April 3rd, 2006

trust, best friends forever, snot-nosed brats

Work, popularity, and bondmates.

Today at work I explained "pastede on yay".

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I stayed for the second shift after I realized that I would be getting out of there too late to actually show up for the (rest of the) Star Wars marathon, and I might as well get some good money out of it. Darkside put in his opinion that I was "suckered". There was a bit of disappointment in the tone. I got him in between the movies. Good timing for once!!
silly, bunny ears

The Parents -- and other subtle indications that something is afoot.

His parents were having what amounted to a water fight last night. It was very cute, with a moose nightshirt figuring in the festivities, and a chortling Malfoy Senior evaluating his, erm, prospects.

Darkside hustled me out before things could get above PG-13. He was as embarrassed as only someone with parents can be. They haven't been (mis)behaving like that since ... well, ever, he commented, then mentioned how children often turn out just like their parents...

He seemed to mean it in a slightly-silly, semi-rueful sense. I smirked a little to myself and speculated a little, just for the sake of practice. The more I see of Malfoy Senior, the more I like him, and the more I think that Darkside's going to turn out pretty much all right after all.


I object, on general principle, to the concept (but, not, it seems, the actuality) of becoming quasi-girlfriend-by-default. I'm not courting him in an Epic Blaze of Glory: I'm courting him in simple, every-day ways. By the time the Good Little Midwestern Military-Industrial Complex Drone Male programming kicks in and he realizes that he is, in fact, thinking of nesting and starting a family, will something small within him have made that cognitive leap that connects "this woman is a good friend and she will stand beside me through thick and thin" with "I cannot imagine anyone else standing beside me forever"?

Only time will tell, eh?

I might say, "beggars can't be choosers," but he'd not want me to beg. I take comfort in that.

(Now, after roughly 23 hours awake, it's time to re-consider that unfortunate state, and seek gainful employment in sweet slumber. Coherent trains of thought are drifting in and out of the station, with the recurring theme of curling up beside him just within the reach of his hand. Not abject submission, no -- but an abandoned enjoyment of the cherished esteem I'm held in.)

I'd like to win him over in a campaign worthy of Miles, but instead I feel I'm more likely to become just a quiet fixture of life, the given that's barely considered until something external to both of us shakes things up some...
work, headset, nerf bat, working

Geek/work

I got what amounted to a slight reprimand, in private e-mail from the Dave Matthews Band Fan Geek to Stressy College Chick: there is really no need for me to write an essay in my booths out memos. No need to replicate troubleshooting.

At the same time, I am getting "OMG you are so totally the geek who keeps everything around here running!" propz from the phone goons, which I so totally do not deserve. This is because I can do simple things like use the override password to get people who typoed back into the phone system, adjust monitor settings so the image isn't warped, plug keyboards and mice back in, regain focus to the window, close the cascade of fifty billion windows that they opened by clicking fifty billion times, use the program to remove excess logins from the system, explain what happens when their box is forcibly disconnected from the network (display turns red, all is lost, alas), change the screen colors back to what they're supposed to be on the telnet if it is connected, reset the chairs, and explain what's going on in relatively simple terms so everyone can follow along.

Collapse ) I happen to have RTFM, and therefore I am a Great Geek Goddess amongst mortals.


But as far as actually fixing broken computers and solving real programming issues, I haven't the foggiest and will have to call in for backup.

I noticed with amusement that yesterday morning, when I was monitoring and the Check-In Princess was at the Check-In Desk (and running a job too), Rev. Not-So-Nice Super came all the way from the bullpen back to the monitoring rooms with a dude who came in a little late, telling me, "I need you to find a booth for this dude. He says he was briefed on Dendarii Brewing yesterday."

"You should probably ask the Princess," I said, "because she's check-in today."

It's hard to miss the check-in at the check-in desk in the bullpen. Somehow the good Rev. missed it. (There are three ULC-ordained ministers in the bullpen: me, Rev. NSN-Super, and Comic Pirate Super.) I think I'm definitely Part of the Team in a way that the Princess isn't. (Somehow I got to be More Popular, which is kind of scary, given that at the beginning there was a lot of "You're not as awesome as she is, but that's OK, I guess.")
flaming, angry

Smokin' in the boys^h^h^h^h laundry room...

Dear Addicted Asshat,

My friends-who-smoke and I have a little agreement. They smoke in their Personal Spaces (cars, houses, whatever) or outside. I don't visit rooms they smoke in, don't ride with them, or stand upwind of them. I try not to give them too much grief, since it's their lungs and not mine. They somehow manage to avoid being asshatted with this.

You were smoking in the common laundry room of the apartment complex. Inside. Inside a not entirely well-ventilated quasi-public space.

It's not like this is winter in Alaska or summer here in Phoenix. The average temperature inside the laundry room is now approximately the same as the average outside temperature. There is no excuse for smoking inside the laundry room that everyone is supposed to be able to use.

Anti-love,
the Lunatic

Cross-posted to note_to_asshat