the picture below would be way better if you could see his ridiculous ears.
First, from the wonderful and terrifying mind of moirariordan: a meme!
Comment to this entry and I will give you a word. Type the word into your iTunes/WMP/whatever search and upload five songs with that word in the title. (Or artist. Or album. Or genre or whatever, if you have trouble.)
Mine was "move".
Move You - Anya Marina
She Wants To Move - N.E.R.D.
Dare You To Move - Switchfoot
She Moves In Mysterious Ways - KMFDM
I'm Not Over You Yet - Kevin Devine (from the album Make the Clocks Move)
... I had trouble.
My day consisted of work being a bitch, and everyone I know being pissed that the Sox got rained out. (Dammit, it is baseball time. More on that in a minute.) My boss made it very clear today that she wants all of us there ten minutes before opening, as some people (who shall remain nameless, Chelsea) have been cutting it very close lately. That I have no problem with. I'd have everyone show up 15 minutes early, for what it's worth. My issue is that we aren't allowed to clock in before 8:53, and she wants us there at 8:50. They're strict about us not clocking in early because the time clock rounds in 7 minute increments, which means that if we clock in at 8:52, we get credit for being there at 8:45. People might take advantage, I get it. As far as I'm concerned, I might be in the building by 8:50, but damn if I'm going to get ready for my day until after I've clocked in. I don't expect them to pay me when I'm not working, but I sure as hell don't get paid enough to be working when I'm not on the clock.
I don't know whose stupid idea it was to be all "let's play baseball in Boston on April 6!", but I hope they got fired. An extra week of spring thaw while the boys opened in Tampa Bay never hurt anyone. So instead of shiny new baseball that actually counts, I have to console myself with this:
Because you have Youk, and Lowell, and Papi... and then the kid who hit the grand slam. FINE JED. I LOVE YOU. HAPPY NOW? (He looks so TINY! AAAAW) (Not only a grand slam, but the first home run in the Met's new stadium. This would be where I say "suck it David Wright", but David Wright is adorable, and a member of the He's Not In The League So He Can Totally Be My Boyfriend Club.)
There were multiple, serious conversations at work today re: the chances that we could get Opening Day off for religious reasons (nil) and the possibility that we could change the station on the television from CNBC (boring) to NESN (baseballicious) without the manager noticing (slim).
The rain has made it up here, too, and I left my movie star umbrella at H's house. It's one of those gorgeous clear bubble style umbrellas, and it always makes me feel like Audrey Hepburn. But tomorrow I will be Hepburn-less. WOE.
Could someone remind me to stop playing Snood and go to bed? Say, two hours ago?
Comment to this entry and I will give you a word. Type the word into your iTunes/WMP/whatever search and upload five songs with that word in the title. (Or artist. Or album. Or genre or whatever, if you have trouble.)
Mine was "move".
Move You - Anya Marina
She Wants To Move - N.E.R.D.
Dare You To Move - Switchfoot
She Moves In Mysterious Ways - KMFDM
I'm Not Over You Yet - Kevin Devine (from the album Make the Clocks Move)
... I had trouble.
My day consisted of work being a bitch, and everyone I know being pissed that the Sox got rained out. (Dammit, it is baseball time. More on that in a minute.) My boss made it very clear today that she wants all of us there ten minutes before opening, as some people (who shall remain nameless, Chelsea) have been cutting it very close lately. That I have no problem with. I'd have everyone show up 15 minutes early, for what it's worth. My issue is that we aren't allowed to clock in before 8:53, and she wants us there at 8:50. They're strict about us not clocking in early because the time clock rounds in 7 minute increments, which means that if we clock in at 8:52, we get credit for being there at 8:45. People might take advantage, I get it. As far as I'm concerned, I might be in the building by 8:50, but damn if I'm going to get ready for my day until after I've clocked in. I don't expect them to pay me when I'm not working, but I sure as hell don't get paid enough to be working when I'm not on the clock.
I don't know whose stupid idea it was to be all "let's play baseball in Boston on April 6!", but I hope they got fired. An extra week of spring thaw while the boys opened in Tampa Bay never hurt anyone. So instead of shiny new baseball that actually counts, I have to console myself with this:
Because you have Youk, and Lowell, and Papi... and then the kid who hit the grand slam. FINE JED. I LOVE YOU. HAPPY NOW? (He looks so TINY! AAAAW) (Not only a grand slam, but the first home run in the Met's new stadium. This would be where I say "suck it David Wright", but David Wright is adorable, and a member of the He's Not In The League So He Can Totally Be My Boyfriend Club.)
There were multiple, serious conversations at work today re: the chances that we could get Opening Day off for religious reasons (nil) and the possibility that we could change the station on the television from CNBC (boring) to NESN (baseballicious) without the manager noticing (slim).
The rain has made it up here, too, and I left my movie star umbrella at H's house. It's one of those gorgeous clear bubble style umbrellas, and it always makes me feel like Audrey Hepburn. But tomorrow I will be Hepburn-less. WOE.
Could someone remind me to stop playing Snood and go to bed? Say, two hours ago?