180o

I really like my job. I like the people there, and what we do. I think I've always liked it. I've been doing it for almost 6 years now. I've met most of my best friends there, and they've been very accomodating with any request I've ever had of them. I've been paid well enough to buy my car, a decent stereo, a big TV, a respectable library of hardcover books, my undergrad degree, trips to various writing workshops, my digital camera, my laptop, my ps2, and all my other trinkets.

Is it a drag sometimes? Yes, but aren't all jobs?

Do I know what I'd be doing without this job? No sweet clue.

That being said, I am not going to mention anything about work on here again, with the only exception being things that occur with people from work outside of work.

I've also deleted all posts that had names, details, or anything about identifiable about where I work, just to be on the safe side.

Quote of the Century

"I'm not going to take my dog's virginity." -- Grundy

Get outta Dodge

Stuff to do:


-find the grad school for me. So far, Memorial is in the lead, more or less by default.
-pick my jaw up off the ground after hearing about Brian and Lauren. (Holy moley!)
-find a lock/sound proofing thing for my room
-learn how to win at poker. no, really win. no more of this pansy-ass 'playing for fun' shit.
-fix other people's blogs that i ought to have fixed before
-re-develop a regular sleep pattern

Sabretooth

I've been having recurring dreams about my teeth.

I'm at Stonepark Junior High school, in my grade 9 homeroom (Mrs. Joan Kennedy) class. Except, well, I'm not 14, I'm 28, but everyone else is 14-15. How I fit into those tiny desks is another question, but hey, it's a dream, and they've got their own logic.

So I'm sitting there between the Gills and the Gorvetts listening to the morning annoucements. Usual stuff about the girl's field hockey team and the boy's volleyball team. I had my head in my hands because I was tired, but then I leaned my head back to yawn... and the teacher pointed at me and screamed. My top left incisor had started to grow. It was about an inch longer than the other one and was yellowed and cracked, like an old man's toenail.

Everyone crowded around to point and stare. I was told to go to the nurses' office to get someone to take care of it. As I was walking down the highway, I felt it growing, so I went into the bathroom to look at it in the mirror.

It was about 6 inches long, jutting out of my mouth. Jagged, yellowed, cracked, and dirty. I couldn't close my mouth; I couldn't eat or drink or swallow. So what could I do?

I cut my tooth out. With a saw. I filed it down to match the other ones. I took the excess tooth that I cut off, put it in my pocket, and went back to class.

Then I woke up.

I'm sure that's gotta mean something. I looked up teeth dreams online, but the only interpretation I find involves teeth falling out, which is supposed to mean lies to be uncovered or something. Nothing about giant, yellowed teeth. I've had similar dreams twice in the last week.

No idea how that relates to me at all.

Victory does not always mean winning

For the second week in a row, I didn't win Wednesday trivia at The Wave. This, despite hanging out with Matt the night before.

This isn't a failure. I spent more than I originally allotted myself to spend on refreshing beverages, yet I consider this an investment of sorts.

Yes, I'm drunk. But it's the happiest drunk I've had in months. I'm laughing untill I cry, and there's no one else around. Seriously. I'm the only one awake in my apartment, I didn't take anyone home tonight, I don't think I spoke to anyone I didn't know (except maybe for a friend of a friend of a roomate's boyfried), but this has been the best eight hours in a long, long while.

I just hope it continues.