I don't know why they don't invent receptionist robots. No, seriously. Maybe I should invent them. Then I wouldn't have to be a receptionist anymore. Hmmmmm. Damn my non-science-y brain.
We're working on this project which essentially involves convincing people that there should not be a casino built in the north bay. We're contracting out to get people to distribute fliers around the area -- $75 an hour (!!), two hours a day, four days a week. I'm making Aaron do it because, shit, people, that's $600 for ridiculously little work. So I got that going for me.
This morning at 4am, there was a very strange howling sound. I woke up to it and assumed the wolfman was coming to get me. I lay there, frozen in fear, ridiculously frightened, not sure if I should scream, wanting to turn around and face my demise (I never was the hide-under-the-covers type), and then I heard somebody set something down. I shakily whispered, "Aaron?" and he -- who had fallen asleep on the couch watching Adult Swim -- came over to comfort me. But he heard it too, so I didn't make it up -- that's reassuring to a certain degree. We decided it must have been the dog, who remained fast asleep throughout the ordeal, howling in his sleep. He usually only whimpers, but whatev. It was ridiculously creepy and I had weird dreams for the rest of the morning.
It's boring entries like this that make me want to subscribe to the "quality over quantity" method of diary-ing. But then there's the part of me that thinks, "You know, I could be doing data entry like a good little receptionist or I could write stupid anecdotes for my minions." Either way, you lose.
I hate that I've become re-obsessed with the number of people who favorite me.
shanda shot you (4:13:44 PM): i'm your silly willy!
Ooo! I saved the second half of my turkey avocado croissant sandwich from lunch! Yay noon me.
one year ago today: "here i am, with bells on my toes. or something like that."
two years ago today: nothin.
three years ago today: nothin.