highway, god knows where since I barely drive anywhere that's not the grocery store, maybe it was actually in the city, but I digress because in big old letters on its side it said "DAIRYLAND." And I thought how cool it would be to have a big Diaryland truck that just cruised around for no apparent reason.

The copier is beeping insanely and nonstop, all of our machines must be on strike because none of them - the copier, the fax and the postage meter - were working at one point today, and a big part of me wants the phone to die too so I can be completely pointless. Well, no, not completely. Someone still needs to order Cary's lunch and stock the fridge.

Dan and I began to have an IM conversation the other day about moving somewhere else, somewhere un-NY where the cost of living wasn't so high. Where would we go? The obvious thought is Chicago, but there are just no jobs anywhere, I think. Arrrgh. Must stop diary digression. The publicity primer awaits.

Ah, fuck. I just called the billionaire owner of our company by his first name on the phone. Do you think that matters much?