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Thursday. I'm no fool, no siree...
Apr. 2nd, 2004 01:17 amAnd now for some random ass writin' followed by (and wound around) some really bad free form poetry. You have been warned...
Woke up this morning, running late, and needing to be there on time. Five minutes later, I was heading out the door, with Guster's Amsterdam stuck in my head. Nearly got sideswiped because someone thought that it would be a good idea to swoop into my itty bitty blind spot while changing lanes.
Got to work and jumped in, and not caring, and in a good mood because the boss lady knows that she can kiss my ass, but needs to keep me there. So it was good.
And she is generally nice to me, but you know, sometimes I can be a true asshole about work, and sometimes she can be a mega bitch, but, as much as she gets on my nerves, she's mostly okay. Just the job...
...I danced around the office, and whistled because freaking Amsterdam was still stuck in my head. I call--Guster; I type--Guster; I drink water--Guster; I stand there staring off into space: Guster singing "...when you get lost in Aaaaaaaaammmmmsterdaaaaaam!!!!"
All morning.
I finally had to put it on on the player and blast it on repeat for an hour. Just to burn it out of my inner ear.
It was still there.
*sigh* Good sigh, but jeez. Why couldn't it be the Airport Song? Huh? "You'll be selling books at the airport!" But I really like Amsterdam, but sheesh, you know? Sheesh? At least it manages to fit in with all the Brit-pop that I have on my work hardrive.
Got done today without killing anyone. Which is *always* a lovely day. Feasted on junk for lunch:
Hot Dog!
Corn Dog
Corn Dog Two!
Seven Up, Water
And Three Twinkies too!
The end of the day was marked by the sugary wonder that is Twinkie yellow, cream filled goodness and running around.
Got home in record record, and wrote some for game tomorrow, but not as much as I need to get done, soooo, yes, it's going to be crazy mad stupid stuff right before running game. Yay.
Jet up to Hollyweird/LA to The Kibbitz room at Canters for drinks with the sweet and lovelies![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cruciverbalist and iamnight. Two cute women, fun conversation, good gnoshing, and booze. yeah, a good evening. (Ladies, I want a rematch--"this time it's personal"). I think that I talked too much, but what else is new? Pretty girls, booze and food, and I'm set for WIRED! But it was a good time (at least from my POV), and a total pleasure to hang with Maggie and Deb. Yay them!
And the bartenders are funny and friendly, and Eric (that's the blonde bartender guy) is like a big high school kid with a license to pour booze! Nice guy.
Carebears are scary, Carebears are nice. Carebears on Fox are deadly, so watch on tuesday nights.
Said goodbyes and then got in the car and took the long way back to a freeway, blasting Suede and Frank Sinatra all the way! Made it onto the 110 and watched the little lights go further and further away into the night.
Did the finger toothbrush thing in the car. Just a bit of advice: Never spit out the window when you're doing 85mph. Yeah, spitting is nasty, but 1)I had a mouth full of toothpaste and 2) My grandma taught me how to spit, so I'm proud of it. But at 85, no spit is safe. NONE. But amazingly, it went out about a foot before caught in the slipstream. But still Yurg.
Pulling into the home stretch is always weird. Always. It's like someone pulled the plug on the sound and turnded down all the lights after a party. The best way I can lay it out, is that it's like waking up from a dream that you really didn't want to wake up from. And that's every time I go out.
Coming home from work is different. It's like coming home from a long tiring vacation or trip. It's familiar, and safe, and warm. It's home.
Mom and grandma were unsurprisingly awake, and wanting to talk, blabber, and get me to do things. And I did, and I still do.
But now they are softly snoring, and I'm falling asleep. I will write more later. About something. if it's only about the lack of belly button lint on the open market.
Or about me being content with being a Jack of All Trades and Master of none. Or something like that there.
Woke up this morning, running late, and needing to be there on time. Five minutes later, I was heading out the door, with Guster's Amsterdam stuck in my head. Nearly got sideswiped because someone thought that it would be a good idea to swoop into my itty bitty blind spot while changing lanes.
Got to work and jumped in, and not caring, and in a good mood because the boss lady knows that she can kiss my ass, but needs to keep me there. So it was good.
And she is generally nice to me, but you know, sometimes I can be a true asshole about work, and sometimes she can be a mega bitch, but, as much as she gets on my nerves, she's mostly okay. Just the job...
...I danced around the office, and whistled because freaking Amsterdam was still stuck in my head. I call--Guster; I type--Guster; I drink water--Guster; I stand there staring off into space: Guster singing "...when you get lost in Aaaaaaaaammmmmsterdaaaaaam!!!!"
All morning.
I finally had to put it on on the player and blast it on repeat for an hour. Just to burn it out of my inner ear.
It was still there.
*sigh* Good sigh, but jeez. Why couldn't it be the Airport Song? Huh? "You'll be selling books at the airport!" But I really like Amsterdam, but sheesh, you know? Sheesh? At least it manages to fit in with all the Brit-pop that I have on my work hardrive.
Got done today without killing anyone. Which is *always* a lovely day. Feasted on junk for lunch:
Hot Dog!
Corn Dog
Corn Dog Two!
Seven Up, Water
And Three Twinkies too!
The end of the day was marked by the sugary wonder that is Twinkie yellow, cream filled goodness and running around.
Got home in record record, and wrote some for game tomorrow, but not as much as I need to get done, soooo, yes, it's going to be crazy mad stupid stuff right before running game. Yay.
Jet up to Hollyweird/LA to The Kibbitz room at Canters for drinks with the sweet and lovelies
cruciverbalist and iamnight. Two cute women, fun conversation, good gnoshing, and booze. yeah, a good evening. (Ladies, I want a rematch--"this time it's personal"). I think that I talked too much, but what else is new? Pretty girls, booze and food, and I'm set for WIRED! But it was a good time (at least from my POV), and a total pleasure to hang with Maggie and Deb. Yay them!And the bartenders are funny and friendly, and Eric (that's the blonde bartender guy) is like a big high school kid with a license to pour booze! Nice guy.
Carebears are scary, Carebears are nice. Carebears on Fox are deadly, so watch on tuesday nights.
Said goodbyes and then got in the car and took the long way back to a freeway, blasting Suede and Frank Sinatra all the way! Made it onto the 110 and watched the little lights go further and further away into the night.
Did the finger toothbrush thing in the car. Just a bit of advice: Never spit out the window when you're doing 85mph. Yeah, spitting is nasty, but 1)I had a mouth full of toothpaste and 2) My grandma taught me how to spit, so I'm proud of it. But at 85, no spit is safe. NONE. But amazingly, it went out about a foot before caught in the slipstream. But still Yurg.
Pulling into the home stretch is always weird. Always. It's like someone pulled the plug on the sound and turnded down all the lights after a party. The best way I can lay it out, is that it's like waking up from a dream that you really didn't want to wake up from. And that's every time I go out.
Coming home from work is different. It's like coming home from a long tiring vacation or trip. It's familiar, and safe, and warm. It's home.
Mom and grandma were unsurprisingly awake, and wanting to talk, blabber, and get me to do things. And I did, and I still do.
But now they are softly snoring, and I'm falling asleep. I will write more later. About something. if it's only about the lack of belly button lint on the open market.
Or about me being content with being a Jack of All Trades and Master of none. Or something like that there.
