From an unnamed production office for an undisclosed television show in an address-withheld building in LA where the elevators are shockingly slow...
I have a dog. He is the cutest dog in America.
He had to go to the vet today unexpectedly. So I came to work at 10:30, played my word in my ongoing Scrabble game with my coworker, and then left my office (I would have told my boss, but the most valuable workers' absences are never noticed, so I just pretended I was going to the bathroom and then ran to the elevator) to go home to pick the dog up. When I got back to my office around 1 o'clock, I ran into three of my coworkers making good on our morning's genius idea: They were leaving to drink beer! For St. Patrick's Day! Because that makes it fully OK! I mean- Two of them were wearing green shirts... and they're boys. If participating in the color scheme of a holiday doesn't entitle a man to day-drink I don't know what does. And I, too, felt entitled, having already logged a solid thirty minutes of desk time already for the day. So we all set off across the street to a very famous Irish bar: Marie Callender's.
The beer on the right is my (first) Guiness. The beer on the left is my coworker's. He ordered a Corona, and then quickly added that he wanted the bartender to put green dye in it. Because just drinking a Corona in the middle of a Wednesday would have been inappropriate. This was a necessary and passionate celebration of snakes or clovers or recorder-like flutes or something. Anyway, we drank until we all rushed back to get our things in order to go to a 3 o'clock meeting. I got my things all in order. If you consider my things to be giggling and not contributing. And now I am sleeping.