I'm awake...I'm awake |12:53 PM|
Guess I finally got that fever that should have accompanied this cold. Christ, I've been in and out of reality since about the time I last updated. I'm still dressed in the same clothes that I wore to minority report, and my hair is all silly.
I dreamed of an odd post apocalyptic city of artists. It had been established as a bohemian city, lots of art institutes, free art schools, excellent views, lots of coffee bars where you could sit out side, just a nice place. Then a minor apocalypse came. It was unclear what it was, nuclear, biological, (part it was implied that a giant spaced based laser array had fallen into the wrong hands and started fucking everything up). Now you have this city of artists, cut off from most of civilization, and they've all got to get very mad-max about everything. But they're all still painters, sculptors, musicians, that sort of thing. The only real currency in the city is artwork (which posed an issue for me since I'm very technical, and therefore FUCKED on art skills)
So there were a lot of chasers and shoot outs with stereotypical artistic failures. "I dropped my gun" "I loaded it wrong" "I found a pen"
I actually had to trade a really pricey knife just to get a cheap ballpoint pen, since the worth difference in the city was so high.
I was getting dressed yesterday, and when I opened my closet, I noticed my Didjeridu. I was shocked. 'Oh yeah, I have one of those" so I droned on it for a little while. I should get my circular breathing skills down. I bring this up because not 5 hours later I run into another instance of "didjeridu" in a diary entry. It's odd. I'm sure I'll run into it a third or fourth time tomorrow, since that's the way these vibrations seem to happen.
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I need a sphere on my back |1:31 AM|
There is a crude cube scrawled on the back of my hand, hiding a number I had written there earlier. I'll probably have to apologize later for writing that number, but the guy who'd be offended doesn't read this damn thing so he can go to hell for the time being. I wrote the number because my own female seeking habits were called into question after minority report, which I'll bother reviewing for TPL since it looks like we're getting an upswing in viewers and updates.
The reason I was called into question was a female waitress named Korean who works at the Alamo. It has been stated that she has a boyfriend, by her, but in a manner indicating it was some kind of disease. When I walked in today to pick up the tickets, she recognized me, said hello, remembered me from my previous visits. She and I talked for a while about Donnie Darko and the like. The pen broke, drat. I had to stand in line, so I had to kill the conversation.
Oh, I'm still pushing myself as hard as I can, disease wise. I've still got these coughing fits. I coughed all over the area where I thought I would be sitting. Since I didn't have tickets to hold the area, I got kicked out and these complaining type jerks stole the seats. I hope they catch what I have and DIE. I can't stand people who call the cops in at the slightest noise, or call down the wrath of God for their pettiest of issues. Fuckin' talk to people. Christ. What the hell was I talking about? Oh yeah, the cold. I coughed all over my screen, and I thought "I should record one of these damn fits" so I did. Unfortunately, I only got the trailing end of it recorded. Here is me coughing It's pure sex, isn't it?
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Friday, June 21, 2002
Gooooodamn |3:47 PM|
That wild stallion crap from 7-11 is the first "energy drink" since Sobe that I respect. It actually had an affect on me, though the consumption of 64 ounces of it might have something to do with that.
Sixty fucking four ounces. I had no idea 7-11 had a "Double Gulp". That's fucking sick. My boss had to carry one of these ice cold attack-drinks in each hand up the stairs like "some sort of Shao Lin temple test" as he put it. Shit, this much soda should have been illegal. I've been pissing all damn day. I held it in for as long as possible and almost died like Tycho Brahe.
I had a teddy bear named Tycho Brahe. I didn't know how he died until junior high (The astronomer, not the bear) , but I did know he had an iron nose. An iron fucking nose. Sure, he probably couldn't smell worth a damn ('cept the sweet scent of processed mother earth) but I bet he was a beast to fight. "I'll head butt you and you'll fucking die, asshole!" *KLUNK*. Works both ways, since a head butt is usually your forehead and their nose. So if someone head butts him, they fucking lose, and if he pecks them with his nose, they still fucking lose. Goddamn, I'm wired wired wired.
I'm catching a late show of "Minority Report" at the drafthouse. Maybe that Kooorin girl will be there. Shit, I have to be suave and not a fucking dork. I might be in trouble.
Once was weasel |8:29 AM|
Things that are cheering me up:
My paycheck was a bit larger than I was expecting. It seems I had some vacation time after all. Into the chasm of debt with you, paycheck!
My daisy plant is still thriving. Huzzah! Now if only the damn sunflower would grow.
I finally taught my cat to stop drinking out of the bathtub. It's likely she'll vomit less now, as that soapy water wasn't good for her.
There's a new geeky looking female in my building. I was talking to Vid when I saw her, and I was immediately no longer part of the conversation. I was awe struck, walking became a lot easier. She passed me on the stairs and went outside, and I watched her go for a few seconds. Feeling light as a cloud, I went back to work with a permanent grin on my face. Yes, she was that cute.
Today is friday, and I'm excited at the prospect of not being at work.
I've got my folks' mixer, so I can make more stuff in the kitchen than usual. Go Go $400 mixer!
My electric bill was a mere $176 this month. I think I need to weather strip. It is teaching me how to walk around my apartment with very little on and how to sleep in just boxers.
I had a dream that I was at a Natural Wonders type store, and that the telepathic fish they were selling were singing to me. The cops were not amused. There was more to it than that, but hey, who cares besides me?
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Thursday, June 20, 2002
Apply yourself |11:00 AM|
Found out that an old grade school teacher didn't actually hate me. I hadn't thought about her in ages, but my little sister brought her up again. Mrs. Strunk. She had a lot of eye makeup on every day, and used to give me such hell for being the fuckup I was. When my sister brought her up, I mentioned something about how much crap she put me through. I had always assumed she disliked me, and my mother told me differently. It seems that from the year I had Mrs. Strunk as a teacher and forward, Strunk would always ask my mom about my progress, saying how she really worried about my performance.
Gosh. She really did mean well after all.
I was such a fuck up in school, I got kicked out of computer class constantly, I was yelled at every day for this or that. I was always told that I should be "applying myself".
Sheesh
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More important things |12:13 AM|
Stopped talking to another friend of mine who I know online. We had a disagreement, and I don't think we're really going to find common ground. It's unfortunate. At this rate, I'm going to be left just typing to the void, and Vid, who reads my blog at work to know if I'm sick in the head or about to hit him or something.
So, who's next for me to lose?
Speaking of people I know strictly on the internet, a guy who I only know of through a forum is experiencing tragedy. His girlfriend was in a car accident, details are unclear. I'm torn, in my reaction. A while ago I was taken in by an all-too perfectly tragic story of love, then loss by a car accident. However, I'm standing by my first actions in both cases, and that is to offer whatever support I can. Who cares if it's a joke, okay, I'm the sap. Good, that means some poor couple isn't being torn apart by random chance. I'll happilly be the sap if that means these things didn't happen.
I don't have anything to complain about, yet again. I'm not evicted, my power is on for the month, I have enough chow mein to kill a humpback whale. I just have to keep it all in alignment.
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Wednesday, June 19, 2002
Random Jibber jabber |12:46 PM|
At work I have to walk past the Direct Home Sales cubicle area to get outside for smoke/fresh air breaks. The only attractive women that I and my coworkers see in the course of the day are usually located in this area. One of them, this not-unattractive woman, was standing near the door to the outside. I bring her up only because she had the pointiest damn breasts I have ever seen. Not pointy like "torpedo tits" from the 1950's, pointy like the pyramids at Giza. Pointy like a huge fleshy thumbtack. I don't know if she purchased a special bra to do this, and if she did, what possessed her? Was she standing in the dressing room and thinking to herself "Yes, I want to gouge out eyes with these, this is perfect."?
On a slightly less frivolous note Lampshade had a link to this woman's diaryland page, a woman called ladeeleroy. I was moved by some of her writing and very amused by her current article (about the stages of crying). I'm going to keep an eye on her, she seems very interesting.
I've had the A HA song "Take on me" in my head most of the day at this point. I've actually got a wrench on my desk, that I was flipping around earlier until it hit (of course) my nipple ring. Fuck. Maybe I can convince zusty to find the MP3 for me.
I'm feeling much less sick after lunch. My nose is still runny. Who the hell decided that our noses should run to indicate illness? This is disgusting.
Had a customer misspell "Scheduled" two different ways in the same trouble ticket. Scheduel the first time and schedul the second. Could you at least throw a second D in there?
Had another moron reading entirely the wrong sign to me about the printer.
Me:"What does the tag say the IP address of the printer is?"
Cus: "It's an HP"
Me: "No, the IP, it's on the label, it'll start with 10.29.something"
Cust:"PS2-G1.3"
Me: !?
Jazz bar hell |10:50 PM|
I just woke up from a bizarre dream in which I was back in school. It was time for the final, and the only thing they cared about is how much I knew about the song "The Girl from Ipanema". They wanted me to write out the lyrics, the notes, and the proper timing in seconds. Not only could I not remember the words, I had forgotten how to draw notes, and the damn treble clef thing, and pretty much everything else. Everyone in the room seem to be plowing away at this task, and so I just sat there doodling little stick figures in a jazz club until I woke up.
Skunk Dodging |11:35 AM|
Vorpal asked me "Can't you stay in this city just 5 little minutes?". He was joking, but I did pack up and leave for Dallas a mere 3 days after returning from Vegas. I've now gotten my road trip fix for the month. As I was driving, I noticed a greater than usual number of cars by the side of the road. It planted the seed of a story that I'll probably never write, some kind of foul hitchiker disabling his ride's car and then needing to move on through the night. I didn't have to deal with many dear, but so many damned skunks decided to end it all beneath truck tires last night. I got in mere hours before needing to be at work.
I'm beginning to be really bothered by some stupid crap at my job. The answering voice on the voicemail system, the use of "nogo" in everyone's trouble tickets, and the abuse of ellipses. This is a sign of trouble, and I'll have to just relax. Speaking of jobs, I should be getting a call today at some point about an interview at Blockbuster. Whoopty fucking do. I've got a friend shooting for a 911 operator and I wish him all the best. I'm not so much envious, as I am disappointed in myself, but the fact he's going for it makes me proud of him.
My boss is talking about blowing his brains out again. Christ we're a mess.
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