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bitching, moi?
Oct. 23rd, 2005 03:14 pmNote to self: Do not wait until you wake up to eat something. Eat something before you go to sleep. Otherwise the following will happen:
- You will ditz off about actually going to sleep. You'll be fine until you realize VH1 is playing 'I Love the 80's: 3-D' and spend the next half an hour trying to figure out whether it already started or if, for some asinine reason, they're showing the first hour early.
- When you do fall asleep, you will not want to wake up, so you'll set your alarm back an hour and ten minutes.
- You'll ditz about when waking up and miss your chance to ask mumsy to buy you a tape for tonight's TV-addictions.
- When you do go forage for food, someone will have eaten the last of the cheese and then you'll dither about trying to figure out what you want. By the time you're ready to start cooking, you will have reached that horrible place where the mere idea of food makes you want to throw up. Repeatedly. Even the act of eating makes you feel sick. Because, genius, you waited too friggin' long!
In other news, I remember once, not too long ago, going through and putting 90% of my Gilmore Girls pictures in various folders so that I would be able to easily identify them later on.
... I cannot find the disk that I did this for. This is driving me insane. Very, very, very insane. Now I must just hope it wasn't on the zip disk as my computer pretty much broke up with it's zip drive and they don't really speak to one another anymore.
Work: It was fine until the last fifteen minutes or so. I'd just spent the last hour mopping and sweeping and my hands were red from pushing that damn mop around. I was kind of grumpy because if certain people [coughSECONDSHIFTcough] had done their job, I wouldn't be wondering about blisters on my poor, delicate girly hands. The floor was filthy. I've swept enough to know what an appropriate amount of dust/dirt is. That? Was at least twice the legal amount. Then there were the makeup spills and the really yucky sticky spots all over the store, and my favorite bit: the footprints leading to and from the office. Dude, one of you guys could have cleaned the floor, y'know. Soooo. I'm a bit grumbly and I'm even more grumbly when I spill part of the dirty mop water on the floor in the closet of doom. So I clean that up. I empty the bucket so it's not sitting there turning rancid and overall yucky. I go to the bathroom and wash my hands and then let the semi-cold water rinse over my hands. Coworker appears in the bathroom and suggests hiding out until the shift of doom is over. I agree when I realize it's ten minutes. I also don't really plan on staying back there for ten minutes. We do. When we scuttle out we get fussed at for disappearing.
... Which, if I'm being honest, totally valid. Except that the person fussing at us? Spent the first three hours of the night popping outside every fifteen minutes. This is an average since occasionally he'd walk inside peek around and then go right back outside when it looked like someone might be heading for him.
Bother. Annnnnnd now I'm off to bug people.
- You will ditz off about actually going to sleep. You'll be fine until you realize VH1 is playing 'I Love the 80's: 3-D' and spend the next half an hour trying to figure out whether it already started or if, for some asinine reason, they're showing the first hour early.
- When you do fall asleep, you will not want to wake up, so you'll set your alarm back an hour and ten minutes.
- You'll ditz about when waking up and miss your chance to ask mumsy to buy you a tape for tonight's TV-addictions.
- When you do go forage for food, someone will have eaten the last of the cheese and then you'll dither about trying to figure out what you want. By the time you're ready to start cooking, you will have reached that horrible place where the mere idea of food makes you want to throw up. Repeatedly. Even the act of eating makes you feel sick. Because, genius, you waited too friggin' long!
In other news, I remember once, not too long ago, going through and putting 90% of my Gilmore Girls pictures in various folders so that I would be able to easily identify them later on.
... I cannot find the disk that I did this for. This is driving me insane. Very, very, very insane. Now I must just hope it wasn't on the zip disk as my computer pretty much broke up with it's zip drive and they don't really speak to one another anymore.
Work: It was fine until the last fifteen minutes or so. I'd just spent the last hour mopping and sweeping and my hands were red from pushing that damn mop around. I was kind of grumpy because if certain people [coughSECONDSHIFTcough] had done their job, I wouldn't be wondering about blisters on my poor, delicate girly hands. The floor was filthy. I've swept enough to know what an appropriate amount of dust/dirt is. That? Was at least twice the legal amount. Then there were the makeup spills and the really yucky sticky spots all over the store, and my favorite bit: the footprints leading to and from the office. Dude, one of you guys could have cleaned the floor, y'know. Soooo. I'm a bit grumbly and I'm even more grumbly when I spill part of the dirty mop water on the floor in the closet of doom. So I clean that up. I empty the bucket so it's not sitting there turning rancid and overall yucky. I go to the bathroom and wash my hands and then let the semi-cold water rinse over my hands. Coworker appears in the bathroom and suggests hiding out until the shift of doom is over. I agree when I realize it's ten minutes. I also don't really plan on staying back there for ten minutes. We do. When we scuttle out we get fussed at for disappearing.
... Which, if I'm being honest, totally valid. Except that the person fussing at us? Spent the first three hours of the night popping outside every fifteen minutes. This is an average since occasionally he'd walk inside peek around and then go right back outside when it looked like someone might be heading for him.
Bother. Annnnnnd now I'm off to bug people.
