A stack of paper in search of a paperweight

At the outset let it be noted that I would normally be working as I take my job uber-seriously, (as we all do up here of course) but the EPJ has been on me all morning about updating things on here. Each burst of frantic typing from my corner has been met with the same query from the EPJ's corner.

"Germs, are you blogging?"

"No, I am working. Quite diligently, I might add, on important county business," is my always immediate and unchanging reply.

"Well, let me know when you are blogging so I can read the update," is her always immediate and unchanging reply.

"I'll get right on it, chief." Note: I don't really call her chief but probably should because things always go more smoothly when I reference Get Smart.

So because I'd really hate for the EPJ not to know what's going on in her very own backyard that she herself has observed, herein is my account having not seen her yard since before the heavy equipment was delivered: it is a mess of biblical proportions.

As of this morning it finally has stopped raining but the ground is little more than a sludgy mix of grass, dirt and water. It will probably be that way for some time so she can accept it and move on to another matter of cosmic insignificance or she can moan about her pure, dumb luck. Thus far, guess which one she's chosen.

Starving children in Ethiopia know just how she feels to be ticked at the weather. Of course, the irony is that they don't get any rain at all. But there's always the chance that Madonna will pop into one of their villages and whisk one of them away to a life of unlimited food, clothing and nannies. Alas, I'm pretty sure the EPJ has virtually no chance of being Madge's latest fashion accessory; it's boring small-town domesticity for her from here on out. So I guess it all balances out.

In unrelated, but no less fascinating, EPJ news, I was giving her the rundown of mine and Christopher's latest game of Scrabble courtesy of Facebook. She asked who was winning and I said, per usual, me. Eh, Christopher? But mentioned that neither of us was having that great of a game and getting bogged down with crap letters leading to crap words leading to crap scores. The one bright spot I somewhat embarrassingly added was that I played the "O" word for a whopping 31 points. (For the non-Scrabblephiles, 31 points is a decent, if not amazing play) Figuring that would be enough detail and we could quickly move on to other things, I was almost immediately disappointed.

EPJ: "The O word? What's that, oval?" Now, if she was me, I'd give her points for being clever. Alas, she's not and well...she's just not. I keed.

Me: (incredulous and leading) "Yes, oval. I was too polite to say oval and therefore referred to it as 'the 'O' word. No, the big O. And not Oscar Robinson. The O word. You know the word I mean. I know how you love Oprah." My eyes roll back in my head.

EPJ: (excitedly) "Oh, Oprah. Yeah."

Me: (annoyed) "No, not the word Oprah." I begin dialing up Maureen. My eyes roll back further.

EPJ: (totally perplexed) "Octopus."

Me: (ignoring the EPJ, talking to Maureen) "You know what the big "O" is right? The "O" word."

Maureen: "Uh, no. You mean like a bad word?"

My eyes roll further back still. I think I see my brain stem. Hello, brain.

The EPJ is still occasionally shouting out random words that begin with O. Octagon, oasis, oligarchy, obsequious, etc. (Who am I kidding? No one would believe she would shout out oasis.) At this point, I began cursing the makers of Scrabble for ever leading me down such a road and why was I so pulled by the promise of a mere 31 points. And why, oh why, did I even bring it up? Can't I turn back time just this once? I decide forget it, I'm going home, I quit, I'm moving to Ethiopia, when suddenly Maureen announces she's got it. Lo and behold, so does the EPJ. Hallelujah. But before I can throw my hand up and say, "Yes, that one. I was embarrassed to play it. No need to say it. Hence the past 30 minutes. I hate my life." The EPJ lets fly.

EPJ: (confident and unashamedly) "Oh, orgasm. (pause then helpfully adds) I would have put an s on the end."

I crawl under my desk because I am a male and that is what we do when we hear such words. I also begin to shiver and see plaid. Maureen not to be outdone and apparently thinking there's going to be a prize offers her final answer.

Maureen: (somewhat disappointed) "I thought you meant orgy."

These are the people I work with. We are the guardians of the public teat. God bless us everyone.