I was checking my email this afternoon and found this ad; isn't it great? Doesn't it make you want to go buy some Dove shampoo?
In other news: I've had a financial reprieve. My contract got extended until Christmas, and I'm now working on yet another team at good ol' Jobsite I, the third one since the beginning of October. It's good because this time I'm on the Editorial team, and that's just where I want to be. I'm still hoping they'll just find me so indispensable that they'll just say, "C'mon and stay!"
As for blogging, well, the hormonal fun-fest formerly known as The Miracle of Being a Woman has been making me conk out at around 9:30, and I still have difficulty blogging while I'm asleep. I compose lots, but writing it down is tricky.
Speaking of which (the hormonal fun-fest, that is)...
The Mystery of the Perpetual Motion Feminine Protection Disposal Unit has been solved!
One of the sanitary disposal thingies in the women's washroom has been opening and closing by itself, at regular intervals, for the past three months. The way they're supposed to work is you press on the top, a little drawer opens and then you put your discarded doo-dad into the drawer thing, and then it closes on its own.
But how would it open and close on its own? Was it a balance thing like those birds that used to dip their beaks in a glass of water?
Now I know. Last week a guy strolled by with about 20 of the units on a skid. I figured he must know about these things so I asked him. He said, in a tone that indicated he knew he was about to deliver disappointing news, "It's not magic. There's a little machine in there that does it and that one unit was malfunctioning."
He was right; I was disappointed. But the weirdness of knowing that there's a company out there that makes machines that open and close feminine protection disposal units almost makes up for the disappointment that there was no ghost in that machine.