Working girls.
At work, I keep Pidgin open so I can chat with my google contacts. I don't chat very much, and a lot of it is work and carpool-related. The other day, I got a message from Nadia Wray though. I scrolled through my brain rolodex and came up empty. No Nadia Wrays, nothing even close.
Eating at the intersection of Tasty and Infuriating.
So, Trader Joe's. All I really wanted was one of those Cubano wraps and a salad. On paper...in theory...this should be a 5 minute proposition. Park, walk directly to item, purchase, leave, and consume.
When will I ever learn that Trader Joe's doesn't really work like a grocery store, or traditional retail business of any sort. It's more akin to an indoor farmer's market. Not the shitty little one's that you can also pop in and out of in a few minutes, no, I'm talking about the shitty big one's that are congested with aging hippies and vegans.
My quick trip for lunch took 20 minutes. 5 of which was spent in the most passive stand-off I've ever taken part in.
The Worst Monday Ever -or- Fuck you, Sony
My Monday morning started at 5:50am on Sunday. Just about the time one of the switches decided to give up the ghost. I, of course, didn't find out that anything was wrong because any alert emails would have required the Exchange server to be online and connected to, oh, anything. So I'm blissfully unaware of anything and preparing for a leisurely Sunday of football and maybe some Skyrim (Major General Kittyman needs to project arrows into faces or else he gets grumpy), when I get a call from the stage manager. Now, I know something is up, because this is not a voice I should be hearing on a Sunday morning, so immediately, I know shits about to get real, yo.