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just... yeah.
Oh, the ups and downs of today are fucked enough to make my head spin.
First, I actually got to eat breakfast. This was good, since I've missed breakfast. Except for the part where I was having to get up for my job (filing. Nothing. But. Filing.), which I'm coming to loathe. Money is good, but dragging myself out of bed to do absolutely shit-all with my brain is not my idea of a good job.
I was fired from three previous jobs. This stacks up badly, especially when prospective employers don't care to listen to explanations. Correctly, I was terminated from one job. The second one, I voluntarily left and the people involved fucked me over. The third one... *snicker* The fucking company was sued, went bankrupt, and couldn't meet payroll. They let 30 employees go! (small business).
Er. End sidenote.
So. I spent the day alphabetising. I loathe filing, and if I have to do it, I'll do it with a dec for every fucking folder in the drawer, if I have to. Hence, massive amounts of alphabetising.
At some point, I sliced the tip of my right index finger. I'm lucky typing doesn't hurt. Yet. (I also burned it while cooking dinner. Did I mention today has wavered between sucking and not-sucking?)
Lunchtime was not soon enough, but french onion soup was procured. And the people at the Bread Company all know by sight and order now. Sigh.
More alphabetising, with a side of "Pull folders with name changes". They're going to fucking miss me when I'm gone. I'm a holy terror on that filing system. I even pulled up a dec that's... a year old, with the INCORRECT COMPANY NAME ON IT. And the report going in was also incorrect. (Jeffoo Drilling. Whoever heard the fuck of Jeffoo Drilling??? No. It's JeffCo Drilling. Idiots. Ok, technically, it's Jeffco Drilling Tools, which is not, as they think it is, out of business. It's just moved).
Anyway. So I'm the bomb, when it's come to filing.
I loathe it.
End of work. Get to the car. Realise I left the SafeGuard receipt at home, and therefore can't get the glass in my car etched at Saturn. But. Damnit. I'm going to South County anyway, since I must peruse the closing Wherehouse Music.
Best Buy, btw, can't special order if you don't have a credit card. Fuckers.
Wherehouse Music is good, though. Probably the highlight of my day (aside from reading Timeyspam). Have been jonesing for Simple Minds' "Street Fighting Years" album, since my cassette copy went the way of the Dodo some years ago. First thing I glomped, however, was 'Dealers', with Paul McGann. Ryss, darling, do you have a copy of 'Dearlers' on DVD? Or, do you want one?
Second thing I found and crowed over was the Simple Minds album.
Digression: Picked up Simple Minds' "Cry" album, from 2002? It's utterly fucking awesome. Better than I was expecting, and I've had Dave, John and Scott running around in my head since I first started listening. It's... Irritating, but good.
Back to Wherehouse. They're closing in four days. Boggles the mind. But everything was marked down (new cds: 75% off. Used are basically a buck each).
So. What did Lyssie the Music Whore get her hands on? Pet Shop Boys' "Release"; Emer Kenny "Fades Into Day"; Frankie Goes to Hollywood "Liverpool" (Yet ANOTHER cassette I've been dying for on cd); Luscious Jackson "Ladyfingers" single (the second half. I've got the other); The aforementioned Simple Minds and Dealers; And Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine "Post Historic Monsters".
Oh, boy, my shopping karma was in today.
Also hit Wally world and escaped with two nice black tops and four more plastic bins. Hello, packing. And cookies. I crave Jaffa cakes like you would not believe, but I settled for cookies.
Get home, and dad's there, so he's on the computer. Fine, I think, I'll go watch "They've Got A Secret". Farscape will be good to see... Except I go to get the mail, first, being the (apparently) only one who remembers mail.
And there's this letter, from the City something or other, informing us that we have an over-paid parking ticket. Since the last ticket I got was on the Buick, and was last April, I didn't really pay attention.
Except it's on a Saturn. And the license plate belongs to... My sister's stolen car.
Yes! The brilliance of the City of St. Louis's justice computers couldn't find a stolen car, but they can TICKET ONE a WEEK AFTER IT'S BEEN STOLEN AND REPORTED.
Everybody with me on the innate intelligence that this city is sorely lacking? Good.
So, dad looks up the address on the ticket, and it's about five blocks from where Jenna is currently living.
Gee. I suddenly have this sudden suspicion. Did Jenna not drive home one night, and she forgot? Or did one of her skanky-ass fuckers (she calls them friends, sadly; and that's not sex-buddies. That's merely my current derrogatory term for them.) decide to prank her and drive her car a few blocks, then never remember?
Doesn't matter. Dad drives up, sees the car, comes home. Calls the police. Apparently, now, the correct procedure is that he has to go up there, and call a certain number. And wait for an officer before approaching the car and trying to start it.
Being the nice person I am, I drove him so he wouldn't have to leave his car.
Ah, yes, here comes that karmic backlash now.
We drove by the car to make sure it was ours (that 'Two Skinny Js' bumper sticker is unmistakable. I'd know the back of that car in pitch black night in a rainstorm...), then settle a few blocks away, and dad makes his call.
And we wait.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Dad makes some calls to my siblings.
And we wait.
And dad finally calls the precinct again, and they say they've been busy, but a car is on its way. She sounded so perky.
Again, we wait.
Dad finally calls Jenna, thinking she's in her apartment (half a block from us. Anyone else questioning my logic can feel free to stick their hand in this meat grinder. Cujo needs breakfast.). She isn't. But while he's talking to her, lo and behold, the officer shows up.
We go to the car. Dad, paranoid that he is, thinks we're in a bad neighborhood (Dad, you've never walked in Harlem, fuck off [Harlem, btw, isn't that bad. Just.. derelict. It's sad, in a way. It's like Chinatown, but less well-kept. Shut up, I understand the difference in money, I still think it's sad. There's sections of St. Louis that look like that, too]) so has me stay in my car, with... the engine running. Yes, because if something happens, I'll be able to get past the cop car and Jenna's car. Y'know, the two vehicles blocking the street.
Ah, dad. Gotta love him, but logic is not a strong suit.
The car starts fine. There's no damage. The license plates are there (someone had a go at them, but they're on pretty tight). Trunk's fine, gas tank's still full.
Remember my joke theory? I'm still leaning towards it.
There's some good in all of this, despite my not having ANY time to write tonight. Katye needs a car, and now she'll have one (Jenna got a car about two weeks ago.)
And there is more Timeyspam. I am loved.
First, I actually got to eat breakfast. This was good, since I've missed breakfast. Except for the part where I was having to get up for my job (filing. Nothing. But. Filing.), which I'm coming to loathe. Money is good, but dragging myself out of bed to do absolutely shit-all with my brain is not my idea of a good job.
I was fired from three previous jobs. This stacks up badly, especially when prospective employers don't care to listen to explanations. Correctly, I was terminated from one job. The second one, I voluntarily left and the people involved fucked me over. The third one... *snicker* The fucking company was sued, went bankrupt, and couldn't meet payroll. They let 30 employees go! (small business).
Er. End sidenote.
So. I spent the day alphabetising. I loathe filing, and if I have to do it, I'll do it with a dec for every fucking folder in the drawer, if I have to. Hence, massive amounts of alphabetising.
At some point, I sliced the tip of my right index finger. I'm lucky typing doesn't hurt. Yet. (I also burned it while cooking dinner. Did I mention today has wavered between sucking and not-sucking?)
Lunchtime was not soon enough, but french onion soup was procured. And the people at the Bread Company all know by sight and order now. Sigh.
More alphabetising, with a side of "Pull folders with name changes". They're going to fucking miss me when I'm gone. I'm a holy terror on that filing system. I even pulled up a dec that's... a year old, with the INCORRECT COMPANY NAME ON IT. And the report going in was also incorrect. (Jeffoo Drilling. Whoever heard the fuck of Jeffoo Drilling??? No. It's JeffCo Drilling. Idiots. Ok, technically, it's Jeffco Drilling Tools, which is not, as they think it is, out of business. It's just moved).
Anyway. So I'm the bomb, when it's come to filing.
I loathe it.
End of work. Get to the car. Realise I left the SafeGuard receipt at home, and therefore can't get the glass in my car etched at Saturn. But. Damnit. I'm going to South County anyway, since I must peruse the closing Wherehouse Music.
Best Buy, btw, can't special order if you don't have a credit card. Fuckers.
Wherehouse Music is good, though. Probably the highlight of my day (aside from reading Timeyspam). Have been jonesing for Simple Minds' "Street Fighting Years" album, since my cassette copy went the way of the Dodo some years ago. First thing I glomped, however, was 'Dealers', with Paul McGann. Ryss, darling, do you have a copy of 'Dearlers' on DVD? Or, do you want one?
Second thing I found and crowed over was the Simple Minds album.
Digression: Picked up Simple Minds' "Cry" album, from 2002? It's utterly fucking awesome. Better than I was expecting, and I've had Dave, John and Scott running around in my head since I first started listening. It's... Irritating, but good.
Back to Wherehouse. They're closing in four days. Boggles the mind. But everything was marked down (new cds: 75% off. Used are basically a buck each).
So. What did Lyssie the Music Whore get her hands on? Pet Shop Boys' "Release"; Emer Kenny "Fades Into Day"; Frankie Goes to Hollywood "Liverpool" (Yet ANOTHER cassette I've been dying for on cd); Luscious Jackson "Ladyfingers" single (the second half. I've got the other); The aforementioned Simple Minds and Dealers; And Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine "Post Historic Monsters".
Oh, boy, my shopping karma was in today.
Also hit Wally world and escaped with two nice black tops and four more plastic bins. Hello, packing. And cookies. I crave Jaffa cakes like you would not believe, but I settled for cookies.
Get home, and dad's there, so he's on the computer. Fine, I think, I'll go watch "They've Got A Secret". Farscape will be good to see... Except I go to get the mail, first, being the (apparently) only one who remembers mail.
And there's this letter, from the City something or other, informing us that we have an over-paid parking ticket. Since the last ticket I got was on the Buick, and was last April, I didn't really pay attention.
Except it's on a Saturn. And the license plate belongs to... My sister's stolen car.
Yes! The brilliance of the City of St. Louis's justice computers couldn't find a stolen car, but they can TICKET ONE a WEEK AFTER IT'S BEEN STOLEN AND REPORTED.
Everybody with me on the innate intelligence that this city is sorely lacking? Good.
So, dad looks up the address on the ticket, and it's about five blocks from where Jenna is currently living.
Gee. I suddenly have this sudden suspicion. Did Jenna not drive home one night, and she forgot? Or did one of her skanky-ass fuckers (she calls them friends, sadly; and that's not sex-buddies. That's merely my current derrogatory term for them.) decide to prank her and drive her car a few blocks, then never remember?
Doesn't matter. Dad drives up, sees the car, comes home. Calls the police. Apparently, now, the correct procedure is that he has to go up there, and call a certain number. And wait for an officer before approaching the car and trying to start it.
Being the nice person I am, I drove him so he wouldn't have to leave his car.
Ah, yes, here comes that karmic backlash now.
We drove by the car to make sure it was ours (that 'Two Skinny Js' bumper sticker is unmistakable. I'd know the back of that car in pitch black night in a rainstorm...), then settle a few blocks away, and dad makes his call.
And we wait.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Dad makes some calls to my siblings.
And we wait.
And dad finally calls the precinct again, and they say they've been busy, but a car is on its way. She sounded so perky.
Again, we wait.
Dad finally calls Jenna, thinking she's in her apartment (half a block from us. Anyone else questioning my logic can feel free to stick their hand in this meat grinder. Cujo needs breakfast.). She isn't. But while he's talking to her, lo and behold, the officer shows up.
We go to the car. Dad, paranoid that he is, thinks we're in a bad neighborhood (Dad, you've never walked in Harlem, fuck off [Harlem, btw, isn't that bad. Just.. derelict. It's sad, in a way. It's like Chinatown, but less well-kept. Shut up, I understand the difference in money, I still think it's sad. There's sections of St. Louis that look like that, too]) so has me stay in my car, with... the engine running. Yes, because if something happens, I'll be able to get past the cop car and Jenna's car. Y'know, the two vehicles blocking the street.
Ah, dad. Gotta love him, but logic is not a strong suit.
The car starts fine. There's no damage. The license plates are there (someone had a go at them, but they're on pretty tight). Trunk's fine, gas tank's still full.
Remember my joke theory? I'm still leaning towards it.
There's some good in all of this, despite my not having ANY time to write tonight. Katye needs a car, and now she'll have one (Jenna got a car about two weeks ago.)
And there is more Timeyspam. I am loved.