Poison Cherry = Good Times
A rockin' Friday night was had by all. Drinks drunk and side pony tails and chicks handing out antipsychotics in the ladies room. Interesting. I also finally met Niebaum's alleged lady friend. She does, indeed, exist. I approve. (As if that matters.)
Sammy Hagar's two 18-wheelers are parked mere steps away from my front door. Ok, so it's really a couple blocks, but it's totally walkable. I love the idea that Sammy Hagar has been in my neighborhood for the past couple days. I bet I could meet him if I just hung around the parking lot after work today.
Also, they're having a screening of The Darjeeling Limited tonight followed by a Q&A with Jason Scwartzman. I can't think of any questions right now, except for maybe "After this, do you want to go get some tacos at the carwash?" I bet he'd go. I'd even buy him a 40 at the CVS next door.
But, alas, I have to go learn some more algebra. Wouldn't it be awesome if I could take both Sammy Hagar and Jason Schwartzman to class with me for show and tell? "Here are some famous people, who, as far as I know, don't have anything to do with any type of math whatsoever. I would like five points extra credit. Thank you."
I think I've found my new office arch nemesis. She's the person I sort of snapped at last Wednesday. I may just be tilting at windmills, but I swear she's taking a tone and copping a 'tude. I need a nemesis everywhere I work, or else my need to rage against The Man goes unfulfilled, and I got enough other needs currently going unfulfilled to add that one. Diane. I made copies for her for three hours this morning. I am not exaggerating. For real. I made copies for three hours this morning. When was the last time you made copies for three hours? College? Instead of just checking out the book? Yeah, I thought so.
Dang, this place smells like vanilla Plug-Ins. And I'm not even using the outlet. It's interfering with my ability to hate Diane. How can I hate when it smells like cake?
FUCK YOU, GUILLERMO.
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