Poor Pluto. Weird ass Simpson. Yay Plan B. More coffee, actual sentences.
Natter 46: The FIGHTIN' 46
Off-topic discussion. Wanna talk about corsets, duct tape, or physics? This is the place. Detailed discussion of any current-season TV must be whitefonted.
When I was in seventh or eighth grade, I bought this book that was just a bunch of blank pages for one to write in. I decided to do a parody of Reader's Digest. One of my stories was called "Drama in Real Life - Stranded on Pluto" which was completely silly and absurd. (I don't remember much of it, but I think there were Crunchberry bushes on Pluto.)
In school I was somewhat of an underachiever/slacker, so my teacher told me I shouldn't write in my book until I had all my homework done. So to this day I blame him for stifling my creative ambitions, rather than blame myself for being a lazy-ass.
Today's imponderable question: how did there get to be so much cat hair inside my refrigerator?
Where's the cat? Where's Casper, in relation to the cat?
Heh. I'm pretty sure it's happened over the mumblemumble months (um, years?) since I last wiped out the fridge, not in one incident. But damn, that's a lot of hair to mysteriously drift in.
So very cranky today.
People keep coming up to me and demanding I solve their problems right away, even though nobody has a clue what's wrong.
So very cranky today.
Yeah, uhuh. Me. Too.
At least, so far, my manager isn't bearing down on me with the rest of the world.
But it's still early.
My manager ditched to day. Right now I'm supposed to be in a meeting that I learned about 20 minutes ago. I decided that sustenance was more important.
I'm about to pass out, waiting for my free lunch.
Jesse, stop waiting--there's no such thing.
My manager's back after two days out. Back to me running into her office and begging for more information, if not actually protection.
We shall see how it turns out.