sudden onset acute intestinal pain

Your day?

..tra la la..I think I’ll finish up this work so that I caaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh! My colon is trying to EAT my upper intestines.

Teh Suck.

Just sayin’

I’m supposed to be working. I *should* be working. I’ve got over 50+ test cases to complete by the end of the week. But, basically I am in total fugget mode. I’d be sad about it or depressed but I’m just not.
I’m in a fantastic mood. We’ll see how long that lasts, though. Developers are whizzing in and out of the lab like their asses are on fire and their heads are catching. Which is perhaps, true.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I just have a simple question — who in the fuck takes their cell phone into a public restroom for a chat? Is this a new trend in cell conversation?
I just overheard a woman talking to someone – her mate, presumably – about navy blue bloomers for cheerleading. No, I can’t make this kind of shit up. Bloomers. Your phone conversation about *bloomers* was SOOOOO important you couldn’t wait or call them back or something. You had to take them into a ladies restroom for echoey, non-private chit-chat. Hey, here’s some advice, lady:
Fuck off.
Really. No one in here wants to share your navy-bloomer moment. We don’t care. We want to take care of our business, in as much privacy as gappy, metallic stalls will allow. And then we want to be left to wash our hands and leave.
I know I cannot be the only one who has a shy bladder and/or restroom habits. I tend to make sure the ladies room is empty before I begin – because having someone I don’t know listen to me make water. Someone walking into the bathroom to have a cell phone convo almost offends me. *growls to self*

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Overheard at break

“I got this new program, totally cool. Let’s me rip DVDs without all that security stuff getting in the way. I tried on that one that came out two weeks ago…what’s it called? Uhh…some fucking Bible story or other.”
“The DaVinci Code?”
“Yeah!”

Irony thy name is geek.

Sometimes the lack of communication in this house makes me crazier than a shithouse rat. Just sayin’.

I just had to send this( * ) to my husband. Why? Because his Mom called me this morning & asked what the T-day plan was. The which I told her — dinner with friends in Burney. Well, she had told J over two weeks ago that they wanted to discuss Thanksgiving plans with us. Did I *ever* hear about this? Nope. Why? Probably it slipped his mind. Again.
One day, I just know it, my darling husband will come in and say, “Hey sweetie! Guess what happened today?” And then, he’ll fill me in on the details. Why, he may even tell me when someone calls or if there are any plans afoot!

*
“Alrighty, here’s the deal:

J, you ought to have told me that there were T-day plans afoot with your Mom. She is understandably upset because well, we haven’t seen her/them since the beginning of summer. And, they came out here for that time. We definitely need to go and see them, esp. for Thanksgiving.
That being said, I will need to contact Tommy and let him know that there has been a shift in our paradigm. Family is important.

Call your Mom. Apologize profusely. Ask if there is a certain time we need to be there and do we need to bring anything.
Then, call me and let me know what has happened.

Thanks,
The Wife”

Ever have one of those Monday mornings where everything actually *did* go right? You’re left with this unsatisfied air of “WTF? I thought it was Monday!” My head is all wobbly though. Bleah.

Ah, me. I am only going to get to work 2 days this week due to Thanksgiving and the office’s somewhat Neanderlithic (i don’t care if its not a word; it should be) views on whether or not contract employees get to be in the office when there’s no “real” employees about. Of course, as I am a contract employee I don’t get *paid* for those days that I have to take off. *grumble*

Last night was amazingly “eh” after the first couple of hours. We saw Jason (Void) and he stood us a round of drinks. Lots of people were amazingly dressed and it was a ton of fun watching folk’s faces as new costumes wandered in.

But after awhile, I just started feeling icky. Could NOT catch my groove – hard to do when your ‘tines are rumbling in time to the beat – and eventaully, I just wanted home. Blankets, kitties, snuggly boy-types….*sniff, sniff. OH, ICK!* AFTER a shower. It was terribly smoky in Los Club de la Gothlings as well.
So we left. We walked back the forty or so blocks to our car and drove the hour it took to get back to our house in BFE.
*sigh*

If you guys want us to move back into town, you’ve got my vote.

*those of you what watch Richard Jenni will get that.

This is a word sketch of a character I am making for a game that I play called, “City of Villains”.

From the files of Indigo….

“Not all who wear white are heroes…”
So said a member of the Freedom Phalanx. He seemed to be referencing no one in particular, although he may well have been speaking of Belle Bourke.

Belle Bourke was raised as a genteel girl of the South. Coming from the curious hybrid of rural and metropolitan that is Atlanta, Georgia, Belle was born into a family of wealth and tradition that few modern people can comprehend. Her entire life was planned from the moment of conception and deviation was not tolerated. She was to be a debutante dressed in pastels by sixteen. And married wearing white by no later than twenty-two. In her world, young women went to college to meet prospective husbands.

Belle however, had different plans. Darker plans. Even as a child she had been fascinated by the mastery of body through training and rigorous mental discipline. She began secretly studying kung fu at the age of fourteen, delighting in the mastery that it gave over at least one aspect of her life. Although she revelled in the burgening prowess in her body, she did not feel that it exacted enough punishment to truly become great. It was while she was in college that she found the outlet for her needs in a group calling itself “Deadly Blooms”.

On the surface, the Blooms are a Southern woman’s self-defense group. In reality, they are an elite group of assassins for hire. Each member of the inner cadre – all of them fanatically loyal to the organization – trains ruthlessly to metamorph their bodies into killing weapons. At the culmination of training, each woman takes the name of a poisonous flower.

As with many gang and mercenary groups, training is completed with a horrific act of violence. Usually, this act is a symbol to the potential member. A metaphor for the removal of any ties to their past lives. Belle – now known as “Star Jasmine” – was no different. At the age of twenty three, one year shy of graduating from college, she went home to visit her family. While she was there she massacred everyone in her parent’s mansion. Over thirty people were killed by her hands. She then tore out her own eyes and placed one in her mother’s mouth, and one in her father’s.
One of the last things she would say before sewing up her own mouth would be to the psychiatrists at the Zig. “This gives me absolute control of their spirits. They do MY bidding, now.”
Whether this is true or not, the wounds where her eyes used to be never heal.

Lordy, its been a long few weeks.
Being lead engineer on a crap project will do that for you. Well, the product is not total crap. But its close enough that if you stuck it in the garden, it would do nice things for your flowers.

*sigh*
50+ hour weeks. Minimal. And that’s _with_ missing this past Monday with a migraine.

OTOH, I love my job. I like doing what I do and the people and company.

I’m not conflicted. I’m just bitchy. 🙂