Rambling monkey...

Today I wrote an email to some of my head honchos at Weasel Central.

Nothing big really.

I just admitted, in writing, that I was manhandling (I kept wanting to type "molesting", but that sounded so, y'know, WRONG) a case in the worst way EVER. A case that these head honcho goons kept dumping on my desk every time I tried to escalate to them. Y'know, that kinda mishandling that only happens in sitcoms ("hey, I wonder what happens if I push the RED button"). I basically told them that if I continued calling this poor, angry man on behalf of the company I was pretty sure he'd either a)sue us; b)show up with his "little friend" (said a la Pacino in Scarface) or c)spit moth balls (I dunno, I needed a third thing, I'm tired, leave me alone).

I suspect they'll tell me to call him again and just apologize for my stupidity and offer him a Weasel Central pen. Heh.

Dummies.

In other news, I got to hear a code fucking red at the hospital this morning. It was weird, cause the doctor dealing with me kept talking like NOTHING was going on. Those piercing alarms? Nothing at all. The slightly panicked sounding announcement? Fuggedaboutit. He kept making rather nonchalant banter and all the while I'm trying to remember where all the bloody emergency exits are, so I'm not really listening to him & probably told him that I'm really a rhesus monkey, and that no, I do not enjoy Proust, but who knows.

I could be wrong.

And sleep deprived.

Horribly, horribly sleep deprived.

Oh, and addicted to that bloody PS2 soccer game. I've almost mastered it. Though I must protest that Luis Figo is not in it. *sigh*

Right. That post went terribly wrong. I'm sorry. So very sorry. Next post I'll leave to the cats. I'm sure they'll come up with something a little more coherent.

Oh Ma Goodnezz Gracious

Yeah, I'm still alive. Stunned, but still alive.
Turns out that the surgery I wasn't expecting to have until later in July has moved forth a wee bit. By 3 weeks. Yikes! I'll be going under ze knife in early July.

Now, before everyone freaks out (can't handle any "OHMIGAWD are you OKAY?!?!"s anymore), there are some positives. Since I freakin' love lists, allow me to list the reasons getting my throat cut open isn't such a bad thing....

* I get to sleep in for over 2 weeks
* krap daytime teevee
* The new PS2 games I picked up last night (woo hoo! Lookit me! I'm David Beckham!)
* quality time with the cats (ha)
* sleep, and lots of it
* I can surf the internet in my pjs
* I'll be the envy of all wanna be gangstas. Or something.

Okay. Gotta go and do something work related.

Still alive...

...And still feeling lazy as all fuck.

Finally getting back into rowing. But I must admit, getting up at 5 am is a lot harder than it used to be. Ah, the joys of getting older. I'm ready for my nap now.

Don't really have that much in the way of updates.
Still at Weasel Central. Boo.
Still with the gal. Yay.

Yeah. That's about it. For now, anyways.
I've gotta go and figure out how to sneak out of the office an hour early to go and sit in the sun and drink beer.
Wish me luck!

Moo Cow Moo!

Dudes, I am living an exciting life these days. Fo' sho'. You'd all be dead jealous if you were livin' in my shoes.

I've come to realise that I don't actually have to lose 10 pounds. Nope.
It's actually 20.
Whooot!

Oh well. At least my relationship is still going boffo. The gal has announced that she, too, has to shed some weight. Starting yesterday, I began cooking again. Turns out that over the last 2 months we've been poster kids for eating out. How did that happen? I can't stand a joint where I have to sit at an actual table and act like a grown up.

Laziness is an crazy, crazy thing.
So is my inability to get out of bed and go rowing.

Someone send motivation, STAT!