10.01.2002 - Fall Fell

Autumn is here and I want to die.

Not really. I just wanted to frighten you into thinking this entry might contain some godawful Diaryland poetry. Alas, this is not the case. I am not, contrary to popular belief, a pretentious thirteen year old girl who just discovered The Smiths. I discovered them a few years ago.

Things have been kind of up and down lately, but not far enough in either direction to make note of it. School started on Thursday and I celebrated by getting down with the flu, or at least flu like symptoms. This did not stop me, however, from joining Jeremy for a night out at Davis' Number One Skanketeria for a night of people grinding their asses on my boy parts and trying not to swallow any roofies. This was all made possible thanks to either a handful of generic cold/flu pills, an inability to say "no" to someone who's just in town for the night or perhaps a passive desire to kill myself. I certainly should have stayed in bed. Loopy on over-the-counter drugs, I wasn't exactly the most social person on the planet and had trouble thinking on my feet when approximately nine million people asked me if I planned to write for the paper again this year. I should have pinned a sign that read, "I HAVE TO DECIDE TO APPLY AND THEY HAVE TO DECIDE TO REHIRE ME" to my shirt and taken a nap in the corner. It would have made life much easier.

Surprisingly, I felt pretty good when I woke up the next morning. Even though my time is almost wholly consumed Monday through Thursday, I managed to schedule neither work nor school on Fridays. I celebrated my day off by scratching myself for several hours and eventually getting dressed around three in the afternoon. The excitement led to me putting together the incredibly boring new layout you see before you. Notice the unattractive picture! Notice the startling lack of an original idea! How is someone not paying me to do this!?

Even though I completely wasted last weekend, only leaving the house maybe once to go to the public library (or "libary" as our President and I like to call it), I felt okay about my inactivity on Friday because I planned on spending most of my Saturday with Mr. Bestfriendinthewholewideworld at the Scottish Games in Dixon.

Yes. Dixon. Center of culture and excitement in my great state. Also center of rusted out Camaros and guys named Jim-Bob.

My boy is into the games, mostly because it gives him the opportunity to wear his kilt and get fresh air on his balls while enjoying his newly single status. I went because I'd like to learn more about those of his interests about which I'm not well informed. Also to keep him from drunk driving. Or getting pinned under a caber as he loses motor control and consciousness whilst stumbling on the playing field. You know-- normal friend stuff.

We ended up taking some international students he met on campus as well as two of his other friends. Now, if I met some reasonably attractive Scottish girls, I my first excursion with them probably wouldn't be to a place located directly on or at least near the asshole of California where their native culture would be completely bastardized and I would get incredibly drunk. I've learned, however, not to question his tactics as I have never humped a girl I'd recently met, made her take the bus home afterwards and had her willingly talk to and hang out with me weeks later (true story).

The games were interesting for approximately two and a half hours. Around hour three, the international students made claims of being "knackered" and said they'd like to leave. Ever courteous, Mr. Bestfriendinthewholewideworld said "so how are you getting home? Does Yolobus come out here?" They attempted to find a bus stop and after two hours of wandering around, they came back making clames of being "not proud."

Mr. Bestfriendinthewholewideworld entered a contest that basically involved getting his knees felt up by co-eds (and won!). The rest of us decided it would probably be a good time to split afterwards. He wasn't having any of it though, as he got us invited to an after-games dinner and party. Even in the face of six to one pressure, he stayed. We said we'd pick him up.

And after about five hours of sitting on my bed pretending not to have a sunburn, I did just that. He called me once to tell me he was talking to a lady and might not need a lift and again about thirty minutes later to tell me to come get him and call him when I got there. I made four calls. The first unanswered call made me think he was probably talking to a lady, the second one made me think he probably just didn't hear it, the third one made me think he was ignoring me and the fourth made me think he got raped and left in a drainage ditch. I eventually found him passed out on a park bench within the fairgrounds. He was okay, just very drunk. I dropped him off at home, made sure he'd be fine and joined the Rodzilla at a party.

Now, I've been to parties at this joint before and they have all been sparsely populated and not at all fun. This was different in that it was packed and marginally acceptable. I only enjoyed myself because I had a lovely conversation with two girls. This served to boost my ego and kill enough time to make me feel like I didn't totally waste my weekend, which is good, because I did nothing on Sunday outside of fruitlessly visiting two garage sales in search of something on which I can place my ancient television.

In order to cut the umbilical cord, so to speak, my boss has only been available by phone on a very limited basis since she accepted her new job. As such, I hadn't seen her in about two weeks until today.

Now, I was already marginally afraid I had been fired when I got to work today because all of my security clearances suddenly stopped working. Thankfully I remembered that they had only been extended through September and were just expired, not revoked.

Still, because I couldn't log into my computer and my boss wasn't there, I didn't have much to do. I spent most of my day flipping through the local weekly and handling the most basic of administrative duties. About halfway through my shift, everyone in my offshoot got rounded up for a meeting while I sat at my desk, thumb securely lodged in my anus. Shockingly, my boss showed up and I was excited to see her. I'm not sure if I was happy because missed her these past two weeks or if it was because I've come down with a horrible case of brain fever and actually wanted work to do. Either way, I can safely say I no longer know who I am anymore.

My boss was only in to wrap some things up and clean out her desk. She asked me to provide her some paperwork, and when I handed it to her, she asked me why I wasn't in the meeting. I explained that I never get invited to this sort of thing. She said, "you know effective immediately you're working for Mr. Newmanager (not actual name), right?" I had no idea. It would have been nice had someone told me earlier so that I could have at least pretended to be hard at work while he sat perched at my coworkers desk earlier instead of making inappropriate comments about how being on Jeopardy has always been a dream of mine, but I'd settle for The Price Is Right because tongue kissing Bob Barker on national television would be pretty awesome (also true).

So, yeah, I'm looking for new jobs. I haven't been "let go" yet, and it may not happen in the foreseeable future, but I can only ride the unicycle for so long before I fall off and kids point and laugh at the fat guy rolling around on the ground, screaming, bleeding internally and asking whatever diety he happens to believe in that day why said diety hates him so much and wants so badly to see him never ever touch boobies again.

I LOVE AUTUMN!

-- Jeffy