Eh, Phil's not very stressed at all. To the contrary. But he doesn't try to beat the house, just fleece the pigeons.
Phil's one of DH's favorites. He seems like he knows what he's doing. I'm talking about the total boom & bust guys. Or the hardened oldtimers who've spent time living in an RV in the parking lot of the South strip casinos.
For some guys, they can gut out a reasonable and fun living. It's obviously all about the personality of the individual gambler. Some people were made for it. Others are risk averse and it wouldn't be a wise career path. Of course this is coming from someone married to an actuary, so take that for what it's worth.
Ok, I really am gonna choke a bitch.
One of my co-workers just came up to me and asked me a question. And then said, "I never realized you had a uni-brow."
WTF??
I haven't waxed them in about 6 weeks, but shit. They aren't THAT bad.
One of my co-workers just came up to me and asked me a question. And then said, "I never realized you had a uni-brow."
they said that out loud?
of course the proper response is "and I never realized that you have a death wish"
What I said was, "I never realized you look like Eddie Munster."
Wow, that's, um. Appalling?
People are unspeakably rude, aren't they?
What??? WTF is wrong with people, I ask you?
In a similar -- but MUCH LESS OFFENSIVE -- vein, why does the finance woman care if the admin staff are all done with lunch by 3pm? How does that hurt her?
I think moron co-worker was just stunned to find anything even
resembling
a flaw.
And needs to die.
He seems like he knows what he's doing.
He does. He can give you the odds on every hand on the table at every turn. His only real flaw is that he's too aggressive in his play. Except that's not really a flaw, since the two major tournaments he won required him to pull some long shot card out of his behind.
I forgot to mention that Daisy's sister is one hella cute elf.
Holy shit, they're taking down the shelving outside my office and it's like orangutans are loose in a sheet metal factory.
Holy fuck, I still feel like I want to die. I can't take enough drugs, because the only painkiller I have with me is Excederin, and I can't handle much more caffeine. I would go home myself, except I have a class at 6 that I've skipped twice, and the prof has cancelled twice, so I figure I'd better go. But oh man, all I want to do is curl up and die.
Still no sign of my boss. (Edit: Except, as soon as I hit "Post message," I heard his crazy laugh.)
