Am I a part of the cure, or am I part of the disease...
CAVEAT JUST IN CASE: Nothing I say here before, now, or ever is in anyway a reflection of the SDCC Inc. All personal views. Suck on THAT, lawyer-types!
I should be tired right now, but I'm not. So let me yappity my flap about work in this space for a bit, yeah? LIKE YOU HAVE A CHOICE. KNEEL, BIATCH!
*Went in today with Dad, which saved me about 15 minutes of sleep (least in theory). We talked a little on the trolley coming up but it was early and my end of the ride is shorter.
*Worked the AOA today, in bits and pieces. No Hef today. BOO. Again I was the breaker, which means everyone goes for breaks much longer than they should, eventually breaking your mind and soul until you decide to break them with a baseball bat. IN THE FACE. I eventually got my breaks and all but the wait seems interminable sometimes, especially with nothing going on. Big moment came when it went down around 10; the cattle call began around quarter till so I was standing in the middle of the hall yelling "HELLO! REGISTRATION IS RIGHT BEHIND ME, ALL SEMINARS UPSTAIRS, THE TIME IS (FILL IN TIME) SO YOU'RE STILL EARLY!" A few folks seemed to appreciate it, and I helped out a lot of folks with general layout knowledge and the occasional shortcut. So that's good for me. Spent lunch finishing rereading Lawrence Block's Small Town (fan of his whole ouevre, this is one of the best 3) just sitting in a corridor. The job itself's going pretty well; well enough to the point my bosses are dancing around about my hire like they found the cure to monkeypox, AIDS, and it was sitting under a pile of free HBO.
*And now for the ANGRY portion of the day: walking the lobby where the eye folks were, I look to my left and say hello to some tourist. There is Dickhole. Here is a transcript.
Me: *shocked look*
Dickhole: *points at his eyes* *points at me* *walks away*
Me (internally): Wow, I'd really love to take this radio and just CRAM IT into your forehead until you had a cerebral hemmorage and shit your Transformers underoos, you tubby worthless sack of fuck. Then to make sure the radio stayed in there, I'd beat it home with a barbed wire 2x4 just to make sure every trace of your worthless life was eradicated from you--at least before I started sliding leeches down the 2x4 so they could feast on the worthless pink Star-Trek trivia collection h@X0r l33t chat you built in 1983 between your ears you dare call a brain. You've got your eye on me? In a non-suck world, I'd have my eyes on you being my own PERSONAL FUCKING HANDPUPPET, you corpulent bag of freshly generated circle jerked boy band jizz punk-ass bitch motherfucker.
Last paragraph came out as an =-O, but the thought--the violent, violent thought counts. I'm pretty sure if I keep not pissing people off and the bosses like me; if he keeps testing me I may just get him fired by the Fourth, do the I'VE got my eye on YOU and then the get your Episode II Collector's Edition STINK the FUCK out of MY convention hall! MOVE IT, LARDASS! thumb gesture towards one of the exits. *deep cleansing breath that pushes out the jive and brings in the love*
*For the following I got paid enough to buy a DVD during the lull of the day: wander. lunch. wander. break. (chocolate cake with ORANGE F'N ZEST. BOW.) wander. So it isn't all busy time and staring at all the hot optometry bitches.
*And now, an optometry joke that's only a punchline. "...so the cyclops says to the doctor, whaddya MEAN I'm not half-price?!" It played to mixed reviews. I may have to work on it.
*Going home was the stuff of dreams. I hit the connections like Jason Kidd hit Joumanna after being reminded two tries, no rings: bing, bam, boom. Total ride was 45 minutes and that really should be halved due to me having to wait about 10 for the first leg and walking 10 minutes. (Traffic's crazy out here; my brother's high school's having graduation across the street as I type. Figured I was better off getting two blocks away and hoofing then taking the chance of being on the main throughfare the hour before a graduation.) Girl on the bus was an Osman dream/lawsuit/jail time come to life: Latina, pouty lips, black Filas with white laces, this sort of tiger-striped blue jeans thing where it was DARKER blue stripes on blue, low-cut black keeping the twins barely in line. Rock 3:16--if she looks 20, and she's 16...
*So, that's it. I wanted to start the Maxim but I've been busy between riding with dad and this great cover story in the San Diego Reader about the various kinds of hackers that I haven't gotten around to it. I mean, what a bastard I am; famous babes like Lucy, Cameron and Drew getting all dolled up, probably on their day off, saying salacious things and hopefully teasing on-set lesbianism, looking hotter than the Vegas strip in August at noon less the shade, and I'm all "Ooh, let me read this article about computers." SHAME. What a fucking quandry. (And how proud my English teachers must be, bludgeoning a $5 word like quandry with the f-bomb right in front.)
*Uh, I'm doing stuff later: watching Smackdown kinda, the SCRUBS~~~~ rerun. I get a later bedtime tonight; tomorrow it's off to the library early to give back to the community, then back home to sleep like it's air.
That all, that all...
Foot on the pedal, never, ever touch metal, engine running hotter than a boiling kettle...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment