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Things are looking Monday all over

Hello, imaginary people who live in my computer. How are you today? You’re like those damn sea monkeys, aren’t you? If I don’t feed you…well, the less said about those damn sea monkeys the better, hm? Okay!

St Paddy’s day eve, I got up in the night to drain the weasel and somehow slipped and fell. Falling down under the influence of strong drink is a painful thing. Landing asswards on a ceramic tile floor, more painful still. Perhaps most painful of all, however, comes the following morning, twisting and craning to view a sad, middle-aged left butt-cheek in the medicine cabinet mirror.

Is it visibly bruised? Begorrah, it is not.

Oh, hell. I’m not even Irish.

So I needed a new mop head. Yes, I’m changing the subject. This has nothing to do with my buttcheek or my drinking problem or anything. When I got to the supermarket, I was blindsided; there were like a dozen different kinds! What brand and size is mine? I have no idea. There’s no writing on my mop at all. It’s got two sticky-outy things where the head goes, and that’s all I know.

Damn you mop makers and your confusing mop monopolies!

I almost bought a whole new mop, but I had a feeling I’d done that before. I had a feeling a lot of people do that and the whole stupid issue might be quite deliberate, and that pissed me right off. So I bought a mop head and a roll of duct tape.

Yes I did.

And, no, it didn’t fit (the two sticky-outy things were about a millimeter too far apart and too short), but the duct tape worked fine. Remember, the tape doesn’t have to stick to a wet mop; it only has to stick to itself. And there’s nothing tape sticks to better than itself.

While I was in the supermarket, I spotted a woman buying something that looked like a cyprus knee.

“How the heck do you cook that?” I said, because I’m one of those annoying people who strikes up a conversation with anyone, anywhere.

She looked at me blankly a moment and said, “No speak English.”

Look, I won’t go into the whole immigration thing just now. But, would you immigration officers or social workers or whoever primes newcomers before releasing them into the wild do me a big fat favor? Teach them to say, “I don’t speak English.” Okay? It’s just one more syllable than “no speak English,” and it at least gives the impression they’re trying to understand how complete sentences work in their new home.

So (changing the subject again) somebody in my area got fired this afternoon. Not the good kind of fired, where you get severance pay and a letter of recommendation and a cake in the break room. The bad kind of fired, where you show up in the morning with your Dunkin’ Donuts medium light no sugar, and leave in the afternoon with all your stuff in a box, escorted by Security. All’s we know is, he did Something Bad with the network.

And I’m, like, “something bad like…oh, I dunno…blogging?”

Nobody knows. Just…Something Bad. So, until I find out more, it’s early mornings or late evenings for me.

And I swear to god, if I find you guys floating around on the top of this blog not moving, I’m not going to cry this time. I’m just not.


Comment from lizardbrain
Time: March 19, 2007, 7:05 pm

Well, I’m just barely moving.

Two days after spending 3 1/2 hours making sure the old ladies in the building don’t break their hips getting their cars out of the parking lot, everything hurts. I used to wake up after St. Paddy’s Day with a lot of pain, but at least I had sweet, sweet blackout to protect me from the memory of how I got said pain.

Nowadays, I remember everything, except what I went to the supermarket for, and why I’m standing in the middle of my living room.

At least I’ve refrained from grossing out the sea monkeys with descriptions of my nether regions.

Comment from lizardbrain
Time: March 19, 2007, 7:07 pm

Oh, and even if you’d noted what sort of mop head you needed, when you got to the mop section you would have discovered that that particular model had been discontinued.

Voice of experience.

Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: March 19, 2007, 7:38 pm

“…there’s nothing tape sticks to better than itself.”
This is profound.

Look on the bright side: I bet your fired associate was doin’ the lookie-lookie-porn thing on Co. time. It’ll get you booted quicker’n flickin’ snot off a finger.

If it was blogging, well…uh…maybe you’d have more time to blog at home? I mean, after….uh….never mind.

Comment from S. Weasel
Time: March 20, 2007, 5:34 am

Yeah, porn was everybody’s first guess. But he was an IS type, so he had other opportunities to make mischief with the network. Plus, he should’ve been in a better position than most to know what monitoring they were doing.

Comment from Alissa
Time: March 20, 2007, 9:54 am

Sucks that you got injured; Sweet that you can describe it in a way that greatly entertains heartless strangers. 😉

Comment from mesablue
Time: March 20, 2007, 10:23 am

It’s still Monday?


Comment from mesablue
Time: March 20, 2007, 2:18 pm


Long fracking Monday…

Oh, and I’m an IT guy. To get fired from IT you usually have to do something really bad like snooping around where you are not supposed (email or accounting) to or screwing with other people’s stuff. Or, god forbid, fraternizing with the enemy. You also have to be really stupid to get caught.

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