30 November 2005
I got to Boston at 7:00, which left me two hours to kill before the flight. I checked in, found the gate, and sat down. I had three dollars to my name, and spent it on a bagel and coffee from Dunkin' Donuts, and a package of Certs (so if forced to small talk with strangers, I wouldn't immediately offend them with my mouth). A woman named Ann chatted with me a little, and then asked me to watch her coat and bag while she went to find the bathroom. Forty minutes later, she came back. We also ended up talking to an older woman from Bethel, who would get my attention by saying "Hey! Girl from Jay!". The plane started boarding at 8:30. I was next to a young, clean-looking, well-traveled couple. They were extremely snobby, and we didn't exchange words. My seat was on the aisle, and any time I came near the arm rest between my seat and that of young pretty-man, he'd tense up. Not that I wanted contact with him any more than he seemed to want contact with me, but I new then and there that there'd be no sleeping for me on this flight. Luckily there was a movie. Unluckily, they were charging $2 for headphones, and I had spent my cash on breakfast and breath-freshner. OOPS! So I attempted lip-reading to try watching Must Love Dogs, but gave up almost immediately, and settled in with Augusten Burroughs (Magical Thinking is my airplane book. I've read it three or four times at least, but it's always good). It was a long, l-o-n-g flight, and I was exhausted when we finally got to San Francisco. It was 12:30 PST. Peter wasn't immediately findable, so I took the opportunity to pee and stick my face in a sink. I met up with my brother-in-law on my way to the escalator. He'd been at the baggage claim (I didn't check bags, since I'm a compact packer, and fit everything into a small duffel bag). He talked a lot about work on the drive, and I attempted to small-talk back and take pictures. I didn't do very well on either count. Peter took me to Apple, and I got to see his cubicle. I got to see Henry and Lisa again for the first time since Lorrie and Peter's wedding. Peter bought me lunch at the fancy Apple cafeteria (he told me a story about how when Steve Jobs came back to Apple, one of the first orders of business was to improve the meal quality. So now a catering company runs the cafeteria, and make this amazing food.) I got a pizza, and it was good. After some walking around, Peter took me back to their apartment to settle and watch TV while he finished work. We decided I'd be quietly sitting on the couch when he and Lorrie arrived home. I had planned to take a nap, but by the time I was actually at Lorrie's apartment, I was getting my second wind. So I watched television. Around 5:30, they approached the door. It opened, and there was Peter. Lorrie, thinking there was a prowler, was peeking around him, and I peered over the top of the couch and gave her a stupid grin. Then she started screaming. Loudly. Excitedly. Screaming and jumping, and very quickly moving toward me WHILE screaming and jumping. Peter told her to quiet down for fear that the neighbors will think that he beats her. I told her that if she wanted to continue screaming, she might want to do it further away from my face. But it was awesome. I had told Peter she'd scream, but I think he expected tears and subdued joy. But Lorrie's a screaming jumper.
That night we went out to the Mandarin Gourmet, which was excellent. We went back to their apartment after that, and watched some TV. By 8:00p.m. PST, I was starting to fall asleep sitting up. I had been up since midnight pacific time, and was working off of three hours of sleep. So at 9:00, Lorrie accepted that I was not going to be any fun that night, and let me go to bed. We made tentative plans for Saturday (Winchester Mystery House?) and Sunday (San Francisco?). I fell asleep the instant she and Peter left the room.
26 November 2005
This is from my Diaryland blog, which was resurrected briefly (since it was the only one Lorrie has no access to). From October 28th, 2005 at 1:07 p.m.
So I think this may be the only blog my sister doesn't know about. And the reason zero-access is required is because my new brother-in-law is flying me out to them in Santa Clara to surprise her for her birthday (belatedly)! And, stupid me, not forseeing a secret-surprise California trip in my future that I'd want to write about, gave my sister access to my blogs.
Peter (aka Bil2) called me three days ago and asked if I could fly out the weekend of November 4, as Lorrie's birthday is the 5th. With work wanting scheduling conflicts two weeks in advance, I was unable to accommodate. But we settled on November 18-21...all I pay for is a bus ticket to Boston.
In case I've been unclear or unwilling to relay facts, my sister and Bil2 got married on September 24, and a week later they moved to California so Peter could work for Apple and make mucho dinero (a lot of money, i think? right?) so they can come back to Maine in 5-7 years and build a home mortgage free (it's an obsession of theirs, mortgage-free living. I, for one, plan to have the mightiest, mortgagiest of home loans possible, and I will pay on it until the day I die. As long as it doesn't mean saving money. I can't save a hundred dollars, let alone hundreds of thousands of dollars).
So I'm going to California. I wasn't able to really get a feel for the state from driving through it, and I've been told that Barstow, our California pit stop on the way to Washington, is not a good example of California living. Thank GOD, can I just say. I will hopefully visit the Winchester Mystery House, which I've read so much about in the last three days. I will go to Safeway and Albertsons again and laugh at their horrendous prices. I will bask in sun and stucco, and breathe deep the Pacific vapors and smog. Though I think the smog might just be an LA thing. And I know Los Angeles is nowhere near where I'm going to be. Thank GOD, can I just say. Though I wouldn't mind hob-nobbing with the Hollywood elite. I know they'd love me. I'd be quiet and unassuming at first, then we'd secure sizeable cups of coffee and I'd let loose and impress them all with my acerbic wit and energetic dance moves.
Exciting. It's like a birthday present for me as much as it is for Lorrie. Two weeks past her birthday, two and a half weeks before mine.
It's a secret though. I trust you, the general public, inherently.
Also noteable, but unrelated: I have secured my first half-gallon of egg nog. I'm opting for light egg nog this year, which touts 50% less fat than regular egg nog. Couple that with the month and a half of abstaining, I will not gain 20 lbs. this holiday season. I'm don't have the math enough to give you an equation, but I'm going to put my money on a weight gain of no more than 7 lbs. Probably no more than 5 lbs., but I'm not going to set myself up for failure.
25 November 2005
I dreamed weirdly last night! Weirdly in that they were fairly cohesive, and clearly plotted.
There was a quick, uninteresting dream in which Shanae, the former manager of Movie Gallery, was still working with us. I came in for a shift after her. I took over Tami's drawer, but hadn't closed her out of it. I kept saying I'd do it after the next transaction. Near the end of the night, I realized I was screwed, because all our transactions were one, and our statistics were going to be messed up. Nothing came of it. My work dreams are about as exciting as my work reality.
The next one was fairly straightforward - I was in a helicopter accident. We were at the lake my grandparents once had a camp on, and we (being either myself and my cousin Shawna, or me and my friend Crystal. It was unclear, but the familiarity was there). The helicpoter took off, got into the air, and when it tried to turn, the nose went upwards (I know, no nose...but try to reason with my subconscious. It's not having it) and we crashed, feet-first. We survived, and ran back towards the camp. On the way, I could see that the Daigle's A-frame had been broken into. So we ran on and got back to where Mom and Lorrie were, and told them about the Daigles' break-in and the accident. They weren't surprised by any of it. Really, the crash detal was what made that dream crazy.
The second dream had me working at Sanford High School as the assistant to the man who was principal while I attended, Mr. Rook. He was having image problems, and blamed his baby elephant throw rugs. But they weren't that overstated, and were rather atttractive. I suggested instead of disposing of them, he keep them under his desk, and attempted to fit them discreetly out of sight. But it was while fitting the rugs that I happened upon his big matching baby elephant computer chair. It was pastel yellow. I suggested that his image problem might spring more from the chair, opposed to the carpets. He asked me if I thought he should get rid of the chair, and I said no, I just thought it meant he shouldn't get rid of the carpets, as they're not the issue. (I was very reasonable in the dream). So there was going to be some kind of assembly. I don't remember what for specifically, but I knew Lorrie had done something, and was somehow going to play an active role in the gathering. So I got to make the announcement for everyone to go to the auditorium. On the way, I saw an athletic-type guy running after a girl, and it looked potentially violent. So I ran after them and told the jock to back off . I held up my fists to show I wasn't messing around. "Oh, you're going to fight me? I'd like to see you try!" said the asslete (haha! asslete. yeah.) "No, I'm going to kick you in the balls really hard," I replied, with conviction that surprises non-sleeping me. This gave him cause for pause, and he went away. Everyone was surprised by my toughness and also very thankful.
Also, does anyone think I could pull off Samantha Morton's haircut? Not the blondness though. No one at work seems to think so, but I REALLY like it. Or something similar to it. Too much?
24 November 2005
|Your Birthdate: December 9|
You are a born idealist, with more pet causes than you can count.
You prefer be around others, both when working and while relaxing.
Generous and giving, you believe you can change the world one person at a time.
You're open minded and tolerant. People feel like they can tell you anything.
Your strength: Your go-with-the-flow flexibility
Your weakness: Your flair for the over dramatic
Your power color: Pine green
Your power symbol: Circle
Your power month: September
Happy Thanksgiving! Eat your poultry responsibly. (does turkey count as poultry?)
18 November 2005
In case anyone else isn't familiar with Dvorak, here's how he/she/it lays out the keys:
Dvorak is my new archnemesis.
More on Tuesday, when I know how to type again.
15 November 2005
- Woke up in the usual fashion, at about the usual time.
-Washed work uniform, had breakfast.
-Watched Crocodile Dundee in Los Angeles; enjoyed it more than was anticipated or warranted.
-Worked. Lots of shifting and re-arranging. It made the time pass quickly.
-Made dinner (spaghetti!) then dropped it on the floor (my plate, of course); cleaned up the havoc reaped by dinner.
-Settled in for quality programming: Good Times, What's Happening?, The Colbert Report, and Golden Girls. It's becoming habit.
-Went to bed, made significant dent in Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe (VERY GOOD BOOK!)
13 November 2005
He made her show him how to use his DVD player. Several times. And how to adjust the volume and brightness. I suggested he consult his manual. Anna helped him.
What was a bizarre, thieving harmlessness before is now a much greater discomfort, and severe disliking. I don't like the way he is with Anna. And for as much as he stays away from me while I work, he's in her face, asking things. Things he clearly knows already. Like "what's a DVD?" (this was 15 minutes after asking her to make his DVD player work).
I'm going to close with her tonight. I don't want to scare her more by letting her know that there's something very very wrong with him, but there's no hiding it. And if he keeps playing whatever he's playing at, I am going to tell him to leave. Anna's so nice, and she's so in customer service mode, that whether she's been asked to do a task that makes her uncomfortable or not, she does it. I will make sure she doesn't have to. Whether I'm conveying the sketchiness effectively, I can't be sure. But I'm not exaggerating the fact that there's a problem. I just don't know yet what his deal is.
I found this picture on the blog of another faceless acquaintance. I've stared at it long enough, though, that I decided I should post it somewhere I spend more time: Re-reading my own lovely words. I feel like a tool doing it, but I tend to read my old posts at least two or three times a week. I've always said that no one amuses me more than I do, and it's true. I really do write for my sake. I get all my jokes. There are many people who tie for a close 2nd in the amusement department, but I'm just the kind of jackass who derives joy from my thoughts (and sentence structure). I am hilarious.
We watched Happy Endings last night, and as a result I had insane massage-related dreams. I got a horrible massage at some place, where the woman attached me to tubes and started hitting me with something (certainly not her hands), which resulted in my convulsing on her table. SHe left the room for a long period of time, at which point I decided to make my escape. I ended up at my massage school, where Alton Brown was my instructor. He was free to give me a massage, so I of course took him up on the offer. We ended up back at his enormous house, which was peppered with Andy Warhol-like art of him on every possible wall. He set me up and prepped me for massage with lots of tomato-based product...stewed tomatoes, soup, etc...and I passed out. When I "woke up" (in the dream, as I'm still asleep in actuality), I learned that he had sex with me while I was passed out. He had told his wife and child to leave, and had also told Jeremy, who was now upset because I cheated. "But I didn't do anything! He took me in my sleep!" I cried. "But you liked it!" he argued. "I have no feelings about the buggering whatsoever, as I can't even prove it happened!" I argued back. It sucked, I was pissed at Alton for not only getting me in trouble with Jeremy, but also for not actually giving me a massage, which was the reason I was there in the first place, and what I was ultimately trying to get out of the dream.
Camper Man has been at the store every day. We're starting to find empty soft-core film boxes throughout the gallery. The other night he wanted us to contact him if Bad Education came in. But it was on the shelf. It was there. And the contact information he left was a Jay PO Box. So were we supposed to mail him to say "your movie is here!"? He didn't even have an account! Not until last night, that is. On a previous visit, he wanted us to help him find soft core films with guys in it, but was clear to remind us every third sentence that he "isn't gay". Last night he made Anna go around the store with him for half an hour, to help him find pornos with no men this time, because he "isn't gay". So not only was Anna creeped out, but thoroughly disgusted at having to find this man's porn, and smell him the whole time (he smells TERRIBLE. There's a stench radius around him that if you're within 10 feet of where he is, or has been, within the last five minutes, you'll involuntarily gag. I'm not exaggerating). Anyway, last night he also opened an account. Suddenly he was a cell phone, and an address in Augusta, and two valid forms of ID! And his name is Bernal! And he's 62! And he rented a lot of porn! So what we all want to know is:
-why is he coming to Jay?
-did he steal the movies that once filled the empty movie boxes? (since in the last week he's been there at least three hours a day. And I have to say, if he's not criminally insane, he's a genius, because of course no one wants to approach a man who spends several hours not renting movies a day, and smells like death reheated. Very tricky, Camper Man. And on an occasion where I was reshelving movies in his general vicinity and caught him off-guard by walking toward him, he bolted to another part of the store. Literally! He quickly escaped, to avoid me. I know avoidance when I see it.)
My newly-formed theory is that he's opened an account so we can't be suspicious as to why he's in the store, even though the 72 accountless hours before that tipped us off already. I'm hoping that he signed up with false information, and that maybe he'll steal the movies he just rented and disappear. What we fear more is that he'll keep coming back. I've gotten past "fear and moved onto "mild disgust" with him, but the others...younger, more fragile...especially Anna. Anna closes alone tonight, and asked if she could call me to come visit if he comes in. I said yes. I'm across the street. And even though Anna, body-builder that she is, could bench press him into oblivion, you can't not fear the unknown. And he's a weird one, Bernal Camperman (I feel I should probably not give his last name, just because he's creepy). He never used to approach us, or talk to us. It's an unfortunate turn of events.
And with that, I'm going downstairs. It's taken a surprising amount of time to type this. Oh, today's my first day off this week! CELEBRATE! (even though I might end up in Portland to help Michelle and David move. I should call them.)
11 November 2005
You are Charlie Bucket! Congratulations! You are a
well-behaved individual! You consider others
before yourself, and give as much as you can.
While this is great, don't feel bad about
indulging yourself every now and then...you
derserve it after all.
What Child of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory are You?
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This actually reminded me of last night's dream, where I was in a college lecture-type course, taught by Chris Noth, and the assignment was to remake Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Freddie Highmore was in my group! So of course we decided immediately that he mustn't be Charlie, because it had already been done, and we might lose credit. Then the phone woke me. I'll never know what happened.
Work yesterday turned out to be so much harder than I would've anticipated. We did 150% to goal last night. I closed half an hour late, as people were still milling about, wanting to rent things. I didn't leave until almost 10:30. I helped over 200 customers. If I had knows, I would've snorted pure caffeine before leaving. But for the most part, everyone who came in was enjoyable. Evil Camper Man was in when I got there, and I had to explain him to Anna. He left about an hour later, but came back 45 minutes after that, and stayed another two hours. But he bought a chocolate bar, a bag of chips, and two orange sodas, so that was nice. And somehow surprising. But still, good to know he eats. The second time he was in, I got a little paranoid. For the first 15 minutes I managed to convince myself he was carrying a gun, and that when the store emptied out he would shoot me and flee. Like he only came to Jay to kill. Much like the movie Stone Cold, starring Tom Selleck, which we watched a couple nights ago. But he left me unshot, and disappeared quietly with his snacks.
This morning I have successfully located Tuesday's Gilmore Girls episode, and am downloading it as we speak. (Erin: Limewire) So in roughly two hours, I will be delighting in quality entertainment, and my morning beverage of choice. And probably a piece of cheesecake. I might go for a bowl of the chili too. Or maybe just a sandwich.
10 November 2005
It has arrived. It has accumulated. It's expected again tonight.
Snow is a reality in November, especially in northern New England...especially ESPECIALLY if you're in the foothills of western Maine. But we're generally closer to Thanksgiving before the snow stops going away. It started unexpectedly around 4:30 last night, and stopped at some point before we got up this morning. It made work last night extremely busy, then quiet. I spend the last hour of my shift alternating between staring at the floor, and gazing sadly out to the accumulating winter precipitation. It's not all bad I suppose...and it's not like I had much winter to put up with last year (almost makes me miss the pacific northwest)...
We had slow-cooked chili last night. We tried a new recipe, and added the Pepper Man's peppers. It was kicky! Not as good as the last batch, but we're definitely going to add aspects from this batch to the last (italian sausage!). Eventually we'll have a unique recipe. We'll one day have a slew of our own recipes to enjoy and sell for profit. We also had cornbread, cheesecake that we were too full to eat (I'll make up for that at lunch today), and vodka. Cheap, Lewiston-bottled vodka. Added to iced tea. We went to bed after 1:00 a.m. more intoxicated than expected. Weren't we surprised when the window man knocked on the door at 8:00 this morning! Forgot about him, we did! He installed the upstairs windows this morning. We groggily and naueatedly watched The Today Show.
Around 10:00, Arthur came over with the vacuum. Now, I appreciate the thought, but I wasn't thrilled. When he came in, I thought he wanted to clean up after the window guy. There were wood chips to be taken care of, and I understood that well enough. But he vacuumed everything. He just...vacuumed everything! Carpets, no carpets...around us, around the window guy...and he spent a good deal of time on the stairs and entryway, which, if you'll remember from my previous window post, I vacuumed two days ago. And he didn't just touch up the stairs, he labored over them. Like they had never been vacuumed, and he had half a year's grime to lift out. Come ON! They smelled fantastic! They looked fine! After all was said and done, he told us that we had to "get on the ball" about washing the kitchen floor, and contemptuously told us that if our vacuum is what we vacuum the dining room with, it's just not good enough. (we sweep the dining room, since it's linoleum and we happen to have a broom.) He left and came back with one of his four machines for us to use. Jeremy told me to "calm down" when I started venting. I know my reaction's a bit much, but let me get it out! If I knew he was going to covertly inspect the apartment under the ruse of vacuuming up wood chips, I would've prepared. I would've washed the floor. I might've even scrubbed the toilet! So, in my eyes, he came over to spy, and insulted me in the process. I get to be pissed for an hour.
I'll likely be embarrassed about my ranting later. But there's no reasoning with me now, dear readers. There's a polite way to tell us we're gross. I can deal with manners in a mannerly fashion. But MAN!
Al Franken has a new book, and I have started reading it (thanks, Jay-Niles Library!). It's called The Truth (with jokes). Al Franken cracks me up.
Okay! Everybody have a super-duper day! Don't judge! (PLEASE!)
09 November 2005
The window installer ran out of time yesterday, but changed all the downstairs windows, as well as the one in the hallway upstairs. He'll be back tomorrow (he thinks) to take care of the rest. And maybe it's just me, but it's warmer downstairs. We turned the heat off completely yesterday, and the room maintained 62 degrees most of the night. Having nice windows for once makes me think back to Washington, where our windows pushed outward and latched with an eye hook (I have a feeling it might not be called an eye hook, but if anyone's unclear, just ask. I'll draw it for you).
Tonight we're making chili! This'll be the second time in 2 1/2 weeks, but I didn't have hot peppers from the Pepper Man before. Bob Winner, a fifty-something clockwork-regular customer at the store, grows hot peppers. He's brought Tami peppers for as long as I've worked there, and just recently he's started interacting with me. It came up that I like peppers, and he insisted he bring me some too. So last week he brought me six or seven of them. I told him I was going to make them up in a chili, and he is excited to know how they work out. He's so proud of his peppers.
I've gotten over a hump at work. You know when you start a new job, and for a few months you're hyper-aware that you're new, and are afraid to think for yourself without approval for fear of being fired - you've still designated yourself as "new", and you don't fully feel like you work there? I'm over it. And I think I got over it last weekend. I can't describe how it's different, but I'm doing lots of tasky things, "for the good of the store". Shifts pass lightning-fast. I'm not afraid to answer questions out of fear of saying the wrong thing. I have the authority to handle customers and store issues on my own, and it doesn't feel wrong anymore. I'm fluent in Movie-Gallerese. This doesn't mean I like my job any more than I did, but I think I'm willing to tolerate it a bit more. For now, at least.
As I'm scheduled to close every Tuesday of Sweeps, I'm missing all the "fresh" episodes of Gilmore Girls. They eventually become downloadable, but, much to my horror and chagrin, not within 24-hours. We don't have a VCR at the moment, and live near no one who could do us the favor of taping it. It's times like this that I'm glad we still have the fast internet. And perhaps I'll have caught up on all the pertinent plot pieces by the end of the year.
Still haven't bought egg nog. I'll gain at least five lbs. less this year than last. If I can make it to my birthday, that's seven lbs. that will not pad my abdomen. I'm strong in the face of a challenge! I will make it until Jay Christmas weekend! (Dec. 16-18). After that, it's a free-for-all.
08 November 2005
I realized while showering yesterday that the root of the word "exclusive" is exclude. I will think twice about calling something exclusive. I'm more user-friendly than that.
So when I came up here yesterday morning to try squeezing out a blog, I had nothing to write about. But luckily, yesterday was a day where things worth writing about took place.
Jeremy defeated Final Fnatasy X. It was easier than either of us would've expected. It's because his characters were freakishly overdeveloped. He had to fight, like, twenty bad things in a row, and no one died. Not once. Even funnier: the ending he logged almost 120 hours of gameplay to achieve skipped and froze. So we don't really know what happened in the story. The badness has gone away, but what were the ramifications? Nothing but the best from Movie Gallery. Thankfully, seeing an ending staved my need to keep playing, at least for now.
The window man came yesterday to install Arthur's windows, and this morning he's doing ours. It'll make for a cold, awkward day today, but tomorrow we will reap the rewards in the form of less oil usage. He got here about ten minutes ago. Not knowing whether or not he needed to invade our space yesterday, we spent a chunk of the afternoon cleaning things. I've got to say, with a little extra effort, the apartment smells fantastic. We should be threatened with servicemen more often. I'm pretty sure I ruined our vacuum by using a sprinkle powder on the stairs and entryway. We have a bagless model, and when I emptied out the booty I noticed the filter was clogged beyond recognition with cakey white dust. And after that, it just sucked less (physically. though you could say for this reason that it sucked more. oh, the levity!)
Last night I quickly shut off Christmas with the Cranks. There was a scene where Tim Allen got water dumped on him many times in a five-minute span (while Jamie Lee Curtis sat unfunnily and Patricia Richardsonly in the car, doing needlepoint), and that was enough for me. We did, though, watch Blizzard in its entirety. Directed by Levar Burton, this was not an excellent movie. It was passably bland. Christopher Plummer was a hearing-impaired, borderline-retarded Santa Claus at a corporate-looking North Pole. He wasn't the star. The Hollywood elite this film drew (Whoopi Goldberg as the voice of Blizzard! Brenda Blethyn, apparently redeeming a favor owed to Levar! Kevin Pollack!) held minor roles. There's nothing much to say. I didn't turn it off. It was a cute idea. It's the film you'd expect Levar Burton would make. The enjoyment I derived came from Kevin Pollack, who in this movie made lots of Jhawn faces. It was what kept me watching. I started to notice the same general coloring and eye set between Kevin and Jim's hubby. He made this one big frown face that, I swear, he contacted Jhawn to learn. If you have ever met Jhawn, you should watch Blizzard. If Jhawn were Jewier, there'd be no telling them apart.
The best thing Comedy Central has ever made is The Colbert Report. I got to see it twice yesterday (funny the TV we've missed while defeating Sin and riding chocobos!), and not many other shows made me laugh as loudly. There's a writer who should be fired or sent back to the Daily Show (not to say bad things, I love Jon Stewart as much as the next guy, but I'm a little tired of the show itself. The correspondants just aren't what they used to be. I do like the interviews (BARACK OBAMA!), but I can only watch a show for its host so many times), but the overall funny surpasses the hit-or-miss captioning.
So I just ran downstairs to get a cup of coffee, and I saw one of the new windows. It's so pretty! Lots of light coming in, no heat going out...the installer was kind enough not to comment on the burger pants, or the crazed look of desperation as I shakily poured my first cup o' joe.
November's Oprah Magazine is both interesting and relevent. But what's new?
04 November 2005
Later we were in April's apartment, and all over the place she had McDonald miniatures. Tiny milkshakes, bite-sized double cheeseburgers...all available to be made into grab bags. So I assembled a mini McDonald's meal, and then Tony Sirico showed up! He told us he wore a wig, and proceeded to remove most of his hair to present to us. We told him he looked better without it, and gave him a grab bag. Then I woke up. I had two red hot dogs and a salad for dinner, and drank two glasses of water (opposed to the zero glasses I consume most days).
This is my second day off in a row. I worked a lot of days to get this, and will have to work plenty more before I get more time off. Tami's finally doing manager training, which means she's going to a "test store" somewhere else in the state for two weeks. That means extra hours for the three of us who are able to lock and secure the store. And really, that's all it means.
01 November 2005
You're the ~ key!
When in front of a number, the tilde indicates an
approxomation. By the same token, you tend to
be indecisive when faced with choices. Even
though you may wish you could just make up your
mind, you can always be sure that you're making
the best decision that you won't regret.
What computer key are you?
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