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It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is... well, not at work anyway. :p
I wish Friday would hurry the hell up and get here already. I need my paycheck. I want it. I need to pay stuff off. I need sleep. Wait, no, that last one isn't part of this rant. I have to:
-pay the cable bill
-pay my cell phone bill
-take over the world
-pay off MJ even though a recent picture makes me want to rethink that purchase.
And some other stuff needs to be bought. I'm not good with this whole waiting thing.
Work related: Felicity is being transfered. Which is great for her, I suppose, but this kinda screws us over if they don't find someone good to take her place. I imagine that as frustrating as it is for me to cycle through new people, Kathleen's probably... wait, no. She sees a new person as a chance to finally get Fridays and Saturdays off. I'm tired of worrying I won't like New Person, liking them, and then having them quit/get fired/annoy me to the breaking point/transfer/runscreaming. You get the idea. I'm not a people person.
Soooooo. I'm pretty much tapped out here, man. I shouldn't have read through most of the trashy magazines over the weekend. That just left me with Rolling Stone and their amusing article on Scott Stapp, former Messiah from Creed. It did very little to make me like 'im, but it wasn't a bad article for the most part. It's just I'm tired of bands/artists/whatever basically disowning their own music. Which isn't so much the case for him, but the other bits of Creed, and given the way he seemed hellbent on killing his band, I don't really blame them in this instance. It just reminds me of how people will make an album and then, after it's fairly popular, will later distance themselves from it in an effort to reinvent themselves. It's vexing and makes me wish I was Queen of the Universe so I could stick my boot up your overpaid arse. Ditto for being too fucked up to remember writing/creating a song. I don't mind as much if you just don't remember entire tours, although that is also annoying.
Off to clean, kill my arms and legs, and then pass out. Oh, and charge the camera's batteries. Wheeee.
I know. My life is beyond exciting.
I wish Friday would hurry the hell up and get here already. I need my paycheck. I want it. I need to pay stuff off. I need sleep. Wait, no, that last one isn't part of this rant. I have to:
-pay the cable bill
-pay my cell phone bill
-take over the world
-pay off MJ even though a recent picture makes me want to rethink that purchase.
And some other stuff needs to be bought. I'm not good with this whole waiting thing.
Work related: Felicity is being transfered. Which is great for her, I suppose, but this kinda screws us over if they don't find someone good to take her place. I imagine that as frustrating as it is for me to cycle through new people, Kathleen's probably... wait, no. She sees a new person as a chance to finally get Fridays and Saturdays off. I'm tired of worrying I won't like New Person, liking them, and then having them quit/get fired/annoy me to the breaking point/transfer/runscreaming. You get the idea. I'm not a people person.
Soooooo. I'm pretty much tapped out here, man. I shouldn't have read through most of the trashy magazines over the weekend. That just left me with Rolling Stone and their amusing article on Scott Stapp, former Messiah from Creed. It did very little to make me like 'im, but it wasn't a bad article for the most part. It's just I'm tired of bands/artists/whatever basically disowning their own music. Which isn't so much the case for him, but the other bits of Creed, and given the way he seemed hellbent on killing his band, I don't really blame them in this instance. It just reminds me of how people will make an album and then, after it's fairly popular, will later distance themselves from it in an effort to reinvent themselves. It's vexing and makes me wish I was Queen of the Universe so I could stick my boot up your overpaid arse. Ditto for being too fucked up to remember writing/creating a song. I don't mind as much if you just don't remember entire tours, although that is also annoying.
Off to clean, kill my arms and legs, and then pass out. Oh, and charge the camera's batteries. Wheeee.
I know. My life is beyond exciting.
