Dispatch from this side of the Desk.

Scene: I am dipping a Godiva Chocolate Egg that Little Boss brought in for me into my coffee mug, resulting in a coffee-gooey chocolate morsel which I then put in my face causing melty chocolate to linger on my lips and fingertips. New Guy walks up to hand me a receipt for mileage for some business trip, and looks at me quizzically. It takes me a few swallows before I can even answer. "You caught me eating chocolate," I say. "No Problem," say New Guy, who I think considers me kind of a retarded little sister.

Man, the work is piling up today. That doesn't mean I won't be blogging, it just means I'll be feeling that much more guilty as I'm searching back issues of Real Simple as the emails from Big Boss crowd into my inbox.

This just in: FedEx Guy is no longer "name unknown"; his name is Mike. And of course, due to the nature of our relationship, he not only knows my name, but how to spell it (unlike some close friends of mine).

And now for the crux of the post:

Jonathan Safran Foer, despite your intermitent vegetarianism (sorry cupcakes, can't find a link to the essay he wrote for Real Simple, you'll have to look it up the old-fashioned way: like, paper and stuff. Beware of paper cuts, moisterize first!), you know you will always have a prominent spot on my list of Jews I'd Like to Screw [a series of haikus possibly soon to be published by me in pamphlet form, you know, kind of like Thomas Paine's Common Sense except ... okay, actually, nothing like Tom Paine's Common Sense]. Still, we can't help but feel the tiny bit jealous at your success, literary and now real estate. Gawker captures our sentiments exactly. Does the large back yard at your new place mean you'll be walking your dog less in Prospect Park? This is going to put a damper on future stalking attempts.