I'm trying to decide whether or not to post a dirty, dirty, dirty link to a new web site that a very special someone has made for me. Do you think too many people would be offended if I posted graphic fetish pictures that I was directly involved in? Do you think I should care? Should I care if you think I should care?
Just to be on the safe side, I'll hold off. I wouldn't want to alienate anyone, especially my family members. Alright, I've decided to hold them. If you want to specifically request the link, shoot me an email (located in the About Me section), and I'll be happy to share!
I just had a wonderful time hanging out with my dad. I'd been there all day, working and relaxing, and when he came home he made dinner for us while I taught myself a new magic trick. That's right, I'm learning some magic tricks, just for the fuck of it. Dad and I dined, talked, and marveled at how wonderful life is, the typical fare of an evening with my father.
Last night, M.s. and I dined with Ollie, and it was good to catch up with the bloke. That's right, I'm calling him "bloke" from now on. After dinner, I picked up my Golden Fez Awards, the ones I was unable to accept on New Year's Eve, due to the fact that I was in Vermont. I'd sent off words for someone to accept on my behalf, but inebriation began early, and I discovered my words were not spoken. It's all good, I'll just email them to everyone who was at the party. Just kidding.
Tomorrow, more work for me (gotta pay these bills! Gotta finish this story! Gotta work on that script! and MORE!), and then I should be dining with Spider Monkey. I'm eager to catch up with my chick before I skip town again. So much, so many things to do, so many functions to attend. I need to have an organizational meeting with myself, get shit straight, you know? File these receipts, wash those clothes, make a list of tasks.
It was easier, working in an office, with a specific set of tasks given to you by someone else. But I'd rather be my own manager any day. Lord knows I'm better at it than anyone I've ever had to answer to. Except Kevin. He was a damn good boss. And Gayle, for sure, on the less-stress days. The rest of them can rot in corporate hell, the poor buggers. That's right, I'll be calling assholes "buggers" from now on.
Mm, almost 11 p.m., and I've apparently adjusted to the time change -- I'm pretty quick to adapt. Now I'll brush my teeth with that psycho electric thing (really gets 'em clean), and take my book to bed (The Poisonwood Bible, I'm almost finished with it, and it's worth all the hype it got -- wow).
Busy, stressed, angry, frustrated, it all seems like a piece of cake because at the core of it all, I'm doing pretty damned good.