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abilouiseToday we have several unrelated thoughts.
I solved a Mystery Hunt puzzle that had a bunch of Randomites stumped! I felt super-smart for like the next several hours, and at the same time felt super-stupid for feeling super-smart. I don't know why I'm using the past tense as this is still obviously happening.
Yay! It's crisp and cold again today rather than cold and sunless and dank! I got my longies on and left the house and I walked around town and it was fun and excellent. It was only at 11:15-ish that my day turned bad, when I was walking up mass ave by MIT and got semi-accosted by a scary guy who sort of followed me for a few blocks, though his rate of speed was no match for my Bostonian frozen-pole-up-the-ass gait (i.e. faster than New Yorkers). I think he was stoned, given his poor motor coordination gesturing at me, but that doesn't actually make me feel any better. Skeezbag guys usually stay away from me. I like to think that they fear my scary intimidation eat-shit rays, and are confused by my conventionally male haircut and outerwear (at least, homeless people and postal clerks usually call me "sir"), but maybe this guy was experiencing a drug-hightened sensitivity and saw through my outer eat-shit shellac into my "please don't come near me ohpleaseohplease I have no idea what to do except freeze" inner core. Once again, "take some class so I can beat up potential assailants" appears on my to do list. I know the city of Somerville actually offers such things for free. A big thank you to all those Kate Wallace/Somerville Women's Commission types!
Holiday husband hint to remember for next year: When you finish a chore/project that you and your wife have been putting off doing forever, it is cheating to wrap it up and give it to her for Christmas as her present, even if the wife appreciates that it means that she can cross off "finish making curtains" on her to-do list. It is very sweet, but it is not a Christmas present. This has been a public service announcement from Geek Wives of America.
I'm settling into what is only the second job I have ever held that I liked, and I'm getting to the part where I don't want to go even though I enjoy being there and I like it. It's this weird stage of burnout and I find myself talking to myself like I was a pouty-for-no-reason four-year-old. "Come on! Let's just put our shirt on over our head... you know how pretty you look in your special shirt (my black PTC polo shirt is undeniably butch and hot) But you LOVE going to MTI! You'll see all your friends and you'll make money! You LOVE money! (It's true... I do.) And you love seeing clients! ALL RIGHT GET YOUR REAR IN GEAR! FANNY OUT THE DOOR! I MEAN IT! NOW! I don't understand why I never use the word "ass" or anything else remotely swear-like talking to pouty-for-no-reason me. Probably because saying "Get your rear in gear" is fun, not to mention it's a highly compelling image, especially for those with a comprehensive understanding of musculoskeletal anatomy.
Do any of my local-type friends have a scanner? I have a need to scan photos into a computer so that I can use them the way God intended me to.
I solved a Mystery Hunt puzzle that had a bunch of Randomites stumped! I felt super-smart for like the next several hours, and at the same time felt super-stupid for feeling super-smart. I don't know why I'm using the past tense as this is still obviously happening.
Yay! It's crisp and cold again today rather than cold and sunless and dank! I got my longies on and left the house and I walked around town and it was fun and excellent. It was only at 11:15-ish that my day turned bad, when I was walking up mass ave by MIT and got semi-accosted by a scary guy who sort of followed me for a few blocks, though his rate of speed was no match for my Bostonian frozen-pole-up-the-ass gait (i.e. faster than New Yorkers). I think he was stoned, given his poor motor coordination gesturing at me, but that doesn't actually make me feel any better. Skeezbag guys usually stay away from me. I like to think that they fear my scary intimidation eat-shit rays, and are confused by my conventionally male haircut and outerwear (at least, homeless people and postal clerks usually call me "sir"), but maybe this guy was experiencing a drug-hightened sensitivity and saw through my outer eat-shit shellac into my "please don't come near me ohpleaseohplease I have no idea what to do except freeze" inner core. Once again, "take some class so I can beat up potential assailants" appears on my to do list. I know the city of Somerville actually offers such things for free. A big thank you to all those Kate Wallace/Somerville Women's Commission types!
Holiday husband hint to remember for next year: When you finish a chore/project that you and your wife have been putting off doing forever, it is cheating to wrap it up and give it to her for Christmas as her present, even if the wife appreciates that it means that she can cross off "finish making curtains" on her to-do list. It is very sweet, but it is not a Christmas present. This has been a public service announcement from Geek Wives of America.
I'm settling into what is only the second job I have ever held that I liked, and I'm getting to the part where I don't want to go even though I enjoy being there and I like it. It's this weird stage of burnout and I find myself talking to myself like I was a pouty-for-no-reason four-year-old. "Come on! Let's just put our shirt on over our head... you know how pretty you look in your special shirt (my black PTC polo shirt is undeniably butch and hot) But you LOVE going to MTI! You'll see all your friends and you'll make money! You LOVE money! (It's true... I do.) And you love seeing clients! ALL RIGHT GET YOUR REAR IN GEAR! FANNY OUT THE DOOR! I MEAN IT! NOW! I don't understand why I never use the word "ass" or anything else remotely swear-like talking to pouty-for-no-reason me. Probably because saying "Get your rear in gear" is fun, not to mention it's a highly compelling image, especially for those with a comprehensive understanding of musculoskeletal anatomy.
Do any of my local-type friends have a scanner? I have a need to scan photos into a computer so that I can use them the way God intended me to.
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Date: 18 Jan 2005 02:32 (UTC)One of the things I like about the Mystery Hunt is that the puzzles are so diverse that everyone has a chance for their "moment of glory" when they have the key skill or piece of arcane knowledge that makes them a crucial asset to the team. Glad you got your moment this year.