Well, good news. I don't have to pull doubles tomorrow and Friday.
Bad news is? Beeyotch is back. Yep, she's back to her true form. Not only was she back, but she was my "partner" tonight at the instrument.
Good news? She was elsewhere 90% of the time, leaving me alone to run the instruments by myself... Just the way I like it.
Not that I'm saying I like being overworked and underpaid but when you've learned to function in rhythm, it's best to work alone than having someone disrupt your system.
"But I don't have anything to do!" she whined.
I offered her half of the queue I was working on. She decided to go to dinner.
I love how fake she is.
She has her moments. She can be nice when she wants you to help her out. She's vicious when she feels no need for you. God bless users.
If you're a regular visitor to this blogspace, you'd realize that this site has become a main sounding board for me, Katherine and Amy about anything and everything. Yesterday, we talked about vices.
That was fun.
Amy and I realized that we should've gone to uni together. However, the flaw in the whole thing (at least on my behalf) is that I would've sacrificed academics for my extra-curricular, namely being a kissing whore. If K was around, she probably would be the voice of reason... Maybe. I could envision me and A change her... For the better. Right?
Anyway, I seem to travel down this path at least once a year. Last year, D and I went down this road while we talked about our respective Brians. This year, A and I reminisced about the good, the great and the needs improvement kind of kissers. One thing we've agreed upon, guys with a sense of humor. The chieseled abs and great muscles are just good extras. If I haven't reiterated it enough, thanks for the sentimental drive. It was fun thinking about my Matt Damon lookalike to my Marlboro man. I hope you had the same fun. K, it's your turn to spill.
MNT's fourth chapter is up. Amy gave it a thumbs up. I'm waiting for Katherine to read it. I'm caving in, K. Your turn to bend. I've got your number, buddy!
Ooh, before I forget. Fashion faux pas of the day.
Lady was walking on the hospital lobby looking lost. I looked at her from afar, watching her do her version of Charlie's Angels. You know, the slow-mo walk, one leg in front of another. Very chic. However, the CA wannabe forgot that CA was big in the 70's-80's. Last time I checked it was 2005. She wore leather boots, pegged acid wash jeans (somebody still harbors those pants?), a faded t-shirt and check this out... butterfly hair! Yes, the outward curled feathered hair job that could look really good on Cheryl Ladd's head. Wow.
You can't sue me for the mental image I just implanted in your head.
Enjoy.
2 comments:
weren't all those pants burned in shame in '93?
If not, they should have been.
Trippy.
I love strolling around kissing-memory lane! It's fun. Besides, what good were those boys for if not for my later pleasure of remembering the good aspects of their existence? Some of them had little else on their resumes. . .
Okay, back to my fic. My Rogan. I won't deign to ask K to read it--it has no Tristan, but it does have a lot of Finn in it. . .
amy
How did any of those pants get past the great 80's purge? And were the pants on the outside of the jeans? Because if so, she needs to be shot. Put everyone out of their misery. No one should ever have to look at that. Except maybe Michael Jackson. Hmm. Maybe if they stuck him in a room with that woman for twenty minutes, he'd confess, and then justice would finally be served and all the little children could be safe from the evil gloved one.
Katherine
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