My little conference room crew is growing. We got a new guy, so I’m now the only girl with 8 – count ’em, eight – guys. There’s one African-American guy in the bunch, I think he’s probably the only one who gets a vibe for how outnumbered I feel. He & I had dinner together last night, he’s a cool guy. He’s shown me lots of pictures of his kids – he has a 7 year-old son and a 3 year-old daughter – they’re adorable. He told me that I better be sure to give my boyfriend “lots of extra lovin'” on the weekends since he’s taking care of my cat, because that is a task that no man should have to do. Dave seemed to like that idea when I repeated it to him. Heh.
Our project manager made a comment yesterday that if things don’t pick up soon, he’s going to have to cut our team back. It took every ounce of self-control in my body not to scream out, “Me!! Cut me back! Send my ass back to Seattle! I wanna go HOOOOOOOOME!!!!” I think he already knows that I’m homesick from previous conversations we’ve had, so I’m hoping he’ll take that into consideration.
I would talk more about work stuff, but it’s really dull and I don’t want to bore you guys with a rant about how I feel like I’ve become the secretary of the group because I’m the sole female. So instead, we’ll do a tattoo update: it’s in the really icky phase of the healing process. It basically turned into a big scab, and now it’s starting to fall off. Kind of gross to look down in the shower, see lots of flecks of purple and red, and realize that used to be your skin. Eww. I’m putting moisturizer on it constantly, per the tattoo artist’s instructions.
After the icky phase comes the itchy phase. More annoying, but less of a gross-out factor. I’m not sure which I prefer.
I should have more to talk about, but I can’t think of anything. Mostly I just wanted an excuse to look busy at my computer for a few minutes. 32 hours and 15 minutes to go. Whee.