I was leaving work for lunch yesterday and who should get on the elevator but a woman dressed in business attire, but, you know, carrying a broadsword (of course it was a broadsword - I didn't play all that D&D for nothing you know).
She was carrying it without the least self-consciousness - until I said out loud to my friend "is she carrying a broadsword?" Then she sort of turned away from my friend a bit.
Best of all, in direct compliance with my prayers, she did in fact get off the elevator on the floor where I work. Unfortunately she went to the right instead of the left, suggesting she works for the law firm over there.
I'm sure he's totally nice and stuff, and I know I'm not totally fair in my distrust of folks who are zealous about anything, particularly religion, but sheesh!
I feel like I've had about 10 hours of sleep out of the last 54, but that's only because it's true.
I'm about an hour from trippy lucid-daydream hallucinations I think, so I might stay up just for that. I also want to start using my Google Wave account, but I found it confusing enough without being wrecked on wakefulness, so I might put that off til later.
Oh, the hallucinations have started early. My totem unicorn tells me it's time to go iron some shirts for next week. He's very concerned I look good for work.
A coworker today underestimated my age by at least six years. While that's awesome for me, it's going to be even funnier for certain members of my family.
That's because I forgot to mention that my sister, who lives locally and is 4 years younger (plus smarter and probably wealthier) than I (just like her twin, incidentally), has been mistaken for my older sister a couple of times recently.
I don't think I want to make too much of it, because probably the reason has more to do with my actions than how we each look. Still, as a proper older brother, I will make fun. Of course, she's married, has a career she likes, and has her crap together, so whatever.
Okay, now they're distracted, I feel I should let my pals know I'm really happy. Everything's coming up Daniel recently.
I know I'm usually a marginally optimistic cynic who glosses over the fundamental meaninglessness of life with a palaver of wry fart jokes and girlie-drinks, but due to a couple of strokes of really good luck recently I'm just psyched all day. It's embarrassing.
I haven't had insomnia in ages, but if you could check the time of this post you'd note that either I'm taking a very ambitious and optimistic line on Tuesday or I'm awake at a simply stupid hour of the day.
Seriously, I was only vaguely aware that a 4:30 AM even existed. I thought maybe it was a story concocted to frighten children, like the chupecabra or libertarians.
I'd like to think I'm awake because of excitement over either my job search or my burgeoning romantic life, but if I'm honest, I think the positive developments in both those areas would lull me to sleep like a big somnolent baby. I haven't a clue why I'm still awake.
Sure, some of you will say, why did you wash down a pitcher of margaritas with a latte at 10:00 PM? To you I say, "for America!" Also, "hush. No one likes a smart alec."
Actually, I won't take any guff about my eating habits, since I learned today, after swanning around in a hot tub at the Marriott where my friend is staying and then using their balance scale, that my curious "unemployment diet", which seems to include incautious beverage choices and a plenitude of cheese sandwiches at irregular hours, is causing me to lose weight. I'm back down to what I weighed in college, so that's fun.
Maybe my weight has tricked my brain into keeping college hours, which I recall totally sucked.
Anyway, I've put the "bonus" awake-time to marginal use by killing a (preposterously large) cave cricket. The trick, it turns out, is to move slowly, not quickly - just like the knife fights in the confusing movie adaptation of Dune where Captain Picard tries to teach Kyle MacLachlin to kill Sting in slo-mo and a floating dirigible of a fat dude with weeping sores gives me nightmares for a week (0r something). You know the one.
In cricket updates, I'm becoming inured to the horrible little bastards ... though I still kill them with a distressing relish, considering their only crime is being frankly hideous.
Don't give me that look! I was unpopular in high school too, so don't you dare go taking the side of the ugly misunderstood crickets. If there were goth emo stoners lurching around your basement in the middle of the night, hiding under the fridge, and leaping at you when you went to take a slash, you'd whack them with rolled up copies of Rolling Stone too, whether you listen to Tool or not. I'm fairly certain Robert Smith would approve. Morrissey of course would be disdainful and quietly maudlin about it.
Okay, I'm going to try this whole sleeping thing again.
Since when did Whiskey Tango Foxtrot become an acceptable lengthening of WTF? It's longer than the original phrase (which is "what the f***" ... which is actually "what the fuck" for those of you not frightened by words, and "what the fundoodle" for those of you who are).
I heard a guy on NPR use it, and I think he was a colonel in the U.S. army. I wasn't paying attention, so he might have been a janitor at the Quickee Mart, but he was probably someone of some import to be a guest on NPR.
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