Joy and rapture

What was I saying about hoping for a light day? Sweet Jesus, I’m going to be here until Mr. American Idol is crowned tonight. Fuck around!

Breathe, Dawn. The last-minute shitpile is not worth a stroke. Not worth it at all. *sigh*

And I think all the birds had a poo-flinging convention on my car this morning. Samantha’s a mess! Isn’t it enough to simply get shat upon at work?

And are y’all still out there? I haven’t gotten any comments in more than a week!


Apparently I was smoking crack when I wrote my five stories this month, ’cause they are in sorry-ass shape. I’m going to be here till American Idol 2004, getting these corrections made!

Demure stopped into the office at 11, our supposed meeting time. She skulked out just as quickly and avoided me. W00t!

Shan told Finance Guy about Demure calling me a disappointment. He said I should write a letter to Frosty, but I’ll skip it. He mused how sad it is that Demure only supervises two people (Convention Queen and me), and we are both disgusted with her and are doing just fine without her meddling. He’s right — I love being here without Demure hovering over me like a news chopper full of gas and not much else. 🙂

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