A recent exploration of my company’s mostly-generous maternity leave policies had me moping over one thing: they totally keep their laptop when I begin my leave.  Which means, you know, I can’t spontaneously update with pictures of poopy diapers, spit-up soaked shirts, and other things you know you are thirsting for.

So Bryan and I have decided to look into purchasing a laptop for our home.

Thing is, we’re a simple folk.  We don’t need any fancy bells and whistles (Mom, we don’t need a PowerMac), we don’t need gaming capabilities.. we are basically looking for an automatic typewriter that will carry a dynamic IP address.  We need something WiFi capable, but not much else.  A CD burner would be nice, but not entirely necessary.

Those of you who have purchased in the last six months or so, what tidbits of advice do you have?  Or if you yourself have one for sale, hit me up already!

My building is very gray.  I’ve mentioned that before.  We work in a very serious environment, so color is frowned upon. 

My cube, however, is a haven of color and sparkles.  I have mardi gras beads EVERYWHERE, along with tons of pics, cards, and tokens all over my walls.

I left to attend some meetings this morning, and when I got back, a note was waiting on a card that someone had taken down from my wall.  It was a birthday card that Ra had given me some years back, with four ladies looking over the ocean.  This is what they say:

“Look at that beautiful view..”
“Look at that city…”
“Look at the mountains…”
“LOOK!  THERE’S TWO SQUIRRELS DOIN’ IT!”

Naturally, I found this card very amusing.  But a note on top of my card said that someone had found it offensive.  So they took it down.  You know, as if they are subjected to sit and look at it all day.

So I’ve since posted a memo at the door of my cube:

“BE WARNED: this cube contains photographs of theatre folk, monkeys in dresses, pink sparkly things, and tales of squirrely sex.”

That should teach ‘em.

This poses a difficult question: writers naturally elaborate.. it’s what writing is about.  So where do you draw the line between fiction and lies?