Fuck This. It's Fist.Of.Death Time

Today's only redeeming feature is that the boss is out of the office for a conference this morning so I can make PowerPoint my bitch without his intrusion.

Of course, he fed me bad information late yesterday, or I misunderstood something he wanted me to distribute, so I have apparently made an ass of myself to an email distro list of 300 folks we deal with professionally, or at least a small subset therof.

Still no word from our partnered agency as to what the fuck they're doing with the American Express credit card transactions - there's only, oh, two thousand bucks' worth of registrations pending for next Tuesday's session that I don't know if people have even paid for to attend.

Incidentally, materials for distribution at said seminar haven't been finalized, much less printed, burned to disk, or anything of the sort. I'm still putting shit into powerpoint.

Random Aside: I don't know how many of you are familiar with the phrase "Puerto Rican Shower," used as a derogatory term for simply hosing oneself down with something like Right Guard in lieu of using soap and water. I witnessed one of these yesterday. In my living room. By an actual Puerto Rican guy [admittedly, he was blood family of a good friend, and had just gotten out of the real shower, but this ritual of dousing oneself to mask the scent of putting recently-sweatted-in clothing back on was a bit of a surprise].

So, anyways, instead of having a big, geek-out "batchelor" weekend with the newly-arrived Jeeves from Brooklyn while aishlynn gets in some good family time up north, I'll probably be in the office all fucking weekend buring disks, printing handouts, making nametags, and trying really really hard not to shove a phone book up my boss' ass.

Grande

. . . just because I didn't have enough to worry about, the credit-card processing site has decided that it will wet itself noisily this morning.

Gee, thanks.

Observation

How shitty is my day?

Pix of geekers and arendci_raize are only getting cursory glances.

I'll probably be staying to work late tonight rather than engage in some kind of beer-centric function with the zoo folk.

And yet I still can't bitch, because I'm not smaugchow. Not only does he work longer, he's ugly. *ducks* [sorry, swarmy.]

Hear Ye, Hear Ye

Let it be widely known that my sweetie, aishlynn fucking rocks.

Yes, it's nearly 9pm. For the last four hours, she's been throwing in with me on the power point debacle rather than going out for beer with her coworkers at our favorite not-club [and, shit, we go there more than we do the "goth bar," fer chrissakes].