I am an arms dealer fitting you with weapons in the form of words

Posted: March 9, 2007 in boredom, Journal, misc

Bringing you the world of miscellany, one entry at a time.

Ladies and gentlemen, my new favorite song (from whence the title came): “This Ain’t a Scene, It’s an Arms Race” by Fallout Boy.

This right here is just all fucked up.

I’m stuck at work. Calvin is home right now, and he gosh darn well better be installing our new dishwasher. Maytag. Purchase inspired by the aforementioned washer and dryer lurve.

Here ye, here ye, Dawn says she’s going to be writing again, once she comes back from a vacation to N’awlins. We’ll just see about that, the damn tease. That’s right, missy! You’re a T-to tha-E-to tha-ASE. Word.

I am about to seriously RIP MY NOSE OFF. I moved to Arizona expecting my allergies to improve. Because, you know, that’s just the sort of false advertising the AZ Chamber of Commerce likes to indulge in, to lure in us transplants. Check this out, just to be able to, you know, breathe while trying to go to sleep last night, I had to blow my nose seventy bazillion times, take two different kinds of nasal spray, take my inhaler, AND apply a Breathe Right strip. And I was still jacked up. That’s just all kinds of messed up, right there.

Okay, that was weird. I just got off the phone with one of my suppliers – someone I speak with infrequently and only briefly, all about business matters. The conversation went a little something like this:

me: “Hey, what can I do for you?”
him: “I gave up sex for Lent!”
me: “Uhhh, good for you?”

Hmm. I’m sure professional courtesy is not high up on that person’s list of amenable qualities. That was just really strange.

Yeah, I got nuthin’ else. Calvin and I are supposed to go to Sedona this weekend. I’ll probably take pictures. I posted some pics of our trip to the Ren Fair to Flickr if anybody wants to stare at corseted boobies.

Laura OUT.

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