Songs that teach you stuff. |1:41 AM|
Though I knew about this event before this song, this is the best presentation of events I've ever been exposed to, thus far. Dig on the Arrogant Worms' The War of 1812
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Wednesday, November 20, 2002
Important Conversational Development |4:02 PM|
I sometimes have to converse with the printer techs in an official capacity, as their dispatcher, I often have to pass along key information regarding their calls.
On legality and other issues |11:02 AM|
I posted bond today. Not bail, bond, as I wasn't arrested. This was about as much fun as having teeth pulled by a team of spazming gorillas. After I got done pleading not guilty and signing a bunch of forms, it became clear that simply throwing money at this problem isn't going to make it go away. Later today, I'm going to call the Texas Bar, and see if they have any names to suggest for lawyers that deal in stupid crap like this. I've got about a grand or so that I can throw down that hole, because at this point I'm not going to replace any of the stuff that's falling apart in my house until I get this taken care of.
I was looking forward to replacing my bed of 4 years ($60? That's not bad for 4 years) as well as replacing my covers. Same as the old, I wanted Egyptian cotton sheets, and I had the cash.
No new computer hardware (duh) no new dishes.
When I mentioned all this to my co-workers while we were slaving away in the warehouse, Vid spoke aloud the very thing I was thinking.
"It's not like killing your wife, you can't pay to get out of it."
For chrissakes, this all comes down to some damn paperwork. I'm going to collect all the information I have, call the bar, get a lawyer, and end this. I've got a court date in January, but I actually feel pretty damn good for once. Every step I take nowadays is away from terrible financial burdens, legal troubles, and general mayhem. Despite the long wait until next year, and the life consuming printer roll out, I'm feeling pretty good. Well, other than the stomach discomfort I picked up this evening.
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Monday, November 18, 2002
Paper Cut Heaven |8:01 AM|
Over this weekend I worked enough overtime to feed a starving 3rd world country family for a year. Well, probably a bit less. Sadly for this unnamed family I have to spend this money on bills. And car insurance. It's the man keeping us both down, 3rd world starving family.
The work was almost completely warehouse based. Two co-workers and I had an assembly line for the printer stands we'll be needing for the enormous rollout of brand spanking new multifunctions (Whoopty Shit!) here at my job site. I was unloading the multi-part boxes, Vid was putting on the little feet, and Will B. was attaching the holding bolts. Relatively mindless crap interspersed with a pallet jack race, a visit to a custard based fast food joint and about 2 dozen paper cuts. I am now quite skilled with a box opening razor, which really means I don't miss the tape very often, and haven't cut myself at all.
At some point today I'll be looking into a fork lift certification so that I can drive The Mad Hog (As its employee attached label says is its name).
I'm probably some tiny bit stronger after all this fuss, but no closer to a blasted six pack.
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Sunday, November 17, 2002
Burning, high tension. |4:05 AM|
What the fuck temperature is it? Ball-numbing is what my personal thermometer says, but that's only a recent reading. Earlier this evening I was quite content in my yuppie scum outfit of polo shirt and khakis. I was at a party, and chilling (but not cold-ing) with various partygoers, our breath visible and our scant winter clothing stretched across as much skin as possible. Well, them, not me. I was fine until right near the end of the party.
Met a nice woman, Cari, we talked for a long damn time. The problem was all the other guys walking up to her and trying to hit on her, (yes, just as I was) but being either total idiots or just coming on to damn strong. Luckily Cari was shutting them down, and I was picking off the stragglers. That's about when a buddy of mine showed up. He was drunk well past the point of believability and was currently inhabiting his own Dionyssian myth of booze. It was when he started sniffing Cari and saying to her "I want him to make you squeal" and gesturing at me that was my clue to get him to the car.
I had already gotten her phone number, and so Vorpal and I loaded the above mentioned dude and drunkards (I had another drunkard, for a total of 3 actual drunkards) into my car, and sped off into the night. Successful party, highlighted in the car by Eric yelling "How the hell did I get blood on my pants...again? Now I need to get blood out of these pants....AGAIN!" We told him it must have something to do with his Marine's training. There was probably a dead commie child molester in the bushes that Eric didn't remember nullifying.
I have an incredible idea for a musical instrument. Using high voltage high tension wire (without the electricity coursing through it at the time) build a harpsichord that can be heard for miles. I think it'd be a BITCH to tune, or replace broken wires, but it'd be bad ass.
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