and I'm so tired of all this measuring of truth

[thejunipertree]

There is a crick in my neck that won't go away, no matter how many times I wrench my head to the left or right. This is becoming most uncomfortable.

Went out to the diner with the Sensitive Artist and the Engineer. Wackiness ensued, involving me getting money out of the automatic teller down the street from my apartment.

First go round, it wouldn't give me any money. The message on the little receipt was that I exceded my daily allowance limit, which is a bunch of cack. Considering that I haven't taken any money out at ALL today, how could I have exceeded my limit? Right. I drive down to the convience store next to the bank and try them.

No dice.

This receipt tells me the same thing. I begin to get paranoid due to the rubber check problems I had the other week, so I attempt to check my balance. The machine won't spit it out. Action is unavailable at this time.

God fucking damnit.

Okay. The plan is to drive to the NEXT automatic teller I can fine. I'm cursing up a storm, as I am prone to doing when I'm angry. In the middle of driving to the next machine, I decided to cut halfway across the state of Goblin Market and go to my /home/ bank. I usually get lost whenever I try to do this, but luckily I made it without (many) mishaps this time.

Okay.

I almost knock off the mirror on a concrete post whilst swinging around the bank due to my smmmooooooth driving skillz. I insert card, tell the Engineer the story about how the last time I came to the bank I was depositing a check for my mother. Having no pen at hand, I wrote the deposit slip out in eyeliner. heh.

Present tense: this machine is also telling me that funds (and information) are unavailable. More profanity, along with me announcing that I am just going to drive home as I won't have any money.

Driving back, just before I make the turn onto the street next to my street, I decide to re-try the first bank I went to. I insert my card, tap my numbers, shake my fist at the screen and threaten to kick its mother's ass if it doesn't produce the goods. This time, I'm trying for my account balance first.

MIGHTY FUCK! IT PRODUCED!

I dance with the receipt in my grimy little fist. I shake it at the car where the Engineer and SA are lying in wait. so, which do you like better? bald guys or guys with long hair? i'm not answering that, sensitive artist. and neither is the woman in the car next to us. so don't ask her.

I tap more keys on the screen and money is spit out at me. MONEY SHOT! HAH!

Driving down the road, a car decides to make a turn in front of me with no blinkers. I slam on the brakes and fumble for the horn. Which, for some unknowable reason, I can never find when I WANT to. SA decides that if it were he in the car making that annoying turn, he would have shouted "WOO-HOO!" out the window at me.

SA also informs me that I say "fucking" like the actress in a movie that he and the Unibomber V 2.0 watched the other day at Unibomber's and Wee Ninja's mother house. Sarah Silver, or something of that kind?

The diner: goth territory moments that I'm hoping no one else noticed, the decision is made that Roy Orbison's "Crying" would make a lovely song if only used with the word "meow". SA and I demonstrate. Much sexual innuendo is flung about the table. Cigarettes are smoked. A cheeseburger falls apart in my hands. you took all the california out of your california cheeseburger. no, i didn't! My solitary soda of the day is drunk (I'm doing quite good with this much less soda thing).

I get to sleep in a bit tomorrow, as I've been informed that I can head into the office at 10:30. This is a God send. Though, I'm most likely just going to stay up the requisite amount of time and still get about five hours of sleep. This is me, being stupid.

The climate control in there has been broken for the past three days. And as the weather has been hot as the testicles of Lucifer himself, it has been extremely sweltering. Especially with all of the copy machines, faxers, computers, and such-like running. Not to mention being on the third floor of a glass building in which my department is on the side which catches the sun just about all day.

I can feel my eyeliner trying to make a break for it.

I don't wish this to continue. Heat and me do not mix very well, at all. I get sluggish and irritable, not wanting to move. What happened to Spring, may I ask?

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