However, the other new employee has all sorts of ground round going on. I�m sure he�s nice and all, but I�ve yet to actually speak with him. He spends much of his day on the phone in meetings, yakkity-yak-yaking away. Similar to the coworker I call McTalkerson, he has no volume control. McTalkerson is at least social and friendly, even if he does talk about his kid too damn much.

So Yakkity wouldn�t be so bad if he were just on the phone. Sure it�s difficult to edit stuff when you�ve got Yakkity in one ear and McTalkerson in the other, but I�ll make use of my headphones or earplugs. No big deal. They�re doing their jobs, and I can�t ask them to knock it off. Such is the life in an open cube farm.

As you�ve guessed it, that�s not all that�s wrong with Yakkity. Yakkity currently has a cough similar to bronchitis, hacking like a baby seal calling for its mother. Between that and the nose-blowing, there�s more DNA on those tissues than Simpson genetic material around a murder scene.

My entire group has laptops. The big-big boss (who works from home three days a week) lets this one lowly contractor work from home two days a week. My direct report works from home all except one day per week, and the boss above her lives two time zones away. Don�t tell me that he needs to be in the office to do his job.

[As you can imagine, I�m standing right now, waving my finger, saying �no he di�n�t,� in my best attitude-filled voice. He�s half a step away from getting the fist shaking.]

Now, if making me protect my Wheat Thins from one�s airborne mucous and germs wasn�t enough to make me change my name to Grumplestiltskin, he has another habit that grates on my nerves as much as typing �should of� instead of �should have,� sniffing in your snot, and letting your kids run around restaurants while you ignore their ruckus and terror.

The man rubs his legs together. There�s a constant swish-swish-swish from under his desk, and it�s making me nuts. I had a boyfriend in the eighth grade who did that at the lunch table, although I think it may have been to get my hand on his knee to get him to knock it off. He claimed he couldn�t help it, that it was just some tic of his. I likely said something about it and made him cry. He did that a lot. He was a real cry baby.

In the tenth grade I took Spanish, and the drill team captain sat next to me. Although her occasional rubbing never really got to me, on game days all the little dancer girls wore workout suits made of that swish-swish material. And when she�d start rubbing her thighs, the swish-swish was loud-loud-loud. Talk about making me nuts!

I�m sure I have my own annoying habits, but come on now. KNOCK IT OFF WITH THE GERMS AND THE NOISE.

Yes, I�m shaking my fist right now.

In other news, I�ve got an idea for a book. I won�t detail it here since it�s such a good idea and I don�t want any of you quick-writing fools to beat me to it. I�ve done my research (a.k.a., searched Amazon for similar books and what others said about them), and it seems that I�m onto something. I�ve got some reading to do.

Sorry to leave you hanging, but that�s all the info for now.

But let me tell you this... When the book comes out, you�d all better rush to your local bookstore, demand that it be displayed in all its glory, and buy it from there instead of Amazon (buying online doesn�t count towards best seller numbers). And when I�m a famous author and making millions, I�ll sign your books with personal notes and buy you all gold memberships for your Diaryland diaries.

So there. Does that make up for my hush-hushness?

I�m back to managing the project from hell. I finished it up for the last release and delivered it one day early, only to have the big bosses think I did such a good job that I should continue with this.

Can I get an ARGH from the audience, please?

How about a sad sigh then?

[sigh]

Thanks.

All right. It�s time to run. You see the hour, and it�s time for me to jet. Have yourselves a good one. �