| 2:47 p.m. | Why yes, something did crawl up my ass and die. | 2003-05-05 |
| Reaped | G-yod. I'm bitchy for no reason. Not even surfing the red tide & I still hate the world. Don't even wanna ask crazy ol' officemate about this "outreach" email she just sent, 'cos I'm so pissy, I know I'll just get all bent out of shape regardless of what her answer is. It doesn't matter what anyone says to me next, I'm not in the mood. The thing that set this off: uploading privledges. I know, big deal. I maintain some of the library pages. After I'm done editing them, I send a message to another person, who in turn uploads the pages. Occasionally this pisses me off because I'm thinking, "Do they really think me this stupid as to lack the ability to upload information onto a server?" It's a fucking push of a button on some program! I'm the only person in this godforsaken place that even knows javascript! Fuck. And this chain-of-command shit wastes time, in terms of composing an email, sending it on to the next person, & then waiting for them to have time to do it. Bleh. Because of course, the person in charge of uploading all web content is the same person in charge of ILL, Faculty Senate, Circulation & about twenty million other things. Meanwhile, I will sit here idly & read Page Six, browse Diaryland, and continue to think of things that piss me off. After work today I'm going shopping for Mother's Day/Sister's graduation. Unfortunately I'm less happy about this than i was an hour ago, since I have discovered that I must cough up 50 bucks for my 5K mile Jetta tune-up tomorrow as well. I don't really understand why it's so expensive, except for the fact that everything is nowadays. Jesus, there's a leg wax kit at Sephora that goes for 40 bucks. AND that's just a one time, DIY application. So fuck it. Whatever. My sister told my mom my wisdom teeth were coming in. So when the nagging started, I told my mom about the near-thirty year old art student Sis was dating. I think Mom won this round. My eyes hurt. I think I need glasses. Keep doing this yogic exercise where you lightly place pressure on your eyes, but I only succeed in looking like I'm crying to anyone coming in the library. Blah blha blah. Duh da da da. In fifteen minutes, I'm going to the coffee shop... ...which interestingly enough is called the Matrix. I guess 'cos they have Internet, or something. Or maybe 'cos its made of brick. But you can smoke, inside!! In Louisiana heat, this is important. I'm so glad I didn't move to NY"Lynch the Smokers"C. Here in the armpit of hell you may be damned and at least you can still smoke. Well, you kn0w how I said crazy ol' officemate's email would piss me off earlier? Yep. But I'm waiting, for she could follow up with some spoken lines here in a second. The way in which she addresses me can usually serve as a good indication of her moods. For example, a short, barked "MAUREEN!" generally means Ol' Crazy is having a hot flash & it's my turn to pay for being young, oblivious & devoid of wrinkles. Using this tone with me generally awakens my inner teenage brat, being that the only other person to use that moniker was my mom when I was very, very bad. Othertimes I'll hear a nice, soft 'Moll1e...?', this is generally when she needs me to do something to her computer. But that's enough bitching on that. What can I say, working sucks. Anyone know an independently wealthy rock star that needs a whore? 'Cos that's sounding pretty fucking good right now. Fucking work. Fuckin A. Fuck. Give me an 8ball and a bed of money to roll in any day. Sheeeit. |
Sown |
| Fresh Cut
New digs - 2004-05-25 Bachelor hell - 2004-05-10 Grumble - 2004-05-07 Coachella pt. 2, or goddamn do my fingers hurt - 2004-05-05 Coachella part one, or, this monkey's gone to indio rawk heaven - 2004-05-05 Random Shearings Rings |
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