Coworker: Bla bla bla purse bla bla bla.
Me: I have a man bag
Coworker: Really? What does your man bag look like?
The jokes, at that point, made themselves.
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They announced free t-shirts on Radio K, so I ran out of the office and down six flights of stairs to the basement to get one. They only had large shirts, but oh well. Then, I saw King Kwong’s girlfriend whom he had said had called me creepy (deeply wounded I was) and I tried to flippantly mention it, but my three or four hours of sleep betrayed me, and it came out in a confused jumble that ended with me wanting to run run run.
I did not have a camera, so there was no photo of DJ Paul, Dave Hill, Zach, and I all wearing our emo glasses. I kind of wanted to start a band called “the Emo Four” but there was no time and the last thing that the world needs is four more grown men crying to sleepy beats.
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I’m feeling much better in general, except for that nexus of homework that has hit me. I have more to do but my eyes are burning already, so I guess that I will ahve to try to “get up early” or “do it instead of paying work.” This semester has not been great for me getting work done. I’ve either been distracted or… I dunno… crazy or something. I used to have distractions well under control — a fifteen minute tour of the internet would lead into me biting down on a problem and taking care of business. Now everything is looking NP complete, which basically means intractable, which basically means that computers can’t calculate it in reasonable amounts of time. I just want to tell everyone to fuck off and take myself to someplace warm and sunny where I can sit inside with the windows open and nap or something.
I’m gonna go brush my teeth and try to sleep early.
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My mom went with me to buy schoolbooks and then my glasses, which involved visiting Coffman (where I work, but on a different floor) and then the north suburbs. At one point I tried to drive from Blaine to Brooklyn Park, or something like that, and the moronic traffic and ill-designed roads caused me to unleash invectives that actually melted the windshield of my mother’s Camry. Later I shivved someone in a store.
I figured it out, though, while sitting and waiting for the salesperson to finish my glasses order — my broken and cockeyed glasses are causing my murderous rage. Interestingly, the rage came on before the headache, but now that my eyes feel like they are being plucked from my head I will no longer be able to climb to the roof of a building with a high powered rifle and shoot people. Instead I will have to use a shotgun or grenades at closer range. It will just be easier on my eyes.
I’m gonna go lie down and picture rivers of blood.
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This is the third day that I have woken up wanting to kill everyone. I have been specifically forbidden from pounding the keyboard with my fists at work, so I don’t know how I will deal with my inexhaustible and inexplicable rage.
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So, h0bbel decided to tag me with another useless meme so I guess I better follow through…
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Somehow my glasses got broken, so I have to buy new ones. Here’s my new prescription:
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I just had a super fun weekend. There was bowling and we almost saw Gay Beast — except that Gay Beast’s myspace site listed 9pm for the show at the Triple Rock, and Triple Rock’s site said 6pm. Of course, I didn’t see that until 8, so when we got there, all there was to do was buy the Gay Beast EP. Dan (the singer and keyboardist) recognized Cake Woman and I from myspace, which is ridiculous and marks the two of us as internet nerds. Well, me at least, because I’m not memorably cute like Cake Woman.
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Apparently I arranged my schedule too well, since I used up my 20 hours of work time by one pm today. This rules! Maybe I should have bought books or submitted that form to my advisor before leaving campus. Oh well.
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You know the street — 19th, or 10th, or whatever the hell eventually becomes Johnson. It goes across a bridge from the West Bank to University — right by the Amoco. There’s a sign that you can see when you go Northbound on that bridge that says something like “treat your suicidal depression or die!!!”
Anyway, I thought that it looked more like it should say:
“If I weren’t so depressed, I’d ask you to take your finger out of my ass.”
At least Cake Woman thought it was funny. That’s why I like her so much, because she pretends to think that I’m funny, even if you don’t.
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