rogueboy

My mind isn't working too well for it being only 11 pm on a Thursday. I need for my agency to hook me up, and the one offer on the table right now is for an interview for a <gag> collection agency. My roomates were pricks and stayed on the phone long enough for me to just miss my rep before she walked out the door for the day, so maybe that'll be taken off the table. I need to work, but I'd rather not bother with THAT.

Say, is Starbucks hiring? I'll whore myself to the Conglomerate.

I finally got my PIN to sign off on my note for my college loan. Now if the site can go 20 minutes without crashing, I can do it.

I spent an hour trying to find someone to help me open my new lock-and-key gas cap. It was just stuck. What the hell.

I ran the treadmill for 20 minutes and felt GREAT... after nearly killing myself with the last three minutes of intense running. Body for Life by Bill Phillips would be a great piece of advice if he wasn't pimping Myoplex in the food chapter. See, there's always an asterisk somewhere.

I'm in limbo, I need to get back to work, I miss Angelene, I'm allergic to chicken, the Red Sox will not win a World Series ever again, I'm wookin pa nub in all the wrong places, Elaine at Border's is cute, and I'm done... with this entry.