I can't sleep.
Although that may have something to do with the fact that my nose has been buried in a book for the last few hours, and far away from any pillow on which to slumber. And at some point, I'm going to have to learn the fine art of savoring a book, rather than pushing full throttle until I reach the end.
Heh, heh ... Be still little spark of evil genius in my brain. You can't possibly consider saying on the blog your Mother reads, and the one I might add she feels the need to show her friends (positively embarrassing by the way) that you're thinking of comparing the S-E-X word (I did not just say that) to reading in a speed accomplished sort of way. Although guessing, as I know myself better than anyone, which even at this late hour seems to make sense as I blather on, talking about myself to myself, a very smarmy thing to do indeed, that it's exactly what I've managed to do in a very short span of two paragraphs. For those not up to speed refer to following:
Current Scoreboard of Events
Evil Spark of Genius = 1
Stacey's Silent Little Shoulder Angel = 0
Bored out of my gourd, and quite possibly a bit overtired from a long weekend and the thought of going back to work tomorrow, I really should hasten myself off to bed. But then again, it seems rather pointless considering that when the alarm goes off, I'm going to hit the snooze button the required three times, before turning the damn thing off and going back to sleep, waking up just 15 minutes before I need to be at work.
I think I may just have to employ my old method of getting out of bed once more. Putting the alarm clock an extremely long distance from the bed, requiring some movement on my part to shut the damn thing, because it is a damn thing after all, off before crawling back to bed and doing it all again exactly nine minutes later. Perhaps I should put glutton for punishment on a t-shirt and wear it around. Better yet, I can think of a few people I should go visit in order to really make that statement true. Then I'd be a glutton for punishment with a guaranteed following.
Believe it or not, I have NOT - utilizing the use of capital letters to further prove my innocence - been drinking tonight. I just tend to get a little loopey on limited sleep and an overabundance of caffeine, of which I've imbibed in the past several hours copious amounts of Mountain Dew, which despite the pretty sounding name of said product looks more like yellow piss water than anything floating on down a tranquil mountain stream. Which is why I try never to mix the two with blogging because even I don't know what nonsense will come from my mouth and make it down in writing. Very, very bad ...
God forbid I ever manage to figure out how to turn on the computer after a night out with friends. I can't even fathom trying to pick up the pieces of one of those after midnight blogs. Although it should be said that I'm not one of those girls that goes out and gets trashed and ends up crying all over somebody the entire night, making them wish they'd never asked me along in the first place. Why do that, when a bit of drink turns you into the love goddess Aphrodite? The reason why I gave up shots after the last Christmas party, and the infamous biting incident. And no, I honestly did not mean to bite the poor guy, it just sort of happened that his shoulder came near my mouth at precisely the wrong time. And all I can say in my defense, is thank goodness I'm not a complete and utter lush except for the few odd times a year I'm dragged, feet dangling, to the local bar
Speaking of odd times a year, I've got a review tomorrow with one of the big wigs. A little out of the ordinary considering were in peak season, although I have a feeling it has less to do with me and more to do with someone else, who has been screwing up something fierce lately. Unfortunately that's hardly going to get me out of the one on one with Mr. Boredom himself, where I'll have to nod and appear interested while entertaining myself with the number of times he pushes his glasses back onto his face and fixes me with the look of a hairy eyeball. If I somehow manage to get out of there without giggling, I will be thoroughly impressed with myself. I however am not going to hold my breath. I'm as transparent as glass.
Although that may have something to do with the fact that my nose has been buried in a book for the last few hours, and far away from any pillow on which to slumber. And at some point, I'm going to have to learn the fine art of savoring a book, rather than pushing full throttle until I reach the end.
Heh, heh ... Be still little spark of evil genius in my brain. You can't possibly consider saying on the blog your Mother reads, and the one I might add she feels the need to show her friends (positively embarrassing by the way) that you're thinking of comparing the S-E-X word (I did not just say that) to reading in a speed accomplished sort of way. Although guessing, as I know myself better than anyone, which even at this late hour seems to make sense as I blather on, talking about myself to myself, a very smarmy thing to do indeed, that it's exactly what I've managed to do in a very short span of two paragraphs. For those not up to speed refer to following:
Current Scoreboard of Events
Evil Spark of Genius = 1
Stacey's Silent Little Shoulder Angel = 0
Bored out of my gourd, and quite possibly a bit overtired from a long weekend and the thought of going back to work tomorrow, I really should hasten myself off to bed. But then again, it seems rather pointless considering that when the alarm goes off, I'm going to hit the snooze button the required three times, before turning the damn thing off and going back to sleep, waking up just 15 minutes before I need to be at work.
I think I may just have to employ my old method of getting out of bed once more. Putting the alarm clock an extremely long distance from the bed, requiring some movement on my part to shut the damn thing, because it is a damn thing after all, off before crawling back to bed and doing it all again exactly nine minutes later. Perhaps I should put glutton for punishment on a t-shirt and wear it around. Better yet, I can think of a few people I should go visit in order to really make that statement true. Then I'd be a glutton for punishment with a guaranteed following.
Believe it or not, I have NOT - utilizing the use of capital letters to further prove my innocence - been drinking tonight. I just tend to get a little loopey on limited sleep and an overabundance of caffeine, of which I've imbibed in the past several hours copious amounts of Mountain Dew, which despite the pretty sounding name of said product looks more like yellow piss water than anything floating on down a tranquil mountain stream. Which is why I try never to mix the two with blogging because even I don't know what nonsense will come from my mouth and make it down in writing. Very, very bad ...
God forbid I ever manage to figure out how to turn on the computer after a night out with friends. I can't even fathom trying to pick up the pieces of one of those after midnight blogs. Although it should be said that I'm not one of those girls that goes out and gets trashed and ends up crying all over somebody the entire night, making them wish they'd never asked me along in the first place. Why do that, when a bit of drink turns you into the love goddess Aphrodite? The reason why I gave up shots after the last Christmas party, and the infamous biting incident. And no, I honestly did not mean to bite the poor guy, it just sort of happened that his shoulder came near my mouth at precisely the wrong time. And all I can say in my defense, is thank goodness I'm not a complete and utter lush except for the few odd times a year I'm dragged, feet dangling, to the local bar
Speaking of odd times a year, I've got a review tomorrow with one of the big wigs. A little out of the ordinary considering were in peak season, although I have a feeling it has less to do with me and more to do with someone else, who has been screwing up something fierce lately. Unfortunately that's hardly going to get me out of the one on one with Mr. Boredom himself, where I'll have to nod and appear interested while entertaining myself with the number of times he pushes his glasses back onto his face and fixes me with the look of a hairy eyeball. If I somehow manage to get out of there without giggling, I will be thoroughly impressed with myself. I however am not going to hold my breath. I'm as transparent as glass.
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