11.11.05

It's Veteran's Day here. A federal holiday, which means that all the banks are closed. The office building has a skeleton crew. Very few people have come in. (Yay!) I've got the stereo playing re-mixed bellydance hits--a little too loud, and a little too ethnic. (Yay!)

My FNG manager is wrasslin' with some client's job. No matter how many times I've told him that we shouldn't take client paper without packaging information, he still doesn't believe that different types of paper can really fuck up a copier. It was he who took in the fancy-pants paper yesterday that will probably contribute to my ultimate fate of cancer of everything. I left him to mess with this job--and it's jamming Butch the high speed copier every three sheets. He just admitted that it's not a good idea to take anyone's paper.

*phew* That only took two weeks to get across.

Meanwhile, my Chosen Brother(tm) has offered a trip to Vegas at the beginning of December. Sure, I don't get paid for time off but fuck it. I need to get the hell out of Stumptown, re-connect with a good friend who's known me forever, do some silly shit, look at nekkid people on stage, eat buffet food, and collect more prostitute cards. What more could a girl want, eh?

Idle thought...how much would a male prostitute cost and could I actually do it?

*shudder*

I don't think so. Not without an industrial-strength, full body latex dip. *eep*

Going to Vegas would be fuel for some interesting stories, I'm sure. You can't have that much excess without something strange/untoward/funny happening.

Back to the salt mines...go. Be fabulous.

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