"Our army is the team, our weapon is the ball. Let's go to Germany and give it our all"
*cries* I'm really, really, really regretting missing the World Cup now. Why, beloved job, must you take me away where there is no internet access and I shall be forced to call home every five minutes when England are playing? I also really wish Mel and I had planned on going anyway, despite not getting tickets. It would almost be more fun watching the matches in a big square full of actual fans who live and breathe every moment. Waaaaaaaah, why must I be stuck in this country who cares only about the stupid Stanley Cup? Curse you, hockey! I pine for really football fans! *piteous moan* We're going to the next one, dammit! South Africa, here we come!
But. I shall enjoy it nonetheless. I shall force the family to tape every match I'm vaguely interested in (read: all of them) and watch them for days at a time when I get to come home. And I shall torment my fellow kitchen workers by plastering wall charts everywhere and maniacally marking the winners of every game, top scorers and stats on all my favourite players, of which there are so many I don't think I could list them all. So, basically, my true insanity will be revealed very quickly without the usual buffer of shyness that protects people from me. Hahaha, lookout Watrous, here I come!
I spent all evening crying my eyes out over Hero (Broken Sword! Flying Snow! Jet Li's obnoxious voice! waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!!!!!!) and drinking an alcoholic milkshake of my own concoction. I ended up working two hours more than originally scheduled (though one of those hours was spent in a really irritating training session about our new return policy which affects me diddly squat because I'm leaving in a week) and it was bloody hot in Housewares, and my family abandoned me so I was forced to find my own entertainment. So, really, I shouldn't be left to my own devices. I need a babysitter!
Sleep, work, Star Trek. That is my plan for tomorrow. Isn't it grand? I thought so.
*smooch*
But. I shall enjoy it nonetheless. I shall force the family to tape every match I'm vaguely interested in (read: all of them) and watch them for days at a time when I get to come home. And I shall torment my fellow kitchen workers by plastering wall charts everywhere and maniacally marking the winners of every game, top scorers and stats on all my favourite players, of which there are so many I don't think I could list them all. So, basically, my true insanity will be revealed very quickly without the usual buffer of shyness that protects people from me. Hahaha, lookout Watrous, here I come!
I spent all evening crying my eyes out over Hero (Broken Sword! Flying Snow! Jet Li's obnoxious voice! waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!!!!!!) and drinking an alcoholic milkshake of my own concoction. I ended up working two hours more than originally scheduled (though one of those hours was spent in a really irritating training session about our new return policy which affects me diddly squat because I'm leaving in a week) and it was bloody hot in Housewares, and my family abandoned me so I was forced to find my own entertainment. So, really, I shouldn't be left to my own devices. I need a babysitter!
Sleep, work, Star Trek. That is my plan for tomorrow. Isn't it grand? I thought so.
*smooch*