I smolder with generic rage.
Few things.
I picked up World of Warcraft and paid for it and everything like a good little patron of good little games. I have characters on Mul'ganis (Deargmagh, Tauren Druid and Taerth, Undead Rogue), Alleria (Aeric, Night Elf Druid), and Blackhand (Ardmagh, Night Elf Hunter). So far the game reminds me alot of my old MajorMUD days, so I will probably forever refer to the Night Elves as "nigelves" and command gnomes to go make water wheels. If you didn't laugh the first time, don't reread it. Just move on. Anyway, for knowing about jack squat about the "world" of Warcraft (HAW HAW pun lolx0r!!1!!), I'm getting pretty interested pretty quick. Tauren and Forsaken are just how I like my bad guys - honorable fuckers bound to their duty, no matter how fucked up, or just pure black-as-coffee-on-the-dark-side-of-the-Moon evil. I don't fuck around with "misunderstood and possibly touched improperly as a child and now wants to blow up the world so someone will respect his inner torment" sorts of evil. They're fine in stories, but not as characters I'm fucking playing.
Christmas/New Year's is fast fucking approaching. Every fucking year I call certain local people and harass them to come to my New Fucking Year Party, and for the past couple years I have been told "so very sorry but today is the 30th Mr Mason perhaps you will make with the removing self's head from self's ass next year, yes?" So anyway. Dan, Rob, Z, Dennis, and YOU. YOU people reading my fucking journal. Jesus fucking christ. Just show up and I'll pour alcohol all over you. If you are properly stacked I will probably lick it off, too, but as the night progresses I may abandon such standards. The L5R tournament has been moved to New Year's Day, which is better for the party's sake anyway. This year there will be no fucking "waiting till those four jackasses who are still playing CROWN A FUCKING WINNER SO WE CAN GO KK THX". It will be at Andy's. Andy's door will be open. If you are a dumb motherfucker, Andy's door will be closed. If you are right now asking yourself, "Is it in the 'dumb motherfucker' category in which I fall?" I will have to say "yes because you said 'in which' while pondering something on the internets".
I have been told many times that I am a complete asshole to shop for. I say "asshole" instead of "pain in the ass" because "asshole" is more proactive. Not only do I not blather about material objects I would want others to get for me, but I seek out people who might get me gifts and employ Jedi-like mind powers to further confuse them about what to get me. Usually this earns me dirty glares and another bottle of alcohol. While my response to this is an internal dialogue that ends with "... and thusly my job here is done!", this year I have found something exciting. Something secret. For one, something... LEGO. The fucking pirate ships, men and women of the internets, are once again in production. While I may never know the glory of an original Black Seas Barracuda, I am not a picky fellow. For two, something KYOOB. Nintendo has, for some reason some will later label as a "competent marketing strategy" decided to release a bunch of Gamecube titles all at once that are good... right around Christmas. If it says MegaMan or Metroid on it anywhere, I have likely been staring at it at Wal-Mart these past weeks, wondering what it would feel like to just, well... put my cock in it. Consider this your motivation - whoever buys me these things will not have to hear the story about how I went about doing that very thing later. Everyone else will suffer my narrative wrath.
Joined the down-the-street-gym with Kim last week. Been going almost every day since, and at $45 monthly total for both of us, I'd have to say this deal is pretty sweet. I got that rate because I work for SBC, so I decided perhaps I should probably take advantage of other things SBC hands out to employees like candy. Like, health benefits. Going to the dentist on Tuesday to see if they can fill the inch-wide space in my teeth that was once occupied by... teeth... and then going to a very different sort of doctor on Thursday. I've broken down, swallowed my pride, counted my eggs, split hairs, and employed many, many metaphors in order to see a psychiatrist. The first visit, much like a hit of the drugs, is free, and meant to give me an idea if I am actually fucked up in any appreciable manner. A few years ago I would have adamantly said "NO!" flipped off the person asking, and then shot them in order to use their eyes as pool balls, the past year or so has made me seriously consider that I'm either really "losing it" or just doing something wrong somewhere that's making me act in a manner similar to "losing it". Like the great Dictionarian of yore, my doctor will make like Webster and help me define just what the fuck "it" is, I suppose. I won't lie - I hate doctors, and I hate shrinks particularly. The possibility of me just going to the evaluation and leaving after less than a minute is significant. The possibility of me just not going would exist if it weren't for the fact I have to show up in order to get the time off work. Fuckers, all.
Speaking of work, the fucking Union hasn't gotten back to me about my old job. My fucking steward had been hospitalized for passing an alien through her colon or something, and she didn't bother to hand off her case loads to anyone while she was back. Fortunately, I understand she is hearty, hale, and once again up to the task of not returning my calls. Such is the miracle of the human spirit.
Anyway, I'm going to do something with my Friday night that does not involve work, writing, or the gym.
Hopefully, I'll remember what else there is.
I picked up World of Warcraft and paid for it and everything like a good little patron of good little games. I have characters on Mul'ganis (Deargmagh, Tauren Druid and Taerth, Undead Rogue), Alleria (Aeric, Night Elf Druid), and Blackhand (Ardmagh, Night Elf Hunter). So far the game reminds me alot of my old MajorMUD days, so I will probably forever refer to the Night Elves as "nigelves" and command gnomes to go make water wheels. If you didn't laugh the first time, don't reread it. Just move on. Anyway, for knowing about jack squat about the "world" of Warcraft (HAW HAW pun lolx0r!!1!!), I'm getting pretty interested pretty quick. Tauren and Forsaken are just how I like my bad guys - honorable fuckers bound to their duty, no matter how fucked up, or just pure black-as-coffee-on-the-dark-side-of-the-Moon evil. I don't fuck around with "misunderstood and possibly touched improperly as a child and now wants to blow up the world so someone will respect his inner torment" sorts of evil. They're fine in stories, but not as characters I'm fucking playing.
Christmas/New Year's is fast fucking approaching. Every fucking year I call certain local people and harass them to come to my New Fucking Year Party, and for the past couple years I have been told "so very sorry but today is the 30th Mr Mason perhaps you will make with the removing self's head from self's ass next year, yes?" So anyway. Dan, Rob, Z, Dennis, and YOU. YOU people reading my fucking journal. Jesus fucking christ. Just show up and I'll pour alcohol all over you. If you are properly stacked I will probably lick it off, too, but as the night progresses I may abandon such standards. The L5R tournament has been moved to New Year's Day, which is better for the party's sake anyway. This year there will be no fucking "waiting till those four jackasses who are still playing CROWN A FUCKING WINNER SO WE CAN GO KK THX". It will be at Andy's. Andy's door will be open. If you are a dumb motherfucker, Andy's door will be closed. If you are right now asking yourself, "Is it in the 'dumb motherfucker' category in which I fall?" I will have to say "yes because you said 'in which' while pondering something on the internets".
I have been told many times that I am a complete asshole to shop for. I say "asshole" instead of "pain in the ass" because "asshole" is more proactive. Not only do I not blather about material objects I would want others to get for me, but I seek out people who might get me gifts and employ Jedi-like mind powers to further confuse them about what to get me. Usually this earns me dirty glares and another bottle of alcohol. While my response to this is an internal dialogue that ends with "... and thusly my job here is done!", this year I have found something exciting. Something secret. For one, something... LEGO. The fucking pirate ships, men and women of the internets, are once again in production. While I may never know the glory of an original Black Seas Barracuda, I am not a picky fellow. For two, something KYOOB. Nintendo has, for some reason some will later label as a "competent marketing strategy" decided to release a bunch of Gamecube titles all at once that are good... right around Christmas. If it says MegaMan or Metroid on it anywhere, I have likely been staring at it at Wal-Mart these past weeks, wondering what it would feel like to just, well... put my cock in it. Consider this your motivation - whoever buys me these things will not have to hear the story about how I went about doing that very thing later. Everyone else will suffer my narrative wrath.
Joined the down-the-street-gym with Kim last week. Been going almost every day since, and at $45 monthly total for both of us, I'd have to say this deal is pretty sweet. I got that rate because I work for SBC, so I decided perhaps I should probably take advantage of other things SBC hands out to employees like candy. Like, health benefits. Going to the dentist on Tuesday to see if they can fill the inch-wide space in my teeth that was once occupied by... teeth... and then going to a very different sort of doctor on Thursday. I've broken down, swallowed my pride, counted my eggs, split hairs, and employed many, many metaphors in order to see a psychiatrist. The first visit, much like a hit of the drugs, is free, and meant to give me an idea if I am actually fucked up in any appreciable manner. A few years ago I would have adamantly said "NO!" flipped off the person asking, and then shot them in order to use their eyes as pool balls, the past year or so has made me seriously consider that I'm either really "losing it" or just doing something wrong somewhere that's making me act in a manner similar to "losing it". Like the great Dictionarian of yore, my doctor will make like Webster and help me define just what the fuck "it" is, I suppose. I won't lie - I hate doctors, and I hate shrinks particularly. The possibility of me just going to the evaluation and leaving after less than a minute is significant. The possibility of me just not going would exist if it weren't for the fact I have to show up in order to get the time off work. Fuckers, all.
Speaking of work, the fucking Union hasn't gotten back to me about my old job. My fucking steward had been hospitalized for passing an alien through her colon or something, and she didn't bother to hand off her case loads to anyone while she was back. Fortunately, I understand she is hearty, hale, and once again up to the task of not returning my calls. Such is the miracle of the human spirit.
Anyway, I'm going to do something with my Friday night that does not involve work, writing, or the gym.
Hopefully, I'll remember what else there is.