Vacation, vacation, vacation. Technically this is the third day of said vacation, but the first two being weekend days somewhat blunted their impact.
Saturday: more griefing. Bleh. But also Thanksgiving at Jeff's parents' place, the first time I've seen his mom since he put himself in the hospital for two weeks with that stupid motorcycle, and it was quite nice. Sunday: a lot of absolutely nothing. Fabulous fabulous nothing. Today: Nasai for lunch, and haircuts, and more nothing. Hooray vacation and the pursuit of as little as possible!
Best CD purchase ever: We Wrote the Book on Connectors' Ride It Out Like A Turbo Horse, bought online since we had to leave the CD release show early this weekend. I haven't even listened to it yet, but any CD that comes packed with stickers, buttons, a random 80s trading card, and a handwritten note, is wildly awesome. Just like We Wrote the Book on Connectors is wildly awesome. What was in that note, you may ask?
I am so glad you bought our new CD. You don't know how happy that makes me. I really hope you like it. Hooray!
TEEHEE. This plus the fact that said Mike, lead singer of WE, hangs out at the Ale House just puts a big ol' cherry on the top of how much I like that band.
Jeff's and my sleep schedules are wildly out of wack. Irritating. My insomnia is, as ever, incredibly aggravating, but on the other hand, I've hit midnight or so a couple times lately and that doesn't help the sync problem. Bah.
Ooof, that was one packed weekend. Quantum of Solace (I liked it, but agree with the "not fun" criticism), the first part of the We Wrote The Book On Connectors show (the High Dive tried to poison Jeff, so we had to ditch early), and the most badass show of nerdcore hip-hop that I could have dreamed of. Lars, Frontalot, YTCracker, and Beefy all rocked my world, and now I'm all rightously worn out from rocking the fuck out.
Who's that / who's that rappin / who's that rappin' at my chamber door / Mister / Mister Raven / all up in my grill like nevermore
I've loved MC Lars for years, and rather thought that I'd never get to see him live. He did not disappoint in the slightest. Happiness and glee.
The light at the end of the tunnel is nigh. My six weeks or so of hell should be basically over at end of day tomorrow. At that point, I should sit down and actually compose my thoughts on tht'ing, as I have had many over the last month or so, and committed none to bytes.
I hate your blog / it's incredibly / terrible / and bad. MC Frontalot this weekend, WOOOOO!
Dear universe, I have a big favor to ask for tomorrow. You know what it is, so I won't bother spelling it out. It's not that I think that Obama becoming president is going to make us all spontaneously fart rainbows and glitter. All presidents are just people, some nicer, or smarter, or more experienced, or more down-to-earth, or whatever, than others. I don't really trust any of them, because I can't imagine that someone who desperately wants to be the figurehead of the US is particularly trustworthy in the normal-person sense.
But Obama winning tomorrow would mean something, a very big something, about the country that I live in standing together (at least in a nonsensical electoral college way) to say that we don't care about our figurehead's skin color, that we want our figurehead to be thoughtful and articulate, that we want our figurehead to oppose depriving people of their rights.
And that'd mean a hell of a lot to me. So universe. Favor me up.
My mission for next weekend: do absolutely nothing. Or as close to it as I can get. Not that this weekend was particularly hectic, but I need at least another couple days of decompression.
Beef stew made for dinner was absolute winnar. That was appreciated.
The last few days of work were pretty horrific, being stacked as they were on top of a straight month of steadily ramping up horror complete with Saturdays at work three weeks in a row. The good part is that I didn't work today, the ramp-down will be starting this week into normalacy, and that I've accomplished some amazing things this last month. The bad part is that as a result of a particularly insensitive moment on behalf of my manager yesterday, at the moment that I should have been able to start celebrating, all I can think about is the one thing that I fucked up.
Being as emotionally and physically exhausted as I am, I fell to pieces in his office, brought myself back together to finish out the week, and then cried all the way home. Because I'm a stupid fucking baby that can't get over such things, I'm spending my weekend trying like crazy to not think about anything at all work related, because the moment I do, it's right back to feeling like complete and utter shit. I'm not succeeding at this not think about it plan all that well, perhaps because of the aforementioned absolute exhaustion.
If there was ever a time when I needed to be allowed some slack, a time when I needed to see that I could screw something up a bit and not have it be that bad of a thing, this was it. Instead, every neurosis that I have about being required to be absolutely perfect at all times has been reinforced.