Yesterday, my friend, Stacey, reminded me of a conversation we had while working together at an ad agency:
Her: "Would you eat a plate of poop if it meant you would be skinny the rest of your life?"
Me: "Whose poop?"
Which we followed up with lunch at Chicken Out. (Our preferred lunch spot over "Repressed, Closeted Chicken.")
Speaking of jobs, I have always had this fantasy of starting a new job and at the first function that included guests, I'd bring my husband and make sure he met and talked to as many people as possible. Then, at the next function, I'd bring someone who is his complete physical opposite (Gary Coleman, perhaps) and say to my new co-workers, "You remember my husband, right?" I'd repeat this scenario with a woman, an albino, Siamese twins...or until I got fired.
"Working" for a living,