Where the sidewalk ends I'm lookin' for action.
See the money man and make a transaction.
I'm a secret agent, chasing the devil.
Gonna' win the war, but I'm loosin' the battle.
On mountain top, lookin down on my kingdom.
I can see you, girl, and you haven't got a thing on.
Gonna' bring it home to you, so keep waiting,
After 40 days and nights of this, I'm on fire.
The following has fuck all to do with the above, but if you are the sort who is into the heroin sounds of the indie/psych/pop thang (think Dandys meet the Breeders and Apples in Stereo, with some Blink 182 (yeah, so what, fucker?)), get this joint:
I am so close to having an actual office - like seconds away, maybe. I do have a working phone, a desk, two chairs, a window, the plastic thing you put under your chair, a printer, paper, a stapler, a lamp, multi-colored highlighters, some paper clips in one of those magnetic box thingies, and a computer - that I can't use because I can't access the network yet. All that stuff, and all of it 100% useless if I can't communicate with the server.
So, this is an office job. Tomorrow I am wearing jeans, and not shaving. I will do this so that I can tell myself that I still have a personality that isn't owned by the plaintiff's bar. I will not see a bump in money, however, until I get my Bar results. At which point, I stand to get a 150% raise or so, which means (a) chunks of debt being erased; (b) finding a nice apartment and getting out of my parents' attic bedroom (which also means an end to free food three to five times per day); and (c) finally get back to sitting on my couch before bed and smoking a little tobacco-less cigarette, whilst viewing one of my favorite prime time serial dramas - 'cause I'm 30.
Since I've been back at my parents' house, I've put on over 5 lbs. - for reals, bitch. Don't worry; I can handle it.
In other news:
Oliver Perez?
Jeff Weaver?
Has the whole world gone bat shit insane?
Oh, and:
See the money man and make a transaction.
I'm a secret agent, chasing the devil.
Gonna' win the war, but I'm loosin' the battle.
On mountain top, lookin down on my kingdom.
I can see you, girl, and you haven't got a thing on.
Gonna' bring it home to you, so keep waiting,
After 40 days and nights of this, I'm on fire.
The following has fuck all to do with the above, but if you are the sort who is into the heroin sounds of the indie/psych/pop thang (think Dandys meet the Breeders and Apples in Stereo, with some Blink 182 (yeah, so what, fucker?)), get this joint:
I am so close to having an actual office - like seconds away, maybe. I do have a working phone, a desk, two chairs, a window, the plastic thing you put under your chair, a printer, paper, a stapler, a lamp, multi-colored highlighters, some paper clips in one of those magnetic box thingies, and a computer - that I can't use because I can't access the network yet. All that stuff, and all of it 100% useless if I can't communicate with the server.
So, this is an office job. Tomorrow I am wearing jeans, and not shaving. I will do this so that I can tell myself that I still have a personality that isn't owned by the plaintiff's bar. I will not see a bump in money, however, until I get my Bar results. At which point, I stand to get a 150% raise or so, which means (a) chunks of debt being erased; (b) finding a nice apartment and getting out of my parents' attic bedroom (which also means an end to free food three to five times per day); and (c) finally get back to sitting on my couch before bed and smoking a little tobacco-less cigarette, whilst viewing one of my favorite prime time serial dramas - 'cause I'm 30.
Since I've been back at my parents' house, I've put on over 5 lbs. - for reals, bitch. Don't worry; I can handle it.
In other news:
Oliver Perez?
Jeff Weaver?
Has the whole world gone bat shit insane?
Oh, and:
VIEW 13 of 13 COMMENTS
How do you make sure they are clean?
I would love to do that.
How bad is the scar?