'N' is for Neville, who died of ennui
'N' is for Neville, who died of ennui
I have a job. It took me a long time to get this job. I really don't like it at all. It's very boring. Hence the "ennui" part. And the blog.

Thursday, May 20, 2004

Today is Thursday.  My period should have begun on Wednesday.  Thus, I am nervous.


There is a particular sensation that you experience when your period is late.  Your fingers and toes become tingly, your bowels clench on their own, and you find yourself misusing words.  You are unable to concentrate on anything except interrogating your body.  “Seriously, what is this shit?  Is this because I exercised more than usual?  Or because I stressed out for two straight days?  Could driving in a car for a long period of time do this? I spent a lot of time with new girls; maybe they threw me off my cycle?  Speak, bitch.”  But your body, she is not talking. 


Then you try to close your eyes, to breathe slowly, to commune with your uterus.  “Uterus?” you ask, “I need to know.  Is there a fertilized egg in there?”  But then, just as you feel it’s about to answer, your emotions rush at you, overtake you, and tell you either what you fear or want to hear.  The only thing you know for sure is the absence of blood. 


“O.K.  My mom had lots of morning sickness.  I have none.  Ergo, not pregnant.”

“O.K.  I use so much protection it’s not even funny.  Didn’t even miss a pill.  Statistics are on my side.  Not pregnant.”

“O.K.  There are so many hundreds of things that can throw off a woman’s cycle that I’m not even going to waste my time worrying about it.  Not pregnant.  Not pregnant at all.”

“O.K. I’m freaking out about this so much, becoming so upset, that I must have P.M.S.  Which means I’m not pregnant.  Clearly.”


But still, no blood.  The silence of no blood.  


And then you start to worry.  Your mind begins to think things you really don’t want to think about, veering back and forth between images.  Images of happy, bouncing babies. Babies you can’t take care of.  Upset, crying babies.  Crying because they are crawling on the floor of the dirt shack you’re living in because it’s all you can afford.  Becoming images of no babies, you in a doctor’s office, crying.  Being driven home, clenched and bent over in pain.  Pain that is punishment. 


But not pregnant.  Not pregnant would be so much easier. 


Every time my phone rings, I expect it to be a person calling with news of my condition.  Because I am so obsessed, I can’t see anyone calling for any other reason. 


After work, I take the test. Unless I bleed first.  Come on, blood.

posted by serenaluchang, 05/20/04 11:35 | link | comments

Wednesday, May 19, 2004

There is a book that I do not know if I want to buy.  It is called "The Lucifer Principle" and I discovered in while researching memes online.  Why was I researching memes online?  Because I am a nerd and once a month I am compelled to research a topic in depth, as if I were preparing to write a paper on it.  But I'm not.  I don't write papers anymore.  But the nerdiness compels me. 

Anyway, this book is written by Howard Bloom, a name that is intensely familiar to me though I have no idea why.  I swear I have read a book by the man, but when I looked over his published works not one was familiar.  Regardless, "The Lucifer Principle" is very appealing.  Not only is it about memes, but it also seeks to provide an answer to the unanswerable question "Why do people suffer?" Only, in this case, the question is phrased, "Why does evil exist in the world?"  Mmmm.  Unanswerable questions get me hot. 

Howard's answer appears to involve memes: hypothetical viruses that infect your mind.  Which is wickedly sci-fi and creepy and probably not true, but very fun to think about.  I enjoy imagining that my thoughts and impulses are the result of viruses fighting inside of my brain, with the strongest deciding my course of action.  There goes free will. 

So, if you know the book, let me know if I should spend money I don't have on it.

Highlights of Pittsburgh:

The king-sized bed, dual shower-head, coffee-maker in the room, instant access to all kinds of porn, actual hills, riding up Mt. Washington on The Incline, drinking heavily every day, not feeling at all guilty for drinking heavily every day, the wicked nice rest stops on the Ohio turnpike, Erin's house (2x nicer and 3x cheaper than mine), doing The Electric Slide with a bunch of women from a dentist's convention (all over 40, wearing belly shirts), being continually harassed by the cleaning lady to leave the hotel room so she could clean it, almost passing out in the hot tub--jumping in the pool--returning to the hot tub so I could almost pass out again, room service in general, the hotel gift shop where they sold $8 magnets that read "Pittsburgh!"

Good times.  Seriously, should I buy the book?

posted by serenaluchang, 05/19/04 17:07 | link | comments (7)

Wednesday, May 12, 2004

I'm famous. In that I'm on another website today. You should go see it. It will totally be worth your while. Check out The Blacktable and learn more about Indiana than you ever wanted to know. Courtesy of me.

Also, I have a guest map on my blog now. That means you can put in a pin in it, representing you and your corner of the world. It is awesome. You can make your avatar look like an alien. And who doesn't like that? No one. Do it!

posted by serenaluchang, 05/12/04 13:41 | link | comments (5)

Tuesday, May 11, 2004

Daily Log:


  • Arrive at work. Turn on lights while attempting to not spill my lunch on the floor. Succeed 40% of the time. Prepare myself a large cup of coffee and a large glass of water. Unlock the front door. Sit down at my desk.


  • Give my computer the finger because it has yet again told me that I need to create a new password. If I create new passwords at this hour of the morning, I am likely to come up with a password like “Poopinmymouth1” that, while indicative of my feelings, will be difficult to remember the following day.
  • Notice a list written in my best penmanship, reminding me of what I have to do today. Studiously ignore it.


  • Apply my makeup. Do this at my desk, in full view of God and everyone. Except that no one else is in the office yet. So it’s just me and God. On the rare occasions that someone else is in the office, they will inevitably walk by my desk as I am applying my makeup. They will do so at the precise moment that I am applying concealor, the most embarrassing/freakish moment of the makeup-applying process. This will make me want to hit them.



  • Have attention diverted away from the website by the sound of someone trying to unlock the front door. But the front door is already unlocked. So this person is locking the door. Smile at this person as they walk in, secretly hating them for a) not checking the door first, b) making me get up and unlock the door again, c) doing this every day.
  • Calm myself by visiting Fametracker , and McSweeneys in quick succession.


  • Realize I should check the voicemail messages. Do so, addressing each in turn.
  • Save and transcribe the most irate/illogical/rambling ones for later publication.


  • Be visited by the maintenance men. Tell them about any problems, i.e. “The apartment is flooding. Right now. Seriously.” Attempt to convince them that it is a serious situation, worthy of their immediate attention.


  • Give up, as maintenance men tend to move at their own, imperceptible pace.
  • Sit at desk, feeling uncomfortable, as maintenance men carry on a conversation while standing right over desk. Wish they would leave so I could calm myself by visiting Memepool.
  • Wait for the phone to ring, so I can tell the maintenance men to go talk somewhere else under the guise of being unable to hear the person on the other end of the phone.



  • With all other options exhausted, visit Drudge Report. Feel vaguely dirty.


  • Do actual work, in hopes of cleansing myself.
  • Call tenants, explaining to them that a) they do actually have to pay rent, b) since their lease expired and they refused to sign a new one that DOES mean we can rent their apartment, c) they can’t play loud music after 3:30 am, even if they do want nothing more than to “tear it up”, d) as long as they continue to flush paper towels down the toilet, the toilet will continue to clog.



  • Lunch. Me, magazine, peanut butter sandwich and a diet coke in the conference room.


  • Check various blogs, to calm myself from lunch.


  • If there is any to be done, do work.
  • Otherwise, blog/ e-mail my roommate/ research things I don’t need to know i.e. how much tolls will cost between here and Pittsburgh.


  • Feel sudden, intense pressure to become a serious artist. Consider quitting. Consider calling boyfriend and convincing him to move to Paris / Alaska, whichever has cheaper airfare.
  • Research airfare to Paris / Alaska.


  • Realize I don’t have enough for airfare to Paris / Alaska. Nor do I want to pack.
  • Remember that car insurance will be due next month.
  • Remember student loans.
  • Remember my lack of a savings account.
  • Thank God I have this job.



  • Organize my desk, in preparation of leaving.
  • Write a list of things to be done the next day, being sure to use my best penmanship. If the penmanship is not my best, crumple up the list and start over.


  • Quietly leave the office. Do not say “good-bye” to anyone because they may ask me to stay and do something for them.
  • Approach my car using the stealthiest of movements. Do not feel fully relaxed until I am a block away.

posted by serenaluchang, 05/11/04 16:31 | link | comments (4)

Saturday, May 08, 2004

I just got back from a scrumtrillescent comedy show. It was at the Lincoln Lodge in Chicago and I’m not going to go into details because a) they wouldn’t accurately translate i.e. be funny, and b)I have consumed many beers. Speaking of beers, thanks to all the slush fund contributors. It’s people like you that make blog posts like this possible. I drank a few 34 oz. beers. They were called, officially, “Big Ass Beers.” Thank you for that, you random people with more money than me.

I have been given a shout-out. By Bob-o-Rama . And it was a very nice shout-out and I am happy for it. It ends with, “Go Neville, you da man!” And I was touched, but at the same compelled to point out that, while I do possess huge, hairy man balls, they are merely metaphorical. In that I’m a chick. So I mentioned this to my roommate. Who yelled in a semi-drunken rage: “Dammit, take a fucking compliment without correcting anyone for once!” So, I won’t. Or, I already have, so I’ll apologize. Sorry. I’m an oldest child and I tend to get off on correcting people. I’ll try to be better.

In other news: My contacts are dry. There’s a weird cold-sore like hurty place on my tongue. My roommate is cooking bratwurst. I am drinking a beer. No work tomorrow. My nail polish is chipping, but I’m at peace with it. Oh, and I won a fez tonight. A mini-fez that would be perfect for a dog or cat or living creature, if I owned such a thing. But I do not. So I’ll put it on my plastic iguana. And he will be cool.

posted by serenaluchang, 05/08/04 00:56 | link | comments (3)

Wednesday, May 05, 2004



  • Once again, the highlight of my life at this moment is that I am able to blog.  And eat a grapefruit. 
  • I just finished preparing the renewal leases for August.  I had to seal all 26 envelopes to ready them for mailing.  There are glue sticks the office provides for this purpose.  I do not use them.  The glue becomes matted and clogs the roller ball on the glue stick, and when the glue does come out it’s overly wet.  The envelopes do not seal, but rather become so moist they are no longer sticky.  I licked the envelopes to seal them and felt more intelligent than those that use the glue sticks.
  • I cannot get the taste of envelope glue out of my mouth.  This must be why others use the glue sticks.  I am not as intelligent as I hoped.
  • There is a woman in my office who is rumored to be an alcoholic.  This is sad.  It should inspire some form of sympathy in me.  But it doesn’t.  I greatly dislike her.  For the following reasons:
    • She has very little range of emotion.  She is either excited “Oh, wow!”, or flustered, “Oh, no!”  Also, if you wrote down every sentence that comes out of her mouth, most would end in exclamation marks. 
    • Much of the time, when she speaks to me, it is regarding things I have no knowledge of.  Nor should I.  Example: “Isn’t Matt funny?”  I don’t know who Matt is.  But she will wait for an answer.  And then tell me how much I need to get to know Matt, when I get the chance.
    • Her divorce lawyer calls the office twice a day.  He has a very deep voice, and becomes upset when she isn’t in her office.  She is rarely in her office.  Also, he doesn’t call in on the main number.  He calls in on the little-known mailroom phone number.  Maybe he thinks it’s the divorce-attorney line.   But it isn’t.  It’s the confuse-the-hell-out-of-me-because-I-hear-the-phone-ringing-but-can’t-pick-it-up-from-my-desk-because-the-phone-is-in-the-fucking-mailroom line. 
    • She bitches about lunch.  Every Friday, we get a free lunch.  Every Friday, she bitches about the menu choice.  And the fact that there isn’t enough fish on the menu.  And then she orders some fish-related thing that stinks up the office.
  • I do not like answering the phone.  However, the way I answer the phones caused the CEO to notice and then hire me.  So perhaps I shouldn’t shit all over the phones.  But I will anyway.  The standard greeting begins with either “Good morning,” or, “Good afternoon.” But I always mix them up.  During the middle of day, this is forgivable.  But I have been known to say “Good morning” at 4pm and “Good afternoon” at 8:30 in the morning.  The people on the other end of the phone inevitably correct me.  This makes me want to hang up on them.  I tried to help myself by writing “Good morning” and “Good afternoon” on post-its and placing them  on my computer during the appropriate times of day.  But I forgot to change them, so they did not help. 
  • I have just been invited to lunch by the CEO.  I am, of course, going.  Because, though the woman makes me nervous, she’s a frickin’ CEO and one assumes going to lunch to her would be a good move.  Plus, she’ll probably pay.
  • I have returned from lunch.  We ate at a restaurant called “The Breakfast Club.”  I was disappointed that there was nothing John Hughes-related inside.  I had the beans and rice.  They were good.
  • Tonight, I will drink the dregs of the tequila bottle I hid under my kitchen sink.  I hid it there during a party, because I didn’t want the guests to drink all of it.  I haven’t touched it since.  Bad hostess.
  • What is currently on and around my computer: 
    • A stuffed mouse from the Rentokil Pet Control company.  It was a bribe so I would agree to see their salesman.  I won’t.  But I will keep the mouse
    • A pink polka-dot ribbon tied into a bow.  Because I decided my computer was a girl and needed an accessory.
    • A tiny sticker of puppies in a barrel.  Because it’s dumb.
    • A plastic dinosaur
    • A stress-ball in the shape of a heart
    • A Thing 1 I received from a box of Rice Krispies
    • Hand sanitizer
    • An enormous rubber band ball that I am very proud of.  I steal every rubber band I come into contact with, so I can add to its girth. 
    • A hat bearing the name of my company.  I refuse to wear it but, as long as I display it prominently on top of my computer, no one seems to mind. 
    • Pictures of enormously fat rabbits.  Here is one. 


There are curly white threads on my shirt.  I do not know how they got onto my shirt.  They look like pubes. This makes me think they are pubes. That is gross.  I hope they aren’t pubes, since that would mean that there are pubes just sitting out in the open, waiting to get picked up by people’s shirts.  I will assume they are threads.

posted by serenaluchang, 05/05/04 17:13 | link | comments (7)

Monday, May 03, 2004

I’m almost afraid to blog today.  I’m afraid that I’m only going to write down horrible, vile things.  Because I am tired and angry and wanting so badly to prove to the world that, no, my life is the worst.  Thing.  Ever.  But, clearly, I don’t have leprosy so it isn’t actually that bad. 


I need to escape from my job.  I’m being held in a prison of a crappy salary and health insurance.  And the lighting sucks.  But I can’t leave until I find another job. But I can’t find another job until I have at least a year of experience in this one. 


At least I have a blog.  And a grapefruit.  Those are two things I have going for me.  And hair dye waiting for me at home.  And tonight is taco  night, so that will be good.  Tacos=yummy as crap.  And one day I will get another job.  This is a given.  This we all know.  And next week I’m going to Pittsburgh.  On a vacation with my boyfriend.  That event is guaranteed to rock.  I chose the destination.  He likes it because a) he didn’t have to pick, and b) he gets to make fun of it.  He keeps yelling, “I’m going to Pittsburgh!  Whoo!” 


Survey #1:

Pittsburgh: Lame or So Lame it’s Cool?


 I am bored.  I am bored because I have a boring job.


Survey #2:

                Are you bored?  If so, why?  


But there is hope for my boredom: I have applied to a job that was made for as though it were a custom-fit glove.  I have yet to hear back from this job.  I can’t decide which will be worse: to interview and not get it, or not to get to interview at all.  Trying to decide which is worse is ludicrous, though, because the decision is not up to me. 


Survey #3:

Will you hire me?  I’m really good at stuff.  And if your job isn’t boring, I won’t blog at work.  I  promise.


The best thing ever, that I must keep reminding myself of so as to stop myself from bitching perpetually:

I am going to be published on two (2) different websites.  That is good.   I don’t know when it will happen, but you can be damn sure I’ll let everyone and their mom know.


Survey #4:

                What good thing is happening to you?  Is it as good as going to Pittsburgh?

posted by serenaluchang, 05/03/04 12:37 | link | comments (11)

Monday, April 26, 2004

My right ear aches. Not all the time--it comes in waves. It has no cause. It has no meaning. At this moment it aches. In another moment, it won't ache. In a moment after that, I won't remember that it ever ached. Unless, of course, I read this blog entry.

I feel as though there is a small bug jumping around and crawling on different parts of my body. Once again, there is no reason for me to think this. I have inspected the areas where I felt the bug crawling several times, and I have not seen anything resembling a bug. Therefore, the bug does not exist. Therefore, I am ascribing normal, tickly sensations on my skin to an imaginary bug. Therefore, I must be rather bored.

It is past 11pm on a Sunday. I am not tired. I slept until 2pm today. I needed the sleep, but now I am most definitly not at all tired. Writing that last sentence actually made me yawn. No matter. I will stay up until at least 1am this morning. Because that is what I have decided to do.

I drank bad scotch on Friday. Very bad scotch, but I was winning at poker as I drank it, so I didn't mind the badness. Rather, I minded the badness when I was trying to fall asleep on a water bed and failing. Because of the swirly pukes. That's the name my father has given to that particular sensation you feel when you're trying to fall asleep, but every time you close your eyes the room starts spinning. And you can't sleep. All you can do is go downstairs, forage for some water and starchy food, and consume them while watching infomercials. The infomercial I watched was about "huggy" hangers. Or something. But the point was, you could hang things on them and they wouldn't fall off. It was genius. If I had had the confidence to find both the phone and my credit card, I surely would have ordered them.

I miss my boyfriend very much right now. He is at this moment at work. He is a nurse and he is working at a hospital. Two nights ago, we were watching a movie on a couch. I was lying on him, and he was sitting up, with his arm on the side of the sofa. I looked at his arm and became engrossed in it. The hair was golden in the lamp light, and his watch was solid and metallic and slighly hanging off of his wrist which was full of shadows and crevices. And it really turned me on. This arm. I told him and he said, "Thank you," which is what he says when he's flattered but doesn't know how to respond. And now it's Sunday and we've established that I'm not going to go to sleep and instead I'm sitting up, thinking about his arm. So maybe I should go to sleep after all.

posted by serenaluchang, 04/26/04 00:26 | link | comments (5)

Wednesday, April 21, 2004

Last night, as I was flipping between American Idol, Soft Drinks Unwrapped, and The E! True Hollywood Story of Uma Thurman, my TV watching was interrupted.  The screen of every channel went gray, showing, in place of my trashy programs, an upsetting message.  It said: Tornado Warning in effect  for Cook/Lake/DuPage counties.  Continues until 8:32 pm. A robotic voice spoke over the words, announcing the same information.  Then, after the message had been delivered, my programs returned.   I was shocked.  I was appalled.  Tornado?  Where?  When?  Where is it going?  Where is its thunderstorm going?  Should I go hide in my basement?  But there were no answers forthcoming.  So, this is an open letter to Chicago: You call that shit a storm warning? 

I grew up in Indiana.  Every spring, as the weather warmed and green buds began to appear on the trees, I greeted it with a mix of delight and apprehension.  Delight because, you know, spring is cool.  Apprehension because spring in Indiana means you'll be spending a speck of time hiding in your basement.  From March until July, you could be pretty certain that there'd be a strong storm once every two weeks or so.  In addition to that certainty, you could also rely upon the fact that during at least one of those storms your TV would implore you to retreat to an interior room of your home, preferably underground (if not, a bathroom will do), making sure that you open up all the windows in your house on the way.  Take a flashlight and fresh water and pillows and blankets with you, just in case.  There you wait with a radio, or small tv, or some person brave enough to run out and get storm updates from the big tv, until the storm has passed.  Which can take a while if it's a big one.  Then, finally, you come out and see what the wind has done to your mom's flowers, and go on a quest with your brother to find the trash cans.

Point is, I'm familiar with the tornado warnings.  They freak the crap out of me, but I know the routine.  That's why the Chicago way of announcing the storm made me wonder.  Back in Indiana, updates are given regularly.  Like, there would have been an icon in the corner of my TV screen from 4pm on, letting me know that there was a Severe Thunderstorm Watch.  This means that thunderstorms are rolling across Iowa and Illinois and when they get to us, they’re probably gonna be some kind of tough.  Fine.  But there aren't any actual storms yet, so we don't worry.  We go outside and play. 

Then, a bit later, if the storms that show up are actually severe, they would throw up the Severe Thunderstorm Warning icon.  Now, this means that there is a severe storm, so you have to stop playing and come inside.  Also, you can be sure  you're gonna have to go looking for your trash cans and lawn furniture in the morning.  So, maybe some trees get knocked down and you have hail marks on your car: not too bad. 

However, sometimes the Severe Thunderstorm really thinks it’s the shit.   Then, those ever-vigilant meteorologists  throw a Tornado Watch on top the Severe Thunderstorm Warning.  That’s double tough.  This means, as you can probably guess, that there's a good chance of a tornado occurring.  Now you take notice of whatever building you're in, figuring where you're gonna hide if the shit goes down. 

Say the shit goes down, and someone notices a Tornado somewhere.  Then they throw up the Tornado Warning. This means that someone has spotted a funnel cloud.  And you need to get your ass to the basement.   At this point, the weather man has taken over your TV completely. .  He’s telling where they're reporting hail, where they're getting lightning strikes and, most important, telling you where the tornados are and where  they its going to be next.  Then they cut away to the lesser weather man, who's being forced to stand outside in the storm and report on it while it's in the process of kicking his ass.  And then they tell you to no, seriously, you really should hide right now.  Especially if you hear something that sounds like a freight train.  And then you freak out. 

And so it goes--gradual icon upgrades, until the weather man takes over your TV completely and tells you to hide for your life. 

So you can imagine my surprise at the way Chicago handled the situation.  No updates all day long.  No icons on the screen.  Just a single report that there may be a tornado somewhere, and then back to your programs.   I guess they just don't get as many bad storms here or something.  Or maybe they figure that the skyscrapers and the lake keep them all away all of the time.  And I suspect that's the case, but come on.  Where's the pageantry?  Where's the guy in a rain slicker broadcasting from under an overpass while wind whips his hair around?  Where's the sure and steady weather man, in the studio, promising to broadcast all night long if that's what it takes, not even flinching when the lights in the studio flicker and almost go out?  I'm just saying.  It could have been better.  Indiana-style.

posted by serenaluchang, 04/21/04 19:37 | link | comments (2)

Tuesday, April 20, 2004

Headache. In my brain. I have been yelled at twice today. And so I'm not gonna work anymore. Nayh. That was the written equivalent of my face, which is screwed up like a toddler who needs her nap.

OK. I wasn't really "yelled" at. I came to work late today, and my CEO noticed, and let me know that she had noticed. She was actually quite pleasant, and it was the first time I've been late, so she wasn't too upset. But she did say, "And I've been telling everyone how proud I am of you," which I keep considering. At times, I’m flattered. Telling everyone? About me? Oh, you. At other times, I'm annoyed. Like, you used to be proud of me, but now that I was late fifteen minutes once it's all over? The romance has ended? At even other times, I'm really annoyed. "Proud"? A) you're not my mom and B) of what? Me answering the phones? Coming to work on time? Either way, can be seen as insulting. I have a master's degree: you should be disappointed that I'm wasting my life working for your company. I mean, she would be if she were really looking out for my interests.

The second person to "yell" at me was a random doctor who called to complain about our tenants. I'm used to such calls, and was all ready to hear him out and get right on it, but he wouldn't talk to me. He first asked for my boss, who was out, then he refused to leave a message, alluding to a "huge emergency taking place right now". He asked to talk to the person right below my boss, I told him it was me, he asked for my title, I gave it ("Property Administrator"), and he said, "Oh, you're just a secretary. I want to talk someone who can do something. No offense."

When I'm really, really angry the back of my neck goes cold. And my hands sweat. And I get dizzy from the stress of not screaming/crying/hitting things. So the dizziness was intense as I continued to listen to this ass talk. Such an ass. So I'm seething, and he keeps telling me about how people are using his dumpster and now he has their trash which has their social security numbers so he's got em! He's got em! For dumping trash in the improper receptacle! The bastards!

I gave him my boss' cell phone number and got rid of him. But I was still really very quite angry. Because he totally insulted my position. He insinuated that I couldn't do anything, by virtue of my rank in this company. And I'm so pissed at him because I kind of agree. I think I have a shit job with shit for responsibility. But I also think that I'm a glorious, special, gleaming example of a person who deserves so much more. I'm not a secretary. I'm a Property Administrator, goddamnit. I sign my own name to letters I send out. So I'm gonna burn down his house. No. That would be wrong. I'm gonna follow him home tonight. Wait, gas is too expensive ($2.20). I'm gonna...bitch on the internet. Yeah. That's the ticket.

And tomorrow is secretary's day and I'm feeling ambivalent. Part of me wants a gift because, you know, presents are fun. Part of me doesn't want a damn thing because receiving a gift on secretary's day would then make me a secretary. Maybe if I get gifts accompanied with cards that say, "You're not a secretary."

posted by serenaluchang, 04/20/04 21:42 | link | comments (5)