(no subject)

This morning, I put the water on to boil and then put out a mug for tea and a bowl for cereal.

I got the cereal out of the pantry and promptly tried to pour it into the mug. Which was right next to the bowl. And as I was doing it I even thought to myself, wow, this seems more difficult than usual.

Then I poured the cereal from the mug into the bowl, added a bit more, rinsed out the mug, and got the milk out of the fridge.

Then I poured the milk into the bowl, and tried to put the milk away...in the pantry.

Some days I'm surprised I remember how to walk upright.

(no subject)

COME ON WEDNESDAY, GIMME A FUCKING BREAK.

Seriously, I got to work and the doors to our office were bolted shut from the inside, which isn't supposed to happen. So I had to make a detour through the mailroom, around the stairwell, up half a flight of stairs and through a door that I wasn't aware my keycard granted me access to, in order to get inside. I am the Ninja Officeboy.

As I was unbolting the door two clients showed up early for an eight-am meeting and there's me, still in my coat, headphones in my ears, in a dark lobby, waving them inside and welcome...and of course nobody they were supposed to be meeting was there. So I stashed them in a conference room and was about to start tidying the desk -- mail and newspaper deliveries, plus packages from yesterday -- when...

Okay. I have three bosses. There's the boss who I "clerk" for, the guy who's my boss on paper, and the woman who actually tells me what to do. They will henceforth be known as NiceBoss, PaperBoss, and GirlBoss.

GIRLBOSS calls me and asks if I'll run to another floor with a videoconferencing unit and call her on my cell so she can talk me through the setup. So I do, and as soon as I get back to my desk the building office has called to let us know that we're late on the rent and WHERE IS IT HUH HUH HUH. To which I said, in tone if not in content, You bore me. I did the paperwork for it three weeks ago and bitching me out is not going to get you your money any faster.

Ten months in a box office and two weeks of constant confrontation last Christmas have trained me not to get upset by people being dicks to me, which is brilliant, actually, because then they get all flustered that you're not getting flustered, and that's fun to watch.

I'd really like to get through at least one hour without a crisis of some kind, though.

At least there's always Futility Closet, which brings the classical music lulz.

I need to make a Ninja Officeboy icon. And then figure out which one it will replace.

(no subject)

I have, as LJ so pithily puts it, Edited my Style. Would that this were so simple in real life...

No drastic changes, mind you, I shall emulate my imaginary octogenarian lawyer till the end. But I have changed my title (Pyramids, Palaces, Railways and Mills) and display name (Every Blessed Spire), both stolen from the Chumbawamba song "Smith & Taylor". Which is all about the high perils of architecture and city planning.

I've also added some new quotes, having rediscovered an old file and found some of them very apt. Given place of prominence is a truncated paragraph from a Dorothy Sayers short story, The Man With The Copper Fingers:

The Egotists' Club is one of the most genial places in London. It is a place to which you may go when you want to tell that odd dream you had last night, or to announce what a good dentist you have discovered. You must not mention golf or fish, however...as Lord Peter Wimsey said when the matter was mooted the other day in the smoking-room, those are things you can talk about anywhere.

If I wasn't already Sam's Cafe, I would think very seriously about becoming The Egotists' Club. :D

(no subject)

Aha! See, Karma is swift. To make up for all my tribulations this morning, NiceBoss brought me sweet and sour chicken, teriyaki beef, and rice from the lunch meeting downstairs. I may have to redub him FoodBoss.

Mum texted me while I was eating lunch and seriously, this is never going to end. I warned her and warned her to keep a close eye on the phone bill since giving Bernard an iPhone on her account, especially since he was taking it out of the country with him, but I guess she figured since he always had it turned off when she called, she didn't need to bother.

One $1200 phone bill later...

Someday I really will write a book about all this. It's just that I kind of suspect the climax has yet to hit.

In other news: Tonight I am going to go home, order a pizza, and Torchwood my face off.

(no subject)

That Girl: Oh yes, doggy, you are an ookums. YES YOU ARE. Do you want Sam to be your babysitter? Do you?
Sam: If you ask me to babysit him you will find him very ill-sat indeed.
That Girl: Ahahaha oh, you're funny.
Sam: Ahahaha.

*twenty minutes later*

That Girl: All right, we're going! Be good for Sam!
Sam: Or else.
That Girl: Just kidding. Ahahaha! *drags dog off*

*thirty minutes later, on R's return*

Sam: No seriously, you have to dump her. It's not fair to any of us.
R: She just did the dishes!
Sam: So? Your last girlfriend cooked us a gourmet meal with bacon mashed potatoes and you dumped her!
R: She cleaned my room.
Sam: And then her dog ate an incense cone and puked pine all over the bathroom floor.

Seriously, I'm going to strangle them all. :D

(no subject)

It's Wednesday! That must mean it's time for Sam's Three Things About Turchwad Torchwood!

Spoilers for ( Torchwood 2.10: From Out Of The Rain )

3a. Ianto Jones. No, kiddo. Blue tie on a red shirt with a black suit? No, no.

I'd like to also point out two things mostly unrelated to this episode.

One: My Torchwood LOLcats fic is still getting comments a week later. I have literally never had a fic get so much for so little effort. I've never EVER had a fic get 400+ comments. And boy did it bring all the Torchwood fans to the yard, 'cause they went to town on the Dressing fic, too. Does Torchwood really have so few good writers?

Two: As I was writing this, I started to smell something that was an awful lot like old film being run through a projector (dust burning, plastic, etc). I thought my brain was just playing tricks on me, and then I realised my bedside lamp was ON FIRE. The plastic hood over the bulb was just starting to flare up when I finally got to it and switched it off. Ikea, you fickle whore. No more lamps from you, my bed could have caught fire. Which I was dreaming about two nights ago, so who knows. Hello adrenaline.

Off to bed for me. Without a bedside lamp. Sadness.