Title: "Can you feel your feet?" "... If I really, really concentrate."
You know, I think I drink too much Coke. I really do. I've had two 20 ounce bottles just tonight, not to mention all the crap I drank yesterday. Hmm. Is this bad? Am I going to wake up one of these days without a kidney? Oh well; it seems to be one of my addictions that I can't control. Kind of like my Net habit, come to think of it. Heh.
I have two words for you: alt.angst. Hours of quality entertainment, I tell you. The nice thing about Usenet is that you can always find someone with a life more pathetic than your own.
I had a weird dream last night. Well, actually I had several weird dreams, but the one I remember involved one of the manager-wanna-be's from work. This guy is one of the biggest butt-kissers I have ever had the misfortune to run across. Truly. He's a suit masquerading as a geek, and doing it poorly, I might add. I dreamed this idiot was a pilot in the Air Force -- a captain going for major, who was emphasizing to me, the enlisted troop, that I wasn't going to screw up his chances for promotion. I'm not sure what I did to prompt this, but since he was yelling at me, I took it as a high compliment. The scary thing is that this guy in real life would be the asshole officer type, he really would. Let's hope he doesn't have a sudden urge to get a commission.
Cynthia is so damn cute when she's drunk. Have I mentioned this before? She is. The fun thing about Cyn is that she'll get very... honest... when she's toasted. No inhibitions whatsoever. This makes bar-hopping interesting. :) I was talking to her on the phone tonight after she got back from Hurkie's party. (Hurkie is a very very large man with a shaved head who plays rugby. He's the sweetest guy in the world. Hurkie lives next door to Cynthia, and he has made a tradition of throwing a block party every Tuesday night. Last Tuesday he made a big pork roast in his brand-new rotisserie oven. "Be sure to compliment him on his rotisserie oven, Joy," Cynthia advised me.) Most of the conversation involved beer and went something along these lines:
Marcie: "Can you feel your feet?"
<pause>
Cynthia: "... If I really, really concentrate."
Heh heh heh.
Cynthia: "I'm rubbing my eyes because everything's all blurry. But I just know I'm going to open my eyes and everything is going to be blurry again."
Marcie: "Are you wearing your glasses?"
C: "No..."
M: "That's PROBABLY why everything's blurry."
C: "... Oh my GOD!"
M: "Holy SHIT!"
C: "See, that's why I hang around with you, man... you're so chock full of insight."
M: "I know it."
Hee.
I don't mean to make it sound like Cynthia gets drunk every night; she doesn't. But she IS a grad student, which means she has a deep and abiding appreciation of the finer points of alcohol. I'm a geek; I can relate. You gotta do SOMETHING to take your mind off customers. ;)
And on that note, it's off to breakfast for me. Eggs and bacon. Yum.
-- marcie.
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This site is mostly a place for me, Joey, to vent. This means I do a lot of bitching and moaning. I'm a systems administrator, I was in the military, and I used to tattoo people, which means I curse like a fucking French crack whore sailor on speed. If this chaps your ass, feel free to assume the position and take a flying leap.
Behold the hotness that is my girlfriend. Yeah, that's right, bitches.
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