(no subject)
Nov. 15th, 2007 01:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thejunipertreeMucking about online, trying to ignore the pain still in my right hand and how it's really slowing down my fucking typing skills, with Operation: Giant Otter on the television in the background.
Giant otters on tv keep making noise, as giant otters do.
Giant otter noise sounds eerily like my cat, Nympho, when he's in pain.
It's making me quite insane, I tell you.
---
Scandal has erupted at work as our IT guy announced yesterday at lunch that he was planning on getting married.
Not too terribly off the wall, right?
Well. Let's put this in list form:
1. They met on the internet three months ago.
2. They only met in person one month ago.
3. The wedding is this Saturday.
4. She's not a citizen of this country.
5. She's not moving in with him until sometime next year.
IT guy is a bit miffed with me because when he told me about the upcoming nuptials, my response was a flippant "My condolences." What can I say?
At the time, I was in a spectacularly bad mood as it was and marriage isn't one of my favorite things in this world. I think it's archaic, pointless, and rarely serves any purpose other than to muck up a perfectly good relationship (there are obviously exceptions to this rule, so don't come storming my castle with your stories about how great wedded bliss is, I'm not going to listen).
He also won't listen to anyone about anything. He asked me about changing his W4 to claim as married and I recommended that he hold off on doing it, due to the issues with incurring one's spouse's debt. He says he trusts her. I kept myself from rolling my eyes at him. The executive assistant had a conversation with him about waiting a bit before getting married. He says, "she's the one!" Executive assistant tells him that is she is the one, than she'll still be the one in six months. Or a year. He ignores her.
IT guy is an odd duck, to begin with. When we first started the hellish benefit drive that I have been immersed in for the past two fucking months, he asked the sales representative for the life insurance if the money is still paid out to one's beneficiaries is one commits suicide. I don't get this guy. At all.
At this point, I am ignoring all conversation about the wedding. It's his life. I'm tired of hearing about it at the office. Almost everyone else is running around, clucking like a barnyard of hens, over the scandaliciousness of it all. I hide in my office a lot.
---
My hand is fux0red, I think. All of the pain is centered in my index finger and coasts down to about my wrist level, on occasion. I can't crack that knuckle anymore, which is slowly driving me insane. And it aches fiercely in the cold or when I have to handwrite anything, which is making note-taking for my classes a lot of fun. It even hurts in the webbing between my thumb and my index finger. I don't know what the hell is up. All I know is that I woke up like this last week. It occasionally crabs up into a claw and I have to manually unfold my fingers with my other hand.
This should make cooking for Thanksgiving next week a rollarcoaster of joyousness.
---
Speaking of the holiday, I haven't even started planning a menu yet. And I have to go food shopping this weekend for it, once my father gives me some money towards the bill. The staples will be there, of course. Roasted turkey (I'm thinking of brining it, but I don't know), mashed potatoes with sour cream and possibly creme fraiche, whole cranberry sauce with orange juice and ginger, cathead biscuits, pie of a various nature. But, what else? Stuffing muffins, obviously. I need to make those, or there will be a riot in my apartment.
I'm not feeling it this year. I wasn't feeling Halloween, either.
This does not bode well.
---
My Stress Management professor found out tonight that I'm smoking again. He was good about it, although he did lightly tease me. That stopped when I told him how bad the withdrawal symptoms had gotten and how crazy they made me. He told me that almost forty-eight hours was completely respectable for my first time out of the gates. I told him that I think I need drugs to get through it. He asked me what kind and laughed loud enough to frighten the class when I responded, "Opium, mostly."
Last week, I got into a knock-down, drag-out fight in my Human Services class with one of my classmates, an older guy who has been chafing my ass from day one. He never shuts the fuck up. Like, seriously. And he constantly interjects these pointless and rambling anecdotes into almost every lecture. He started talking some barely concealed smack on the gays and I lit up like a fireworks display, much to the amusement of the rest of the class who all tittered nervously when I busted out with "THAT'S THE BIGGEST BUNCH OF BULLSHIT I'VE EVER HEARD!" after this guy started talking about Navy guys on all-men submarines potentially not being able to control themselves around all that manflesh.
The professor kept getting between us and I would instantly stop. She's the professor, word of God and all that in the classroom, and I instantly respect her position of authority, but then he would spout some more mealy-mouthed, homophobic nonsense and it would get me fired up all over again. And he kept interupting me whenever I would put my hand up and comment about something, which immediately pisses me off. I thought the girl sitting behind me was going to pee herself when I called him a knuckle-dragging asshat.
I've been having problems with his existence all semester AND he's in my Intro to Counseling class, as well.
I've never hated a total stranger so much in my entire life. I want the streets to run red with his blood. I want his brain matter caked under my nails. I want him tortured to death by small, yapping syphillis-laden dogs.
---
Fuck this noise.
I want to go play video games.
I should go to bed, instead.
Giant otters on tv keep making noise, as giant otters do.
Giant otter noise sounds eerily like my cat, Nympho, when he's in pain.
It's making me quite insane, I tell you.
---
Scandal has erupted at work as our IT guy announced yesterday at lunch that he was planning on getting married.
Not too terribly off the wall, right?
Well. Let's put this in list form:
1. They met on the internet three months ago.
2. They only met in person one month ago.
3. The wedding is this Saturday.
4. She's not a citizen of this country.
5. She's not moving in with him until sometime next year.
IT guy is a bit miffed with me because when he told me about the upcoming nuptials, my response was a flippant "My condolences." What can I say?
At the time, I was in a spectacularly bad mood as it was and marriage isn't one of my favorite things in this world. I think it's archaic, pointless, and rarely serves any purpose other than to muck up a perfectly good relationship (there are obviously exceptions to this rule, so don't come storming my castle with your stories about how great wedded bliss is, I'm not going to listen).
He also won't listen to anyone about anything. He asked me about changing his W4 to claim as married and I recommended that he hold off on doing it, due to the issues with incurring one's spouse's debt. He says he trusts her. I kept myself from rolling my eyes at him. The executive assistant had a conversation with him about waiting a bit before getting married. He says, "she's the one!" Executive assistant tells him that is she is the one, than she'll still be the one in six months. Or a year. He ignores her.
IT guy is an odd duck, to begin with. When we first started the hellish benefit drive that I have been immersed in for the past two fucking months, he asked the sales representative for the life insurance if the money is still paid out to one's beneficiaries is one commits suicide. I don't get this guy. At all.
At this point, I am ignoring all conversation about the wedding. It's his life. I'm tired of hearing about it at the office. Almost everyone else is running around, clucking like a barnyard of hens, over the scandaliciousness of it all. I hide in my office a lot.
---
My hand is fux0red, I think. All of the pain is centered in my index finger and coasts down to about my wrist level, on occasion. I can't crack that knuckle anymore, which is slowly driving me insane. And it aches fiercely in the cold or when I have to handwrite anything, which is making note-taking for my classes a lot of fun. It even hurts in the webbing between my thumb and my index finger. I don't know what the hell is up. All I know is that I woke up like this last week. It occasionally crabs up into a claw and I have to manually unfold my fingers with my other hand.
This should make cooking for Thanksgiving next week a rollarcoaster of joyousness.
---
Speaking of the holiday, I haven't even started planning a menu yet. And I have to go food shopping this weekend for it, once my father gives me some money towards the bill. The staples will be there, of course. Roasted turkey (I'm thinking of brining it, but I don't know), mashed potatoes with sour cream and possibly creme fraiche, whole cranberry sauce with orange juice and ginger, cathead biscuits, pie of a various nature. But, what else? Stuffing muffins, obviously. I need to make those, or there will be a riot in my apartment.
I'm not feeling it this year. I wasn't feeling Halloween, either.
This does not bode well.
---
My Stress Management professor found out tonight that I'm smoking again. He was good about it, although he did lightly tease me. That stopped when I told him how bad the withdrawal symptoms had gotten and how crazy they made me. He told me that almost forty-eight hours was completely respectable for my first time out of the gates. I told him that I think I need drugs to get through it. He asked me what kind and laughed loud enough to frighten the class when I responded, "Opium, mostly."
Last week, I got into a knock-down, drag-out fight in my Human Services class with one of my classmates, an older guy who has been chafing my ass from day one. He never shuts the fuck up. Like, seriously. And he constantly interjects these pointless and rambling anecdotes into almost every lecture. He started talking some barely concealed smack on the gays and I lit up like a fireworks display, much to the amusement of the rest of the class who all tittered nervously when I busted out with "THAT'S THE BIGGEST BUNCH OF BULLSHIT I'VE EVER HEARD!" after this guy started talking about Navy guys on all-men submarines potentially not being able to control themselves around all that manflesh.
The professor kept getting between us and I would instantly stop. She's the professor, word of God and all that in the classroom, and I instantly respect her position of authority, but then he would spout some more mealy-mouthed, homophobic nonsense and it would get me fired up all over again. And he kept interupting me whenever I would put my hand up and comment about something, which immediately pisses me off. I thought the girl sitting behind me was going to pee herself when I called him a knuckle-dragging asshat.
I've been having problems with his existence all semester AND he's in my Intro to Counseling class, as well.
I've never hated a total stranger so much in my entire life. I want the streets to run red with his blood. I want his brain matter caked under my nails. I want him tortured to death by small, yapping syphillis-laden dogs.
---
Fuck this noise.
I want to go play video games.
I should go to bed, instead.
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(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-15 03:19 pm (UTC)Jebus.
I'm currently in my office, afraid to walk over to the other side of the building where everyone else is to see what's going on.