This Space For Rent!
I need a name, I guess.  I thought that bobofett was good enough.  Do I really have to NAME my journal?  It's looking to me like all of the good names are taken.  I've gotten a few (okay, two) suggestions and have thought up a few on my own.  Really, though, what's wrong with me just being bobofett?  Bobofett was cool!  He was a bounty hunter.  He kicked ass!!  He tried to kill Han Solo!!  That's awesome, but not enough for you people.  Here are my thoughts:

Trudging Through Ass (that was thanks to Rob).  Cameltoe, obviously.  Rolling Agitations (that name is from this form I filled out.  It asked my job title, and I answered "rolling agitator". Gym Rat (problem being, it implies I'm in some masterful physical condition, which we all know Im not.   Fugue State (I'm pretty sure that's taken, and if it's not, feel free, it's a little high falutin for my taste).  I just pulled out the dictionary, so bear with me.  Howzabout FUBSY?  That's a little too much like wearing a shirt that says "BIG BUTT" for my liking, but it sounds cute.  Almost playful & fun.   FULSOME: adj characterized by abundance.  copious.  offensive to the senses of moral or aesthetic sensibility.  obsequious.    Im thinking that fulsome is in the forerunning for a name here.  This fun could go on and on.  I'm only in the F's, for god's sake.  This just brings me back around to the question why do I actually need to name my journal?  Dammit, people.  Im CREATIVE and temperamental!! I dont like working within constraints!  Dont impose your bourgeois limitations on me, man.  And besides, only made up words rhyme with Dana.

Weekend News:
Tomorrow I'm going to a wedding.  It's only the 3rd I've ever attended.  (2nd, if you dont count my own)
People are always amazed by the lack of weddings in my life.  There's a simple reason for it, really.  My friends are unlovable, and no one in their right minds would marry them.  Funny, too:  both this and the other wedding are people I'm not very close to.  That doubly proves my theory that my friends shall never marry.
 

Work:

I have not yet heard from personnel.  I didn't expect that i would this quickly (and w/o an interview).  Allow me to backtrack:  Completely out of the blue about oh, 8 months ago, Dr. B called me into his office.  "You do a phenomenal job", he said "and I want to reward you for that by giving you a raise and a promotion!".  I was exceptionally flattered, but then realized the nightmare had just begun: I am Union.   If you have ever had to have any dealings with unions OR personnel offices, you'll know that the two typically do not mix.  The Union, so the story goes, wants the little guy (i.e., me) to get more money from THE MAN, (i.e., THE EDUCATIONAL MONOLITH).  The MAN does not want to give up money easily, so has constructed a whole series of tests to dissuade all but the boldest to actually pursue their course of action through to the end.  Basically, the little guy has to fill out this questionnaire, pages&pages long, asking the same questions over and over and over again, worded slightly differently each time.   After the questionnaire is completed, little guy's supervisor(s) also have to fill them out. *THEN*  the supervisor(s) have to be interviewed, *then* and only then LITTLE GUY is finally interviewed.  The whole process, once the paperwork is handed in is not supposed to take longer than 3 months.  That's the number the union agreed to.  Well, it took me 7 months to fill out the booklet.  I kept starting and stopping, amazed at the stupidity of the whole thing.  When I got my shit together and handed it in, I got a letter telling me they were backed up and that it might take longer than the promised 90 days.  As the truth became evident that my flatulent ex-coworker would be returning, Dr. B decided that it was *urgent* that I get my promotion IMMEDIATELY, so he began to call personnel.  Not once a day, mind you, but 4,5,6 times a day until he finally got someone to talk to him about speeding up the process.  Which they did.  He met with someone yesterday (a horrible little troll of a woman who snubbed my hand when I held it out).  According to Dr. B, it went SO WELL that *I* dont have to meet with personnel, nor does Dr. A.  Which would be a relief, since i dont interview well.  Allegedly, I should know something "by the end of the week" which would be today.  And Im still waiting.

Work x2:
I'm sitting here looking at my new/used monitor.  Dont snigger but I've been using, for the past 2.5 years a 12 inch monitor. Which was fine and dandy and worked well and everything else. But today, Dr. B came lumbering into the office, 17 inch monitor in hand.  I was immediately jealous.  He informed me that they were GIVING AWAY stuff down at the end of the hall.   I went down and unearthed a MONSTER, and am now staring at a 21" MIRROR screen.  It's so big, I cant see my hard drive icon.  It's so big, I could not carry it, even though I take WEIGHT LIFTING FOR CHICKIES.  It's so big, I couldn't place it on top of my computer the way the 12 incher was.  It's so big, it's actually giving me a headache because I'm not used to looking UP to the screen.  I need to make my chair about 6 inches higher, but then my feet wouldn't touch the ground.  I think that maybe what needs to happen is that i need to grow a few inches and this thing needs to shrink a few inches.  Then, we would have our happy medium reached.  However, I'm not one to frivolously cast off inches, and as such will learn to deal with it.  Poor little me.

Tonight, At the Gym:

The musical ben-wa woman was there. You remember her--she was the one wearing PANTS, fer gods sake, flinging her leg around the step. It was decided that her look of ecstasy clearly comes from her ben-wa balls, and her reason for not paying any attention to the beat of the tape because the ben-wa balls are musical! It's the perfect explanation, no? Anyway, she was wearing the same peculiar expression, same flinging of limbs. When it came time for us to work our inner thighs (doesn't that sound sassy? "work my inner thighs, please") and the instructor suggested that Ben Wa might want to use her step for support (you need props to work your inner thighs, you see!), she flung around to face the instructor and declared in a breathless voice: "I. do not. need. any. support." Well, allrighty then. At the end of class,she walked over to me and pointed at my shirt. "What. Is. YOUR. shirt. about." I looked down at me ebay Bryan Ferry t shirt, and said "he's a singer". "What.Does. HE. Sing. THAT. I would know" it's not phrased as a question. she's wearing makeup. And butterfly clips all over her hair. with wings. Seriously. "Well, in the early 1970's he formed the band Roxy Music which were a major influence in the glam mov--" "YES. but, WHAT would I.KNOW" "ummm.....slave to love? from the movie 9 1/2 weeks?" she began walking away. "Oh. I think. I. MIGHT.KNOW that". I heard the faintest peal of ringing bells, I swear it. Next class: BOXING. Which sounded like it would rock. The second the instructor walked in, I knew that I was in for a definite anti-rocking experience. She was a smiler. Which is NICE. But she smiled for the *ENTIRE* duration of the class. At one point she said "you're punching! act mean!" I looked at her and said "I cant be mean when you look so happy!" Looking around at the people who were taking the class, I noticed the puffing guy. Who was BLIND. Literally a blind man. Punching and kicking wildly. I made sure to stay very, very far away from him and his fists. His puffing, "ffffT. FFFFFTT. FFTTTTTTTTTTTT" got louder the more wildly he flailed. When it was over, I spoke with the woman who went through orientation with me. She was beet red & sweating like a mofo. I felt like a freaking CHAMPION at that point, because I hadn't even broken a sweat. I practically sprinted to the car. (.....so that I could come home and eat dinner.)

Confessional:

"it's in the way that you use it, it comes and it goes". Eric Clapton. Another sexy song. My goodness. I do declare, it's very hot in here.

tomorrow's the wedding. what shall I wear? what was I wearing yesterday? what will you take off when you come into my home? what do people wear when they go take polls? hear about tomorrow's stiffy!