:)
Mike and I went shopping after I dropped Dee off at work, so I could get light bulbs and paper towels and tea and all of that super fun shopping crap done. We ended up wandering aimlessly around the Jantzen Beach Mall and it turns out that there is a store that deals exclusively in Pirate stuff.
Like, tri-corner hats. And hooks. And stuffed everything marine-related. Mugs. T-shirts. Fake beards.
Best damn thing I've seen in my entire life. He bought a tri-corner. It looks good on him.
Breathing a bit more easily these days, only put in about 46 hours this week and am considering finishing up Mike's shift after I pick up Dee. Seems like I'm the taxi of the city tonight and I don't even own a car. :P Thanks, Dee.
I haven't worn makeup in about a week. I know that as a female I'm not supposed to say this, but damn do I look good lately. Down two belt notches, a bit loose in my medium/small Old Navy shirts, curves up the wazoo, solid in the right places and soft everywhere else, even shoulders, flawless skin, and I'm goddamn glowing. If I were having sex, I'd say I were pregnant. My scruffy demi-hawk (it always does this when I stop cutting it) makes me look like the quintessential Billy Idol fan whenever I put my bandanna on, which is pretty much every day I work and then every day I don't. It's amazing what happens when you just stop looking in the mirror for a few weeks.
What else.
Making pesto from scratch this week. And by "making pesto from scratch this week" I mean a different kind every day. It's awesome how all I have to do is donate one of the results to the special and Matt doesn't give a shit if I take most of it from work. The pine nuts I'll have to manage on my own, as well as the pecorino, but that's only about 9 bucks.
I should probably cover that shift. But it might launch me into way overtime instead of sort of overtime. If I'm making more in my overtime than my initial 40 hours, payroll gets really grumpy. But it's Tom, Josh, Jeremy, and... somebody else. Good fucking time to be had. No matter who closes, it's all high fives.
I want my warm, longboarding weather back. Goddammit.
All in all, it's been a productive couple of days on the "me not going out of my mind" front. It's pretty sweet to realize that you've gotten over something. And then just kind of amusing to realize that the party who has been telling you to get over it isn't over it. I mean, that's twice now I've said, "Hey, man, I fucked up and there's that" and it's been perceived by the paranoid and emotionally immature as some sort of manipulation thing. Doesn't ruin my good will, it's just an eyebrow raiser, y'know? I don't have that kind of time, folks. In fact, just sitting on my ass and typing out this much is setting me behind an awful lot.
Blop.
Haute Retard (pronounced "Hot Retard") playing on the 19th, and I'm working the line. Ironic, to those of you who understand the properly pronounced version, that they're going to be moving their set an hour later than initially planned so I can make it. :) <3 my boys.
Time to start braving traffic to get Dee. Hope all of you are well. Thanks for writing again, chancemar. I've missed you.
Faughn Shet.
Like, tri-corner hats. And hooks. And stuffed everything marine-related. Mugs. T-shirts. Fake beards.
Best damn thing I've seen in my entire life. He bought a tri-corner. It looks good on him.
Breathing a bit more easily these days, only put in about 46 hours this week and am considering finishing up Mike's shift after I pick up Dee. Seems like I'm the taxi of the city tonight and I don't even own a car. :P Thanks, Dee.
I haven't worn makeup in about a week. I know that as a female I'm not supposed to say this, but damn do I look good lately. Down two belt notches, a bit loose in my medium/small Old Navy shirts, curves up the wazoo, solid in the right places and soft everywhere else, even shoulders, flawless skin, and I'm goddamn glowing. If I were having sex, I'd say I were pregnant. My scruffy demi-hawk (it always does this when I stop cutting it) makes me look like the quintessential Billy Idol fan whenever I put my bandanna on, which is pretty much every day I work and then every day I don't. It's amazing what happens when you just stop looking in the mirror for a few weeks.
What else.
Making pesto from scratch this week. And by "making pesto from scratch this week" I mean a different kind every day. It's awesome how all I have to do is donate one of the results to the special and Matt doesn't give a shit if I take most of it from work. The pine nuts I'll have to manage on my own, as well as the pecorino, but that's only about 9 bucks.
I should probably cover that shift. But it might launch me into way overtime instead of sort of overtime. If I'm making more in my overtime than my initial 40 hours, payroll gets really grumpy. But it's Tom, Josh, Jeremy, and... somebody else. Good fucking time to be had. No matter who closes, it's all high fives.
I want my warm, longboarding weather back. Goddammit.
All in all, it's been a productive couple of days on the "me not going out of my mind" front. It's pretty sweet to realize that you've gotten over something. And then just kind of amusing to realize that the party who has been telling you to get over it isn't over it. I mean, that's twice now I've said, "Hey, man, I fucked up and there's that" and it's been perceived by the paranoid and emotionally immature as some sort of manipulation thing. Doesn't ruin my good will, it's just an eyebrow raiser, y'know? I don't have that kind of time, folks. In fact, just sitting on my ass and typing out this much is setting me behind an awful lot.
Blop.
Haute Retard (pronounced "Hot Retard") playing on the 19th, and I'm working the line. Ironic, to those of you who understand the properly pronounced version, that they're going to be moving their set an hour later than initially planned so I can make it. :) <3 my boys.
Time to start braving traffic to get Dee. Hope all of you are well. Thanks for writing again, chancemar. I've missed you.
Faughn Shet.