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I Still Think I Did Vote For Chewbacca

2005-05-23 - 10:26 p.m.

Complaints About The Complaint Box? Delicious!

Listening To: The Smiths, TMBG, Ben Folds, The Shins, Postal Service

Quote:"yak . . . Yak . . . YAK!" - The Yaking "Wood Frog"

I wish I had been saving shit for a rainy day. Whether it was money, fried dough, snow cones, elastic bands - whatever, because the point is, NOW would be the time to break it all out. Since apparently we need to all start building arks as we're approaching the 40th day and 40th night of rain. You know what I love about it raining every day? Nothing.

Work was a little on the shitty side today. Ok, a lot on the shitty side. And I have a not-so-sneaking suspicion that tomorrow is going to be shittier. I'd try to even explain it all, but it's not worth it. And the rain certainly doesn't make things any better. I'll say this much, nothing starts your day off great like trying to lift a 14 foot jon boat above your head and getting your shoulders caked with mud and your pants soaked with smelly water. At 9 in the morning. Not that there's a real good time for that to happen, but if there is, it's certainly not at nine. I'll say this: One aspect of work I'm having a bit of a struggle with is the unwritten caste system that I seem to have been thrust into. Most of the people that I've really connected with, or at the very least, don't want to slit my wrists being around, have been there quite a bit longer than me. But the "kids" (which is what the Danger Mouse calls anyone between the ages of 17 - 26), who I work with the most, are what's at issue here. I am definitely still the new guy. Despite having been there since February now. And at the Wallakers, we were all sort of equal and all expected the same out of everyone. Granted, and I don't mean this in a sexist way at all, I feel I would try to take over carrying heavy shit outside, and rando grunt work like building treehouses and shit since I was "the guy". Well, that's obviously not the case at the Danger Mouse. But I still feel that if a shipment comes in, and I receive it, then I'm responsible for checking it in, pricing it, and shelving it. And if it's not for my department, then I bring the shipment to whoever it belongs to. And now I'm getting the vibe, well - I have been getting the vibe for a while now, but I'd been trying to ignore it, that I need to "delegate" that kind of work to the other "kids". Apparently the guy that had my job before I came was this freak show who could barely walk. So he had everyone do everything for him. Well, frankly, I'd rather do shit on my own then to TELL someone else to do it for me. Especially if I consider them a friend. Or as much as one can be considered a "friend" at the Danger Mouse. I don't know. Everyone seems to have a different idea what my job title consists of and I fear I'm going to have to soon sit down with some peeps and iron everything out. Because extra stress is definitely not what I'm seeking out right now.

Just got back from Star Wars. Everyone's all, "It's definitely better than Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones." Well, no fucking shit. That's like saying, "that paper cut wasn't the most pleasing sensation in the world, but it was certainly better than the lacerated intestine and sucking chest wound I had a while back." Now, I'm being a bit harsh, to be sure. Phantom Menace was all talk and little fight. Attack of the Clones was about 50/50, and Revenge of the Sith was all fight and little talk. And look, if you're gonna sell me a Wookie Bill of Goods, you better fucking deliver. Yeah, Chewbacca was in it, but he has way more screentime in all the fucking commercials he's been doing for everyone from Papa Johns to Club Crackers. Or something.

So here we are. As I'm writing this, we are on the eve of NewsRadio being released on DVD. Finally. By the time most of you read this, it will be available. Now what am I supposed to do with my life? I've already met David Byrne. I saw Paul McCartney in concert. I'm currently carrying on a secret affair with Maura Tierney. I guess maybe it's time to pack it all in and move to Brazil. Or somewhere where I don't have to deal with stupid people who are stupid all the time.

Oh, well, I suppose there's at least one reason to stick around. The rascally robin at work who's been guarding her eggs at work finally had her eggs hatch on Saturday. I brought in my camera so I could take a picture of the robin's eggs (which were, not surprisingly, "Robin's Egg Blue"). Well, imagine my surprise to see that the birds had hatched overnight and were all gooey and not-quite-knowing-how-to-be chirpy yet. They certainly aren't the "cutest" things in the world. Unless you're some freak like Aly or Hankin. Then you'd probably want to marry them or something. Which, I suppose I shouldn't throw stones. I confided to Hayley earlier this evening that my new Secret Crush was R2-D2. God, ever since my old Secret Crush vaporized, I've just been jumping from Secret Crush to Secret Crush like some kind of wanton hussy. But it was prophesized at my birth that I'd be a wanton hussy, so I suppose I was kind of blameless here.

Awwwwwww and/or Ewwwwwww

Kasternack has a play date tomorrow. Brooke is dropping Tiki (as in Barber) off at the house tomorrow morning as her and Kyle need to stash the feline firecracker somewhere while their place is getting inspected. I'll try to get a picture of them rousting about if I can. I just hope Kenichi is on his best behavior. It's hard for him to make friends. Well, non-imaginary, non-puppet or non-plastic bag friends.

I think I had too much popcorn at the movies. I can't stop burping it up. And it smells bad. Also, I cut three blisters off my toe. And the blister juice squirted everywhere. It was gross. Especially since I bottled it and convinced Ben it was mineral water. Just tricking Ben into drinking my blister juice is all.

It's been real,

Mooring Whip

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