collage

Dead men tell no tales

I thought I posted this on March 25th, but I guess it didn’t go through. Well, here goes:

Three weeks ago, Katherine and I stayed behind at the office to work on our presentations that were due the following week. To burn the midnight oil and keep on track, we’d call each other every now and then to see how we were doing.

Once 9:30 p.m. came around, I picked up the phone, dialed Katherine’s extension and, without greeting, said, “Man, working at the State House feels like Davy Jones’s locker.” We laughed. Because it was true.

As I said those words, I pictured the Flying Dutchman from Spongebob Squarepants hovering over the State House in his green menacing glow, as though holding us back from going home.

I took to making a rendition of it that night as a way to capture the moment. I added the flowers and wash of green this past weekend.

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humor

Laundry woes

I was downstairs in the dining room when I noticed that the house was oddly quiet. Low and behold, I forgot to set the washer, leaving my clothes soaking for more than an hour (we have an old school Maytag).

My mind immediately thought of this scene in The Emperor’s New Groove, which pretty much sums up how the conversation went inside my head. It seems I have an affinity toward this movie. This is my second meme in reference to it.

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quick write

A budget, analyzed

I’m afraid I’ve been overthinking my blog posts lately, and I seem to be stuck. So here’s a Dilbert cartoon my coworker Amanda introduced me to the other day that summarizes our job quite well.

I laughed just now thinking about how odd it is that I’m a budget analyst by profession. Even now it doesn’t make sense. It’s quite hilarious, actually.

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humor

You’ve been warned

Looking through my bank statement, I saw an uncanny $120 be withdrawn from my bank account.

I looked into it. The culprit? The New Yorker.

I never cancelled my discounted subscription, knowing full well this time would come. Despite my mental notes to cancel and despite my calendar reminders, I ignored it, turned away.

And so, I sit here, laughing and crying with fists in the air, looking up at the sky asking, “Why, God? Why?!”

But it was me.

And now, with $120 less in my account, I count the ways in which I could have spent this money: new running shoes, books, maybe even some cool new socks. Anything but a subscription.

And so, for this next year, I will be receiving The New Yorker in the mail. Technically, it’s not a bad thing. I’ll have more material to work with and many more cartoons to look at.

But it cost me. It cost me a pretty penny.

So, with that said, be wary of lingering subscriptions.

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