Here is my weekend, in Pictures.
In Dream News: Friday I dreamt that Ozzy Osbourne was on some TV show, babbling all confused and the like. He was wearing a white jersey with green letters and numbers.
There were Shamrocks on the sleeves.
He sang some kinda Irish national song. The crowd went nuts, and joyfully rioted.
I think I need to quit reading Celtic mythology.
[KHAAAAN!]
You should click the above link, and just…let it run it’s course.
I dreamt last night that I lived in the upstairs of a Circle K. Right inbetween the Beer case, and the Milk Case, there was a locking glass door, and behind it a set of stairs.
Occasionally I would come down and purchase snacks. If you think about it, it would be very handy to live upstairs from a convenience store.
One day, I was walking into the store, to go home, and I followed an Airline pilot up into my apartment. He seemed very much at home among my stuff.
I asked him why he was here, and he said he lived here. Then he looked around, realized he was mistaken and left.
Now that I’m awake, I realize it was an Air Force Uniform. I think. Maybe it was neither. It looked official.
An episode of an old TV show I liked, was all about how this guy misunderstood a song lyric.
“Eli’s comin’, girl, Hide your heart.”
He took it to mean “a general sense of ill being is going to arrive.”
My job is very dull. It’s a lot of preventative work. Entropy and Enviroment however, conspire to undo that.
Disasters happen.
They do not come in single spies.
Occasionally the rote behavior of my job turns weird. A sudden, weird incident, will turn in to a string of incidents.
The two jobs I was doing tonight, went sideways. The first was caused by a T-1 not wanting to work. Then, as I was sitting back, scratching my head… it resolved.
The second, was foiled out in the field when a coworker (Who is patently awesome at what he does) couldn’t get a site done, because of a stripped power cable. Which shouldn’t be there.
Eli’s comin’.
I did my taxes in crayon.
Then I mailed them to “TAXES, NORTH POLE, UT”.
I was leaning out the third story window of a building running cat5, yesterday, as I watched a metermaid pull up and put a ticket on my car.
I thought to myself…. “Metermaid. That’s a sexist term there, isn’t it.”
“Meter… Meter….Reader? Keeper? Checker? Patrol…Meterpatrol….”
I couldn’t come up with something to call them other than “Metermaid”, but I wasn’t happy with the sexist overtones.
Then, it came to me.
I’ve settled on “Pig Fucker.”