Sound; One of the guys from the mail room came back here singing Prince. Now, I have no choice but to hear it inside my head for the rest of the day. Adam used to do a Prince impression while rubbing his nipples for me. Men change after they have successfully wooed you.
Sight; Squinting at the monitor, which jumps all over the place. Supposedly, I'm on the list for a new system. But that would have to mean that I'm waiting around for it happen. I'm still up in the air about that.
Taste; Sausage and cheese biscuit with a large Depth Charge, three raw sugars and half and half. Chinese in the fridge for lunch, but fried chicken in the cafe downstairs. I'm in a quandary.
Touch; I forgot to wear my ring all week until this morning. I'm such a nasty girl, I did it just I could flirt without men looking at my left hand, honest. No, not really. Well, alright.
Smell; We still haven't cleaned the refrigerator out. We have to stand there brandishing incense at it while you reach in and reach out as fast as you fucking can, huge pain in the ass.
I'm so vain, I probably think this entry is about me.
Okay, this is hilarious, the scenario, not the pain factor. One of the publishers of my company actually has Hoof In Mouth Disease. In humans, it's called something entirely different, I can't recall the term. I didn't think people caught this type of disease anymore, but that just goes to show you exactly what I know. I'm not sure what causes it, but it's viral, and it makes the palms of your hand and the bottoms of your feet break out in hives, causing intense pain. How does a grown woman get this? She always seems to have some sort of ailment though. I just associate this with horses, farm animals...maybe I'll bring her some hay bales at the hospital. I'm going to neigh behind her and duck around a corner so she can't see who did it. Leave her fresh apples and carrots on her desk at lunch time. Replace her spring water carrier with an oat bag. Steal her car and leave a saddle in the parking space.
Following a horrible journal link from the Diary-L list, I came across a link on that persons page to "Why Online Journal Suck." I have to agree with every word I read. I happen to think that mine doesn't. That doesn't mean that I'm correct. The warnings of discovery really set me on edge last night for a time. I sat down next to Adam on the big couch and nestled my head into the crook of his armpit (prime location) and gave it some thought.
The only person I wouldn't want to see reading my journal is my father. Not because I have anything to say here that I wouldn't say sitting across a table from him, I just like to be control of what people know about me. I am uncensored here. No exceptions. It would be a waste of bandwidth and an extraordinary amount of my time to do otherwise.
People at work? What the hell do I care? Any problem they could have with it, even one insult from them right now would be enough to cause gails of laughter while I breeze out the door. They obviously don't give a damn about me in the first place, and anything they would have to say would be moot. I still bristle when I think about the whole raise/review coming soon. Although, now I have to wait until April. It was supposed to be March 1st. I had decided that there are too many things that I enjoy and am comfortable with here to give up because of the slap in the face raise that I'm expecting. Then I get furious at the thought. I have made more money answering someone elses phone. I do my job well, and they want to hand over four percent. Four god damned percent.
I have to make up my mind about this or I'll be at a full froth by the time my review come up. It wouldn't be good to be angry with Chief. This has nothing to do with him. This comes from Caesar, for the entire company. I have an interesting idea for a small side business. I won't mention it here because I'm not a moron, and I'd like my idea to remain mine. I'll just say that it involves design, html, and real estate. I think it's a decent plan, it's just implementing it. Like I've said before, I'm red hot on the idea side. It's the completion end where I falter.
I'm having to deal with the fallout of being involved in the accident Thursday before last. I have to admit that I have little to no patience for these things. Body shops, insurance companies, crash test dummies that masquerade as drivers. Here's the funny thing. The man that hit myself and the other woman was driving an SUV. If you drive an SUV, you are a piece of shit. You are more likely to kill me if you hit me. I hope that you feel like a success while steering that monstrosity down the road, but all it's saying the the rest of the world is;
I can't think for myself. The commercials say I have to drive one of these. I'll never take this anywhere but urban surface streets, but if I have to go outside the perimeter, I'm ready!
So I have to go have my car looked at and fax the estimate over to the insurance company of the man who hit me. Now see, here's the funniest part.
I got a ticket.
The cop who came didn't get out of his car. He smoked a cigarette, wrote his report, and when he was told that I wasn't following too closely by the other two people, he actually said "I don't care."
That shook me. He doesn't care? Well, why doesn't he care? He should care. he should care a whole fucking lot. I hate to be cliche, but I pay his salary. The very least he could do was to listen to what happenned. By the by, here's what happenned;
I was driving home, Chief had just told me I could take Friday off, and I was happy. I was singing, I had my hair in my face and the sunroof open. It was around 72 degrees outside in February. I couldn't have asked for a better afternoon.
The person in the Lincoln in front of me made like he was going to turn, I slowed. Then changed his mind, we sped. Then he changed his made again really fast, I braked. I had around 7-9 feet of space remaining in front of me. No real danger. You have to watch your rear-view on this particular road. Everyone I know has been rear-ended while on it at one time or another. I was watching my review, and I was watching an huge SUV barreling down behind me without seeming to slow.
I was surrounded by three lanes on each side, all containing traffic, so I couldn't go anywhere, the Lincoln in front of me still trying to turn. A the last minute, while I'm sitting still, the SUV carrens off my backside and into the next lane, smacking a tank of a Buick. We all get together in a parking lot down the road, and the Goth Girl in the Buick calls the cops on her cell. I love that, little Miss Goth calling the cops on the cell phone Daddy bought her, but she still somehow remained dark and gloomy looking while dialing her Nokia. Tangent, anyhow...
So, you know how the cop handled it. I left the whole thing with my views about SUVs strengthened again, and disillusioned about the people protecting and serving you and I.
In about twenty days or so, I'm heading to court to contest this ticket. It's been five years since I had anything on my driving record (the last was a DUI, but I wasn't drunk, I'll tell you about that one later), and I'll be damned if I let that yuppie SUV piece of shit ruin it for me now. He'll rue the day! You hear me?!? Rue!
I swear it sounds a lot more menacing in person.
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