…aside from the massive caffeine intake, and general insomnia. Is that I have an incredibly short attention span. If it takes me more than twenty minutes to fall asleep, I just get out of bed and back on the internet until true exhaustion takes hold.
and it sort of tastes like root beer…I’m not mad at it.
I waited awhile to see if anyone would respond, and no one did, so I ordered Chinese, cause I haven’t had it in a while. Within fifteen minute 3 people contacted me with their choice of Mexican.
My Chinese food wasn’t very good, and y’all are bastards. Also, I waited…5 minutes tops.
Should I get Mexican of Chinese for dinner? I’m torn, you tell me.
So it is a lie! Goddammit! Life’s the worst!
Granted it was on the phone, but it was like…a real, honest to goodness conversation. In which I made a joke and he laughed and then he made a joke and I pretended I thought it was funny….
I’ve worked here for 5 months. I’ve only seen him in person twice (and one of those times it was just the back of his head as he got into an elevator). But he usually calls the office one or twice a day and barks an obscure question at me and then sighs, loudly, and continuously while I look for the answer. Or he asks to be transfered to someone else’s line (as if he doesn’t already know their extension and cell phone numbers) and then yells at me if they’re away from their desk.
This is basically my last week working here, before they cut me down to eight hours a week (after which I’ll be quiting).
Really buddy? You’re gonna be nice now?
Is that how lazy I am now? Really?
Tequila had a role to play at the Gathering as a heavy. In wrestling terms, she was the heel, the bad guy, the villain you love to hate. Tequila represents a lot of things, all of them negative. She’s the poster child for a debased Perez Hilton tabloid realm where the cost of entry to celebrity has been lowered to making a popular sex tape or contracting gonorrhea from a C-list has-been on a VH-1 Celebreality show or making a lot of friends on MySpace by posting naked pictures of yourself.
For Juggalos, Tequila represented even more: She became the proxy for every hot girl who ever accepted Jager shots at a crappy bar from them but went home with a slick douchebag in a tight Ed Hardy shirt. She was every girl they ever masturbated about in high school but couldn’t muster up the courage to ask out, every hot chick who ever frazzled their brain by making out with one of their drunk, hot friends at a party.” —
also this is actually pretty depressing: “In a desperate bid to win over the crowd, Tequila responded to angry cries of “Show us your tits” by removing her top. It somehow made a sad, surreal spectacle even more horrifying.”
So…I read this and thought it was an anthropomortification of Tequila. I liked it better then.