During my brief mid-morning nap, I dreamt that it was 70 degrees outside. I’ll be happy if it gets to half that today, stupid cruel reality.
Seeking your musical prescription for anti-depression. Bring on the musical prozac!
Dear TechTool Pro 4, Running the drive test was me being conciliatory. While I appreciate the break, I have designing to do.
Best line in the news article about my boss’s legal troubles? “…escorted off the property… condemned him with a round of profanities.”
Grudgingly interrupted lunch to perform my good deed for the day (jumped an aging hippy’s car. He didn’t even have cables!)
Crap, just hit the last day on my GWB-out-of-office calendar. Quote: “I hope you leave here and walk out and say, ‘What did he say?’”
Earbud-wearers: unless you enjoy electric shocks direct to your eardrums, do NOT take laundry out of a dryer while listening to an iPod.
To anyone who just caught my impromptu (and heartfelt) rendition of Yosemite Sam jumping up-and-down in pure unbridled fury… pray for me.
You would be forgiven for mistaking the cat’s nuzzling of my arm as endearing*—in reality she’s looking for a nice meaty chunk to bite into.
Things you shouldn’t say in earshot of your email admin: “I’d much rather deal with the spam than have it quarantined.” Thy will be done.
For those of you who just missed Spaceballs, it’s on again Saturday evening. The rest of you may continue to lead normal lives. If possible.
That’s it. The singer-songwriter category is dead to me.