November 14th, 2007


(no subject)

I have a dream that someday I will have an important conference call that doesn't have to get rescheduled.

Not that it's anybody's fault--one of the parties got stomach flu, and has my deepest and profound sympathies--but still, the toll on my nerves is ruthless.

(no subject)

Ladies and gentlemen, I have just recieved the highest praise that a writer of fan fic can possibly attain.

Well, thank you.  Thank you VERY much.

(Title omitted to protect my Secret Identity) made me fight so hard for composure that I had to read it in very small sections and still couldn't avoid turning random colors and
shaking uncontrollably with barely-suppressed laughter, to the point where a
co-worker asked me if I was epileptic.  (Title also omitted) was hardly less

And now, thanks to my utter inability to wait until I get home to read your
work (which, side note, is just this side of brilliant), this new story has
managed to make me wet myself.  Quietly, and at work.

I'm sending you the bill.  (One pair pants, one pair undergarments, one
ergonomic padded chair...) And you'd better believe I'll be voraciously
reading anything else you put out.

Incontinence, the highest form of flattery.

(no subject)

Hrrmph. This painting didn't work.

I'm putting it on e-bay starting at a buck, so that I get it out of the studio and it stops glaring at me. Back to chickens. I figured out what's wrong, now I just have to make sure I can duplicate success before I move on to other birds.

Oh, well. Sometimes you get the bear, sometimes the bear gets you.

On the bright side, it was a spectacularly gorgeous day, warm and balmy, the sky clear and cloudless blue. I flung the doors and windows open. It made me want to clean. The apartment's already pretty tidy though, so I just did all my laundry and cleaned out the fridge. Since I have the Bachelor Fridge, that meant I threw out some aged ranch dip, but it's a symbolic thing.

Fortunately it will be cold again tomorrow, or else I would be forced to find something else to tidy, which might lead to me organizing my bookcases, and that particular Herculean task is best suited for artist's block or something equally dire.

(no subject)


Got sick of NPR--you just can't get into killin' stuff with NPR on--turned on the iPod while playing God of War. Since I neglected to hit "Shuffle" it started going alphabetically through artists, beginning with Alice Cooper.

"No More Mr. Nice Guy" was nicely apropos, but I could probably have done without hacking and slashing to "I Love the Dead." Ah, Kratos, is there anything you won't stoop to?