10:42 p.m. - 2004-10-21
...We'll get back to them. Sooner or later. But I really want to talk about something else besides my whacked-out, fucked up childhood, okay?
So anyway, stupid shit I've seen this week:
(1) A license plate that said "GODFILL". What the fuck is that? A landfill for Jesus, an invitation to do something pornographic, or something else?
(2) An old lady in a big ol' hat and some big ‘ol sunglasses trying to parallel park her big ol' Oldsmobile. Looked like she had failed at it in the past, too....there was a big bumper chunk missing.
(3) People are still googling boss's day shit. It's over, kids. And planning this far ahead would make you an ass-kisser the likes of which the world has never seen. Other dumb shit people have googled to find me: "buy fat-free coffee mate," "supermodel,yo," and "random life changing epiphany." And yeah, I should probably link those to myself, but I don't feel like it. But feel free to self-Google.
A cool thing: I found my diaryland twin.
In other news, the book club meeting at our office has been moved again, dammit. I really thought I could just make my excuses and get out of the meeting and play when they were reading something interesting, but no...I think everyone else has had the same idea, so it's like this battle of wills. What's really amusing is that the book club leader hasn't read the whole thing yet either. I think only the office dork-critter has. She's one of those people that is just clueless, but has a degree, so thinks she has a clue. Yes, I know, I have a piece of paper too. However, unlike a number of people in the lawyer-groupie field, I don't believe that immediately conferred some knowledge. I prefer to think of it as "adulthood avoidance on the parents' payroll." Office-chick is just flat weird. She's one of those people that just doesn't quite seem to fit together right. She's almost pretty, almost well-dressed, almost articulate...and she almost makes me want to kick her.
GID wants me to read some of his writing again. I don't know why he keeps doing this to me. He never, ever likes what I have to say at all. He's very creative, has some great ideas, but his grammatical and spelling skills leave much to be desired. He really wants to get published, but every time I gently suggest that maybe he needs to run the spell-check, or something, he gets all freaking defensive and tells me it's not an English contest. Maybe it's not. However, the editors are likely English majors who couldn't get published, so they're probably going to be nit-picky about that shit out of pure resentment and spite. I didn't think he was ever going to make me read anything again after my comments on the last batch of stuff, but alas, I was wrong. Super. Which means on Saturday when I hang out with him, we'll be having a stupid argument instead of sex. At 20, I would have loved some shit like this...discussing things, having a "relationship", being all deep, blah, blah, blah. At 30, I just want some regular boo-tay and perhaps an occasional dinner/movie date. That is one of the universe's great jokes...at 20, women want relationships, and men want sex. At 30, women want sex, and men want to "settle down." Hopefully, when we hit 40, men and women will want the same thing: someone who doesn't annoy the living crap out of us.
What did I say about babbling? Clearly, awake is not a prerequisite for that.