who knows
Hey everyone, I guess it's been a while since I've updated, sorry. Me, Tom and Brian got this house that's totally awesome, you should come check it out. My room's gonna be cool once its decorated but I don't have a desk.
Even though we fight a lot and I'm reminded hourly about how fat I am, we've had some good times, the most recent of which include Brian cracking an egg over my head, me burning everything down, and Tom making raw hamburgers for dinner. We take nightly trips to Wal-Mart at bizarre hours of the night, so bizarre that I no longer consider any time of the day "late" or "early" except the times I'm expected to wake up and go to work. (those are considered "early").
On an unrelated note, I keep collapsing from exhaustion at work. Other than that, it's going well. We've recently started running out of important concession stand stuff, like nachos, hotdogs, candy, pickles, etc., which causes angry customers, sadly. We ran out of ice on opening night of Pirates of the Carribean, and today we ran out of carbon dioxide for the soda machines. And yesterday we ran out of oil for the popcorn.
Hey, Anne Walker.
So like, I took this test online that's supposed to tell you what your ideal career would be. I got the same answer that I did on a similar test back in 10th grade: an embalmer.
I mean, what the hell? An embalmer? What part of "has acted in a play" or "reads for pleasure" leads them to believe that I would enjoy filling dead people with fluids every day? Whatever. Out of disgust for my future, I'm going to bed.
Even though we fight a lot and I'm reminded hourly about how fat I am, we've had some good times, the most recent of which include Brian cracking an egg over my head, me burning everything down, and Tom making raw hamburgers for dinner. We take nightly trips to Wal-Mart at bizarre hours of the night, so bizarre that I no longer consider any time of the day "late" or "early" except the times I'm expected to wake up and go to work. (those are considered "early").
On an unrelated note, I keep collapsing from exhaustion at work. Other than that, it's going well. We've recently started running out of important concession stand stuff, like nachos, hotdogs, candy, pickles, etc., which causes angry customers, sadly. We ran out of ice on opening night of Pirates of the Carribean, and today we ran out of carbon dioxide for the soda machines. And yesterday we ran out of oil for the popcorn.
Hey, Anne Walker.
So like, I took this test online that's supposed to tell you what your ideal career would be. I got the same answer that I did on a similar test back in 10th grade: an embalmer.
I mean, what the hell? An embalmer? What part of "has acted in a play" or "reads for pleasure" leads them to believe that I would enjoy filling dead people with fluids every day? Whatever. Out of disgust for my future, I'm going to bed.