failed adventures in napping
Today I wore my
red Satan suit and my
leopard print glasses and I felt mighty snazzy. Although I took so long in dressing myself up that I was late for work, yet again. Bad habit, but I
cannot get up at 7am. It's impossible. My nature won't allow it. Genetic. Inalterable.
Having finished my
ColdFusion project and thus earning the respect of
my boss, I moved on to the
vb project. That didn't go as well as the ColdFusion, for the following reasons:
things I like:
emacs
things I vehemently adhor: stupid visual (name of made up propreitary language here.. wtf is a
J++??)
integrated development environments that 'simplify' things by letting you
drag and drop an
ugly GUI together but don't write any code beyond the layout of the frame the application is listening to and just generally fucking
suck. Like
Visual Studio.
After struggling through
"Hello, World!", waves of sleepy hit me and I drown, taking two of my boss' vb books under with me to study while I await my watery demise.
Get home, evade conversation with roommate, note
FedEx package. Don't care. Need bed. But, as it happens every time I try to have a nap any time between the hours of 9am and 2am, the door slams several times, the area just outside my door fills with
screaming girly giggles, and I do not get any rest. Finally, the door slams in a way reminiscent of
Mortal Kombat (!!
Finish Her!!) and I'm just about to get up and stomp pointedly across the living room (
passive agressive? not me.) when I notice the voices are gone. Ahh.
Of course the phone rings. I pretend to ignore it. But I hear my friend Colleen's voice on the machine, and I owe her a ride to the airport. I grab it before she hangs up. And it turns out she wants to leave now, not at 8pm, like I'd thought.
Piss.
We drive the
Volvo to
SeaTac, getting
hit on twice before we leave
Oly. First offender is the cashier at the gas station, telling Colleen she looks like "
the kind of girl who really likes to have fun." If he only knew. Then a kid in a suit next to us at a red light asks if we want to make some extra money, interrupting an impromtu rendition of
Pour Some Sugar on Me. We speed away toward I-5.
It's really sunny, meaning it's
Moron Day on America's Favorite Parking Lot. Traffic's ok until I drop Colleen at the airport, but
hell going south. And then I really have to pee.
I get back to Oly to see my roommate heading the opposite direction, toward the freeway. I honk. People look, everyone but her. I honk again.
La-dee-da, bellise. Finally I just stick my arms out the window and wave them around like I'd dropped my cigarette in my lap. This serves to make me miss the light turning green, but at least I finally get honked at. Not by bellise, though. She just sticks her tongue out.
The house is empty.
RAWK. I get under the covers.
Knock, knock. My roommate's
boyfriend. I grunt that he should make himself at home, and close the door. If he pees on the carpet, the roommate can clean it up. I think I almost fall asleep. The door slams open again. I overhear about two minutes of a conversation about
fascinating attributes of home pregnancy testing kits, then perform the aforementioned drama queen dance of elephant-stepping through the living room to my
smoking porch.
It's a gorgeous night, summer blue sky, candy pink clouds, even the concrete under my ass still warm. I decide,
fuck it, I've received
igloowhite's fascinating-sounding movie in the mail. I'll go watch that. So I do (!!it's really good!! -
more on that later). Now I'm just stalling until bedtime.
It occurs to me I'm never going to go anywhere in life if my only goal is making it until the next time I can fall asleep.
Tough cookies.