July 22nd, 2006

running, bomb tech

Little things adding up:

Tonight was One of Those Nights at work. My teammate Ponytail Dave was despondent at midshifts. I wound up going in and out of the monitor room attempting to help keep things all happy. He did perk up by the end of things. That made us all happy.

There was just a lot of crazy. If one little thing goes blooey, then the whole shift goes.

News is crazy too today.
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running, bomb tech

Embarrassing Moments:

The third most embarrassing moment of my life is probably the funniest, in retrospect. The first two most embarrassing moments happened when I was six or seven, the sort of kid things that are still somewhat painful to look back on. But the third most embarrassing moment involved Shawn.

When I was sixteen or seventeen, I had developed the habit of wearing a little bag around my neck at all times. This bag contained a few special secret treasures: the photos of my best friend Shawn, and his promise to return to me from that dreadful summer of 1996, some semi-precious stones, most likely an emergency quarter, and -- a condom. Just In Case. (I'd embraced the Health Class instruction that the wallet is the worst place for them, or else it would have been in there, and there wouldn't be this story.)

My high school fencing buddies and I had gotten down to the gym a little early. We were hanging out waiting for class to start and making all manner of disturbances. "Hey, I wanna see what's in that bag," Shawn said. I'd taken it off, since it didn't mix well with the fencing jacket and mask, either under or over. Not thinking, I handed it to him. He undid the drawstring and began poking through. Then I remembered the condom.

"No!" I cried, and launched myself after the bag. "Ack! Give that back!"

He dangled it out of my reach. I swatted after it. He dodged away and tried to run. I attached myself to his ankle after the fashion of a particularly stubborn toddler and clung with all my might. He started limping across the gym floor, dragging his shrieking shackle along with him.

He eventually twisted free, and made for sanctuary: the boys' bathroom.

I hesitated outside the door. Would-- could-- should--

"Ooo, rose quartz!" he said from inside.

I dove in after him. Surprised, he dodged inside a stall and barred the door. I got down on the floor and poked my head inside the stall. He retreated to the top of the toilet, crying out in alarm. He dangled the little bag over the stall next door. "If you come in here, I am going to drop this in the toilet!" he warned me.

I pouted, huffed, and retreated back outside. I stood there with arms sulkily crossed as he went through the bag in privacy. "Oh, that's what you didn't want me to see?" he said as he came out. "I have one in my wallet."

I started berating him for his general lack of attention in health class, and life returned to normal. Almost. "Hey, where's my earring?" I asked some minutes later.

"It must have come off while you were gnawing on my ankle like a three-year-old," Shawn said, and we set about searching the gym floor for the missing earring. It should have been easy to spot: it was a post earring with a little white dot, a long purple squiggle, and then a hot pink ball at the end, a very distinctive refugee from the 80s that fit my quirky personality perfectly. Alas, no earring was to be found. I left its mate on and started gearing up for class.

Other students arrived. I put out a general call for my lost earring. Before class started, the cute TA Dave approached me. "Is this it?" he called out. "I found it near the water fountain."

It was! I thanked him and accepted it and started to put it back in my ear.

"I don't want to know what you were doing in the mens' restroom," he said, quietly enough that only I could hear him.

I turned bright pink, considered the possibility of denying that it was my earring after all, and decided that no cover story in the world would be good enough to get past him. "I guess I'd better wash it first," I said, and scurried off to put on my jacket and pick a foil.
caffeine, beautiful addiction

Work! Now with extra go-juice!

Well, I'm up, then. I'm heading off to work, armed with cherries, extra pens, a great honking mug to be filled with Livewire, full makeup including eyeshadow and nail polish, and that cheerful attitude that you only get after you've been up for a few hours on not that many hours of sleep.

I anticipate a calm day interspersed with my frantic antics.

Oh, and I need to drag out my Access and my SQL manuals. Probably behind the roommate's desk. A little light reading. Oh, and talk to my satellite manager about a four-day week, because five ten-hour days a week is seriously doing a number on my mental health. (I've been carefully guarding my physical health, which is why there haven't been so many plasma trips lately. Got to have that downtime.)
running, bomb tech

From work...

Awake and at ‘em! I have a big old mug singing my favorite song of my favorite vehicle of caffeine delivery, on ice. My hair is half-up in my silly blue-fake-hair ponytail holder. I have a plastic container of cherries. (Yay cherries.) I have on lipstick and eyeshadow. It seems that when I have on lipstick and eyeshadow, the rest of my face looks like it’s made up, whether it is or not.

In the girly-vain side of things, I am pleased to note that my eyebrows are nearly perfect and do not require much touching up in order to achieve some form of stylistic ideal.

I’ve been singing “Lie Still, Little Bottle” out loud to myself, because it’s a slow enough morning in some respects that I need the extra stimulation of this kind.

I am monitoring today. After we are through with our people, we will be validating.

I am wondering if this split/skill has not gone bad or gotten corrupted, because DAMN. Eight minutes between calls? Bad.

Cherries good.

One of my darling co-workers has a habit of pulling up the wrong name for the wrong person. She was searching for my name for about a minute this morning. She called me Jane. And that is pretty close. *waves at raranax’s mom*

Is too hot here. Really.

Valllllliiiiidaaaaaating. Not the most interesting work in the world. Hard to count rings and type at the same time, because I am not used to doing that.

Whee validation. I should really get some actual paper for doing things on.

The stockings that rivet up the back have not created the expected and desired sensation at work. For one thing, I am sitting in the monitor room. For another, the skirt is too long to show the calves where the rivets are, and they just look like fishnets. It’s a very modest skirt, as it goes down almost to the ankles.

To write up: the differences between heterosexuality and politely declining a pass, heterosexuality showing a hidden homophobia when declining a pass, and outright homophobia.
phone, cordless phone

(no subject)

"Aka to Kuro" has a beat like a train. I have found a new desert island song. In related news, I have use of the roomie's old Zen.
  • Current Music
    Aka to Kuro
phone, cordless phone

(no subject)

The zen ran out of juice ten minutes into the workout. I had to entertain myself by singing. I tried arranging badgers for ShapeNote.
  • Current Music
running, bomb tech

(no subject)

Darkside busy with movies. Call tomorrow. Nice Darkside.

Laundry done. Workout accomplished. Bedtime happening.

Amusing incident involving an overly chatty respondent and the phone goon trying to chill him out. Thank goodness for the monitoring system and the mute button!