"So, where do you get off?"

Anytime someone mentioned an office romance I'd snort and roll my eyes. Puleeze. I tried that once, and came close to plucking out my eyeballs with paperclips. It's like pouring A-1 sauce over your naked body and getting airdropped into San Quentin. Your office cubicle dwellers, half-crazed with boredom and mediocrity, devour you and your sex life limb from limb. No thanks. But what about--Office Building romance? Share an elevator, but not a 401(k) plan? Share a lobby coffee shop, but not 'Jeans Day' on Fridays? Perfect, I thought. I'll actually have a reason to get up in the morning, while those gossip-hungry fuckers would be left discussing "Lost" over non-fat Lattes.

Hmmm...not quite. Things with Tyler the ad agency dude didn't go quite well as planned--he came on super strong, we went out, we screwed, and he vanished. This admirable behavior turned me into psycho-stalker bitch. I visited that damn coffee shop 8 times a day until my caffeine-addled nerves were screaming for mercy. I took up smoking, just so I could pace the sidewalk, waiting for that chance encounter. Oh, not pretty. Avert your eyes. Unfortunately, my coworkers didn't, as they decided to get another round of lattes right at the moment I had my chance-encounter-meltdown on Tyler the Ad dude in front of the sugar/creamer station. I slunk back to the office, knowing that I had given the animals enough food for weeks; Lost would be put on the back burner until the season finale. Yippee.