To start, someone brought in peanut butter Dove miniatures to work yesterday, and I love him/her for it. HAVE YOU TRIED THESE BECAUSE YOU MUST.
They are basically smaller, richer, higher-ender versions of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, and I am not ashamed to admit that though the latter were once my precioussss, they've become too much for me to handle as of late.
Anyway, as I write this, I am at work. I know, I am a horrible employee, but you would be, too, if there was some famous author-type person (who happens to be a University alum, apparently) doing a reading in the auditorium in the museum, which happens to be right across the hall, and there are people on top of people out there.
Witness my plight:
It's loud and people keep banging up against the glass which results in giving me many mini heart attacks (yet another reason that having a glass office is the work of Lucifer), and so therefore I am thinking about chocolate. Everything seems to go all slow-motiony when I think about chocolate.
I never read The Polar Express as a child, because my parents loved me and we read quality shit instead (I have yet to read it). I mean, did you see the previews for that film? That was some intense eye-fuckery, let me tell you.
And no, I don't rather care if you think that I am dead inside, because I'm sure that I would think the same about you if I heard that you never read Where the Wild Things Are or Goodnight Moon, for fuck's sake.
This is creepy, I win, you lose.
MAKE IT STOP.