April 22nd, 2006

phone, cordless phone

(no subject)

Still sleepy. Work could be worse. The kid may rue the day he decided to act up. Coffee good. Girls day later.
phone, cordless phone

Step on a crack / Mike JOOOOONNNNES!

Morning began with a rousing debate about freedom of speech. Dear Rev. Not-So-Nice Super and the fellow with the Groucho Marx eyebrows concurred that if banning lesbians, even hot lesbians, from the airwaves meant that they would never be exposed to gay men, they'd do it in a heartbeat. Even in movies that they had no intention of watching.

...Those wacky heterosexuals. And that's what I said. "You wacky heterosexuals."

Punching out the wacky heterosexual co-workers bad.

Comic Pirate Super pointed out that Brokeback Mountain is a bestseller. Ha-ha.




"Burning resentment" is probably not the best emotion to have. Trendy Chick thinks that it would make a good song title.

Thank you, obnoxious phone goon who won't read the survey as written.




"Mike Jones" is here and alive and has behaved himself so far.

(Backstory: Evidently there's this rap artist named Mike Jones. Since I am not a particular listener of rap music, I missed this, and have only been exposed to the stylings of Mr. Jones by means of my co-workers intermittently moaning out "Mike JOOOOOOOONNNNES!" as if it has some particular meaning or other. This has come to be a sort of workplace cliché of some sort -- almost any occasion can be livened up by someone hollering "Mike JONES!")

Yesterday, "the kid", one of the newer interviewers, took it into his head to introduce himself as "Mike JOOOOONNNNES", in that exact same intonation. Identical intonation on the identical name is either a conspiracy or a meme. He was the one who was also talking with a teen about crack and where to find it (evidently Circle K is a hotspot, which does not surprise me).

His monitor report today indicated that he'd calmed down a lot overnight. Not surprising when you've just earned the worst score in the building.




May not write "wackiness ensued" as part of a monitor report.

Even with "Mike Jones".

(Respondent was being a dick. One of the common ways of being a dick on $ISSUE_SIDE_JOB is claiming that teens live, or lived, in the household, but making implausible and/or illegal claims about their whereabouts and/or fate. This dick was claiming that he'd sent the teen(s) out for cigarettes and/or beer, and that he did not know when a good time to call back was, because the teen(s) had a meeting with their probation officer. "Mike" does not have enough experience in the way of twit respondents to deal with this effectively. Wackiness ensued. Even though I can't say so on the monitor report.)
bondmates, sigil

Heart & home

Called Darkside this evening when I got the chance. 35 minutes of alternate giggling, blank silence, and babbling. He's a fanboy; I'm a fangirl. Thus, his "But how can anyone ever out-Shatner Shatner?" had me in stitches.

Work. Writers group. Life. Sunburns. #lj_support -- is that a support group for the LJ-addicted? Barf. Puns. Bad, bad puns.

... and what I'd longed for most, without knowing it? The inability to pry ourselves off the phone with each other without a crowbar. We had almost bid each other farewell when the puns attacked, and we stayed talking for that extra five minutes, punctuated with silence, before we finally let go.




I feel myself slipping into that place where social connections ossify and the old become the only, by dint of a hardness of the outer layer of soul. This, I know, is the precursor to a hardening of the imagination and mind.

I must not let that happen, but I must not allow myself to be worn away by ducks.

In the light of his eyes, I do not fear my weaknesses.
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