So. Walked home from work. Just got in, actually. Minus making a sammich and eating said sammich while checking gear and powering machinery up. I'm very cold and extremely wet. Moist, even. Walked home. In Isabel. Which is all of a light rain and moderate wind.

Yesterday, the weather report was OMFG WE'RE GONNA DIE!!!! predicting torrential downpour, rain of frogs, gale force winds, flying pigs and I thought we'd be dead or worse.

Instead, I get more blisters and a soaked sock. And slighlty more pissed at PAT for not bothering to show up. :P Whee overhyped nonevent- at least I got some pretty out of it and fixed some last-minute bugs in a render. AND remembered to tell After Effects to dump 30 minutes of video out while I'm at home drying off and using my swiss army knife to do blister-surgery.

So it's raining on the beta deck, I played with a G5, and I've finally put the move notice up on revision. Go me. Photo courtesty of Ryan. Taken in Barrow, Alaska. Which is as far North as you can get.

Fucking morning.
54c.
Up early- thirsty, gotta piss. Showered. Bleed off the head start with Giant Eagle's world class incompetent customer service. Make it up on smokes- buy one get one @ crossroads. I'll take a carton. Thank you for calling. The clerk is cool. Thank the FUCKING gods. We talk about how shitty Giant Eagle customer service is while she rings me up.
Remember I gotta do Cranberry.
South Side smells like shitloaded diapers, and the bus driver has a mullet.
Somehow, it's 11am. It should be closer to noon Five hours of sleep if a minute and it's a dark, wet day. Dethstomp the South Side and wonder how much a Mossberg pup shotgun would cost. Need a walking stick. If it goes BOOM!, so much the better. Fucking bums. No, you can NOT HAVE A CIGARETTE STOP LOOKING AT MY CROTCH. Think about keeping the pack out of sight.
This is not Tuesday. This is the miscomplected afterbirth of Monday, crushed and smeared over an otherwise useful second day of the week. It's a short week, but we'll be damned if you're going to notice.
It's a week that demands Japanese rock music. My neighborhood smells like a fucking sphincter exploded, and I blame you. Go go godzilla. I'm coming out of this on top if I have to fucking find where you sleep and shit on your face.
Realize the last entry was drunk and this one is, in fact, stone cold sober.

Cribbed out of notebook notes, embellished and expanded. Good morning Pittburgh. You smell like SHIT PLEASE TAKE A SHOWER.

Wonder why I'm still loaded with what feels like bruises and looks like skin. Had to have come from somewhere. Hypothesize the army of lesbian viking ninja midgets I've seen running around disguised as Oakland. Realize I'm at work and should probably do some.

Bruised right arm. Bruise above right hip. Both hip joints are about to fall off. Buzzed. Drunkish, but it's no pain-killer. Still sore. Blasting music. Hear it. Feel it. Fail to weld both sensations together- bed is vibrating and lyrics are clear. I fail to be awash in aural Joy. Par for the course. The sky fails to be clear. The sky, in fact, is orange. Halogen. City. !clear.

This is wrong.