Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Dibby Dibby

I hate my boss's cell phone. For those who have kept up with previous work-related posts, I'm talking about Partner-Boss. Because he's the most popular person in the world and has more people trying to get in touch with him than God, it rings ALL THE TIME.

Dibby-dibby-doo-beepa-beepa-dibby-bing (insert pulsing background disco drum beats here).

And he never answers it. Never. Actually, that's not true. I did call him on it this morning and he answered, after which I promptly hung up on him because I figured I had the wrong number.

Dibby-dibby-doo-beepa-beepa-dibby-bing (insert pulsing background disco drum beats here).

If you don't intend to answer it, WHY IS IT ON? So the rest of the world can hear the incessant disco doorbell chime 64 times a day and DANCE??? I think not.

Dibby-dibby-doo-beepa-beepa-dibby-bing (insert pulsing background disco drum beats here).

I'm currently trying to write an instruction manual so that things won't fall apart when I'm gone on maternity leave. I just wrote that sentence to remind myself what exactly I'm trying to accomplish sitting here listening to

Dibby-dibby-doo-beepa-beepa-dibby-bing (insert pulsing background disco drum beats here).

It's not working.

Dibby-dibby-doo-beepa-beepa-dibby-bing-Dibby-dibby-doo-beepa-beepa-dibby-bing-Dibby-dibby-doo-beepa-beepa-dibby-bing!!!!

I need to go home now. Call in the guys in white jackets to tell me why I should stop banging my head on the desk.

Dibby...dibby...doo...

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