Whatever did office workers do before the internet? Dark times.
Thanks to all who offered advice about the flight attendant thing (and those who did not, well you are going on the list. I'm not telling you what I am doing with the list, but I have a list, oh yes). I am not sure if I am going to do it yet - I have until June 1st to decide. I'll update as the situation warrants.
But - and this is important - I may make so little money as a flight attendant that I would qualify for some government cheese. And I do love cheese. No, really, just love it. And that government cheese? Not so bad. I especially like the orange flavor.
I am on Day 5 of the Master Cleanse (aka the lemonade diet). I'm not really enjoying it that much, I'm sick of lemonade and the senna tea is causing ass explosions at the most inopportune times.
Such as when I got on the bridge last night (there are three bridge choices to get across the Tampa Bay, but I have an affinity for the Howard Frankland bridge - you need to know that). Once you're on the bridge though, there is no way off. The thunder from down under lasted for 10 excruciating miles, causing me to contort myself into new and inventive yoga positions while trying to steer a 13 year old vehicle with questionable tires over a buttload of water. And sweating, there was a lot of sweating. A bit of profanity too.
Yes, so, I think I am done with the cleanse. 5 days isn't too bad - I'm supposed do it for 10, but to that I say, I don't want to and you can't make me.
Sometimes I can only get myself out of bed in the morning by telling myself that in 10 hours I can be back in bed to take a nap. This is also effective at convincing myself not to drive my car off the bridge into the bay - the promise of a nap.
I'm running out of things to talk about and yet I must keep typing to look productive. It's a problem.
I am kind of sick of lemonade, did I mention? Tastes like the urine of Satan.
Or so I would imagine, I don't have personal knowledge or anything.
Siamese Cat runs out the front door every time it opens, refuses to come inside, then howls like he is on fire when I close the door. We repeat this 4-7 times per day. Fun for all. Oh and if he eats enough grass, there is the promise of projectile cat horking vomit.
Well then. I think I probably better take that job as a flight attendant so I can come up with something to talk about aside from ass explosions and vomit. Screaming demon children and drunk ass-grabbing businessmen several thousand feet in the air - there's a story in there somewhere, I'm sure of it.
2006-05-10 at 3:41 p.m.