Monday, August 16, 2004
"Hardcore, with capital letters!"
Which Diesel Sweeties Character Are You?
Boo...I don't like day crew.
"Excuse me...I think your work ethic is draining outta your pores, unlike the sweat and blood that should be."
Although, if blood leaked out of your pores, it could be an alarming sign to stop whatever the hell you are doing at that moment. I love watching bald men do hard labour, in relation to this. It's like watching a carribbean cuttlefish.
"Watch as the cuttle fish reacts violently with a myriad of flashing colors as it is spooked by the predator!"
Working bald man: Beige, to white, to mottled red, to really really red, to purple, then to red, mottled red with some white spots, white, and back to beige. Fascinating. I should paint a canvas based on this observation, with a shovel, or an electric drill and hockey sideboards as the focal point. This was an awesome tangent.
I basically have to face facts that I'm going to have a shitty final review, because this crew that I got stuck with, is completely useless, and in city work land, if your crew is useless, you are too. Go Team!
Surprisingly though, getting up early in the morning is not as bad as I thought it would be. It's a little chilly to mow in, but not catastrophically so. And daycrew shifts pass quicker than nights did. And I have free free time that I don't sleep through. I could go to a movie even. Or le Fringe. Who knows? Or, even better, I could sit on my ass in front of the tv until bedtime. It's just that wonderful. Hopefully, I will be at the fringe tomorrow though. Avec Fenton.
In other news, Mr. Pink might be gracing my presence this week...in the big new house I'm currently housesitting, with the good food, the soaker tub, and the big big beds. And the cable internet, and the digital cable...le drool. And wouldn't you know it...the fucking vcr doesn't work, and that's the only thing I really cared about. Ok, and the food.
¶ 4:19 PM
Which Diesel Sweeties Character Are You?
Boo...I don't like day crew.
"Excuse me...I think your work ethic is draining outta your pores, unlike the sweat and blood that should be."
Although, if blood leaked out of your pores, it could be an alarming sign to stop whatever the hell you are doing at that moment. I love watching bald men do hard labour, in relation to this. It's like watching a carribbean cuttlefish.
"Watch as the cuttle fish reacts violently with a myriad of flashing colors as it is spooked by the predator!"
Working bald man: Beige, to white, to mottled red, to really really red, to purple, then to red, mottled red with some white spots, white, and back to beige. Fascinating. I should paint a canvas based on this observation, with a shovel, or an electric drill and hockey sideboards as the focal point. This was an awesome tangent.
I basically have to face facts that I'm going to have a shitty final review, because this crew that I got stuck with, is completely useless, and in city work land, if your crew is useless, you are too. Go Team!
Surprisingly though, getting up early in the morning is not as bad as I thought it would be. It's a little chilly to mow in, but not catastrophically so. And daycrew shifts pass quicker than nights did. And I have free free time that I don't sleep through. I could go to a movie even. Or le Fringe. Who knows? Or, even better, I could sit on my ass in front of the tv until bedtime. It's just that wonderful. Hopefully, I will be at the fringe tomorrow though. Avec Fenton.
In other news, Mr. Pink might be gracing my presence this week...in the big new house I'm currently housesitting, with the good food, the soaker tub, and the big big beds. And the cable internet, and the digital cable...le drool. And wouldn't you know it...the fucking vcr doesn't work, and that's the only thing I really cared about. Ok, and the food.
¶ 4:19 PM
