It was good dinner though.

Listen, if a man wants to have a nice bath at the end of the day after de-snake-body-ing an entire Hub, it is no business but his own. It is certainly not the business of his snooping copper of a co-worker, who believes he may have depressive tendencies (oh really?) and upon noticing that his tracking chip has not moved from the bath in his flat for an hour decides to invade with paramedics "just in case".

And if he wants to have bubbles in his bath that is entirely his choice and not in any way lacking in masculinity nor is it cause for laughter even by paramedics.

So in Gwen bursts, shouting for me, the paramedics on her heels, and there I am. In the bath. With bubbles, yes, and a bottle of cider. But no razor blades or pills or anything, because actually I'm quite enjoying being alive.

The thing is, when someone bursts in on you in the bath, you go for your gun.

Of course I take my gun into the bathroom with me. Wouldn't you, in my place?

And when you draw a gun on Gwen, she naturally draws hers. That's just training.

Let me tell you, "shot while taking a bubble bath" is not what I want my cause of death to read. I would prefer it to read "died of heart failure in bed, age 102" but failing that I'd like it to at least note for the record that I died in some sexy and heroic fashion. I'm going to make sure Jack puts -- scratch that, I'm going to pre-prepare my death certificate so someone can just ink in the date.

And then, because I've got a gun on Gwen and she's got hers on me and the paramedics are laughing and I personally think the situation couldn't actually get worse, Jack shows up with Max and dinner.

I refuse to be called "Bubbles" by emergency services for the rest of my life.

Which is why this morning I'm taking the emergency staff some donuts on my way to work, and if there is a little crushed retcon in the donuts that will hardly be my fault. That stuff gets everywhere.

(no subject)

YOU TRY MY PATIENCE, SNICKERS AD CAMPAIGN!

Snickers has taken to labeling its candy bars (and billboards, and bus ads) with words that do not exist. And I'm totally fine with the concept, I love words that don't exist! I like a good portmanteau and pun as much as the next man, and probably much more. But these are not good portmanteaus, nor are they good puns!

Additionally, even if "substantialiscious" were a word, that's not how you would spell it. There's no "sc" in "delicious". /pedant

On the other hand, they define "substantialiscious" as "The weight of something when you weigh it with your tongue." O RLY, SNICKERS BAR?

I mean, it's also inaccurate because that definition implies it's a noun and substantial and delicious are both adjectives, but IS hilarious if you have read a lot of slash.

(no subject)

From: Payroll woman who hates me
To: Me and All Other Staff

Reminder! Timecards are due in at 8:30 this morning!

***
This Message was sent at: 11:14 am.

Yeahhhh. Fortunately I turned mine in last Tuesday.

I have a headache the size of Montana this morning, but I got to make a PowerPoint presentation about fire safety and that was pretty soothing. I give good PowerPoint. At lunch I'll just wander off to one of the empty offices and die for a while, that'll be fine. And it's a good excuse to beg off early from R's Meatloaf Party tonight -- he's so proud of his meatloaf skills that he invited other people over to witness them. Except his skills aren't really skills yet so he still needs some supervision at least until the thing gets into the oven. I'm not actually that fond of meatloaf, to be honest, so eating it twice in one week is a bit overkill for me. I'll just make sure he knows when to take it out of the oven, say my goodbyes, and go home to die some more.

Also, I am taking next Friday off and running up to Ikea Schaumberg to potentially buy a chair and/or lamp and definitely eat some swedish meatballs. I can't put too much emphasis on how excited I am to be going to Ikea TOTALLY ALONE for the first time ever. I will finally get to look at exactly what I want, when I want, and don't have to worry about my mum freaking out because Ikea has no windows or clocks.

Note to self: wear wristwatch.

IKEA ADVENTURE!

(no subject)

AHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA THIS IS NOT FUNNY.

New Guy came up to me today and said, "By the way, remember I'm gone after the 30th."

I said, "What?"

Apparently he's leaving on the 30th for a three month Family Medical Leave. He took this job knowing he'd only be here three weeks before going on leave.

The job is cursed, I swear to god. In the year and change I've been here, three people have filled the same position -- four if you count Coworker J's two separate stints -- and nobody has ever left the job with warning, with time to train their replacement, or of their own free will.

This is ridiculous. We're kicking into high gear until August and now we get to hire another temp. I've suggested Coworker J. I suspect Coworker J might say "Oh hell no" to the idea, though.

Also, I told R "Tell me now if we're not doing meatloaf, and if we are I'm just going to help you get it in the oven and go home to sleep off the headache."

He texted back "Stay for Wheel! I'll get you some juice to help."

I told him, "Juice is not going to help. A shitload of painkillers and sleep will help."

Apparently iPhone doesn't like me using the word "shitload" in textmessage. It autocorrected it to "shirleyed".

Today sucks and I just want to go home and die for ten or twelve hours. WHY IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK OF THE UNIVERSE.

(no subject)

I actually got to spend quite a nice evening tonight, and did not die.

My headache died down in the last half hour of the day (of course), I think because I knew that soon I would have the whole weekend at my feet. I have Plans for this weekend, which include cooking everything in sight and cleaning the kitchen, probably two or three times due to the Cooking.

Nice guy that he is, R drove down to the station and picked me up from the El, since he was coming from the grocery store anyway. I'm very proud of him, he made two meatloaves and the only thing I did to help was chop the onions. He made one to eat later and one is for us to take to Porkchop's place down the street. Porkchop is his friend from high school, and I don't know why he's called that, but that's his nickname IRL, it's not one I gave him. Conversation ensued:

Sam: We're taking a meatloaf to Porkchop?
R: Yeah, you can come say hi if you want.
Sam: No, I gotta get home for the peapod delivery. But give my love to the Porkchops...es...
R: OH! I didn't tell you! His wife is pregnant!
Sam: Wow, congratulations to them! *pause* So they're having a cutlet?
R: THAT'S WHAT I SAID!

I didn't even know he knew what a cutlet was.

He's pretty much mastered the basic meatloaf recipe, even if he does mix the meat way past what it needs to be. He says he doesn't like the onions falling out. We basted the meatloaf with barbecue sauce and it came out this beautiful burnished-red colour, I wish I'd taken pictures.

He also wants to continue his culinary education, because "See, if I have a girl over and I want to make her dinner, like, and then I whip out a meatloaf..."

"I get the picture," I told him.

I've decided the next culinary peak we will scale, to prevent him from eating meatloaf three meals a day and terrorising his theoretical girl, is twofold:

1. Grilled cheese sandwiches. (For him, not for the girl.)
2. Crumbled beef. (Also perhaps for him, but bear with me, there's Italian food coming.)

Because if you can make a pan of crumbled beef, a whole new world will open up. Barbecue beef sandwiches! Sloppy Joe! Spaghetti with meat sauce! And if he can master spaghetti with meat sauce, I will teach him how to make garlic bread.

You may have noticed a slightly meat-oriented theme in these lessons, but that is because he has mastered "buying ground beef" and I want him to be truly comfortable with it before we move on to things like "chicken breast" and "vegetables".

With vegetables to be honest I'm about as much at sea as he is. I don't eat many plants.