Venting, random

Everything I want costs money.

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Along with other natural fibres…

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Plus put some lies on there. A good CV should always contain at least one lie.

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Pruning rosebush vines requires more patience than I normally have. If you try to rush, the thorns have a way of making you slow the fuck down. You have to work at its pace.

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“Patent holder on salmon nigiri.”

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Btw, uh, ya know, if you ever need to make a cough packed fractioning column, you learn that fast.

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You’re lucky that didn’t turn into a full on barf-o-rama.

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A political org in the Middle East is advocating that villagers plant trees. (Yay!) That org is the Taliban. (Hrrrm.)

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The usual then.

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Because bed is comfy!
(It’s all about the duvet, man)

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We had a party last night. I had 3/4 of a beer and I’ve spent the whole day today feeling like I have a terrible hangover. I didn’t even get to enjoy getting drunk.

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I’m 43 and don’t own a pair of pants that don’t have a hole in them.

And it’s all my fault.

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That’s good though. I tried pants without holes in them, turns out they’re actually really difficult to put on.

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Gotta hole in the top. :smiley:

Vent: I am sick to death of cheap, lousy, crappy food. Imma blow the budget for this week and get myself some crunchy greenery and eat something with some actual texture. :fork_and_knife: :yum:

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I’ve been thrown up on once. Crashing at a friend’s place – bunch of people sleeping on living room floor. I was dreaming someone was pouring water on my head. Woke up and it was actually my friend vomiting on my face.

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Umm, my Like is more an expression of sympathy than me actually liking what happened. Ewww. :wink:

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Rest of story: Once I figured out what was happening I jumped out, starting shouting “shower time!” repeatedly, ran to the shower where I myself threw up. After that I returned to the living room and happened to notice the door to the garage was open which was odd. Not as odd as what I’d see next – my friend urinating into my friend’s mom’s Cadillac. When I yelled at him to stop he just shushed me. Then he passed out on the hood. Ahh … the mid 90s.

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I just had a client ask me if I could come in at 6AM tomorrow, instead of 8AM tomorrow. This was at 10PM, just now. What the f’thagn? You are going to see me in 10 hours, and you want it to be 8 hours? And you tell me by text? Whaaaaaaat?

I know what tomorrow will be like, This client has provided me with someone at the space (probably the seller, god I hate working for the seller) who is going to be non-cooperative and dodgy, and that should just be a real hoot. Some of you may suspect how well I suffer fools and being misled.

On the other hand, utterly professional demeanor, and I can do my work in 2-3 hours, or not do it in 8. I am billing by the hour tomorrow, whenever I get there. Probably 7. damnit.

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