I guess, on my most cynical days, my biggest problem is that people seem to think that I honestly give a shit. And, on days like today, I can't even be bothered to make believe that yes, there is something about listening to your problems with your former boss that simply entralls me.
My brother was supposed to move in to his new apartment last night. My mom and I picked up the keys -- he was late after receiving one speeding ticket and one carpool lane violation during the six-hour drive from Santa Barbara to here -- and moved some homey stuff in (toilet paper, towels, mouthwash), but earlier that day the moving company that was going to transfer all of his crap from SB to here decided that they were going to keep it in storage for "2-3 business days," which, if they stick with that, is next Wednesday. But probably more like, uh, never. "Funny Farm," anyone? Heh. So remember when I was talking about the whole "I just want things to go right for this guy and they never do" thing? They really never do. ANYWAY. He can't move into this apartment without his furniture, so he stayed at the hotel with my mom last night and they're both heading to Redding today to drink away their sorrows. Or something. It's 9am; do you know where my sanity is?
The executive vice president of the company just used the phrase, "I got my ass handed to me." /edit Twice!. /edit Three times! In the same conversation!
After the moving debacle I met up with Aaron and his shitfaced boss to exchange Christmas presents. I received a GIANT STUFFED TOTORO and it is, without a doubt, the best thing ever.
I just completely lost any and all desire to officially complete this entry. Ugh. Nevermind.
