Right, first things first.

Work at a bank.

Helping drive thru out. So, I grab a tube. It's got a check in it and a license. Usually this means the customer wants to cash a check, but you can never be sure, so I turned on the intercom to ask the customer.

Before I even get out the first bit of a greeting, the customer rolls up his window on me -- he was talking on a cell phone and apparently I was interrupting his conversation.

I'm SOOOOOOOOOOO SAH-RRY I interrupted his super important call with my petty and insignificant questions about his check and what he might like me to do with it.

I can think of a few things...

Ass hat.

Dude, YOU came to ME! Seriously. I didn't drive the bank over to you and pester you about your money. YOU came here for a specific purpose and I'm not fricking psychic.

I patently refuse to put up with this kind of bullshit, so I handed it off to my supervisor. If this had been the first time this had happened, I woulda brushed it off and tried my best. But it's NOT the first time it's happened and I'm tired of it.

Inconsideration and rudeness are becoming things that we're expected to tolerate, and I've had enough.

NOTE TO CELL PHONE JACK-HOLES:

If you make a service rep wait while you finish a conversation while other people are waiting, you are an asshat and you suck. Do the polite thing, either hang the fuck up or move aside until your conversation is finished. Think for one single god-damned second about someone other than yourself. It's REALLY not that hard.

In fact, being nice, considerate and polite can be quite fun. It makes you feel good, it makes others feel good and it makes the world a better place.

I feel better now...

On a slightly less pissed off note, I've finally gotten over my cough.

And I'm going to see Resident Evil tomorrow. I'm pretty sure it's going to suck, but I'm excited all the same.

Maybe after it's over, we can play air hockey.

Air hockey makes me unreasonably happy.

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So, I was watching an interesting show on the History Channel called Man-eaters about the man-eating Lions of Tsavo in 1898 and the more recent man-eater in Tanzania in 2002 (I'm not sure if the date is exact, I came in the middle of the program).

It was damn interesting. I mean, how could it NOT be??? It's a show about man-eating lions, for fuck's sake!

This got me thinking about looking it up on the wiki, which I did.

MANEATERS OF TSAVO! GOTTA CATCH 'EM ALL!

This, of course, leads me to the Field Museum's website. So, I start looking around. OOH! Interesting facts! OH! Pictures of the lions! And then I reminisce, because I've been to the Museum and I've seen the lions myself.

They're really not THAT big, though I suppose size is relative -- plus I think any animal would be huge when they're sneaking into your tent to KILL you.

Just for shits and giggles, I hit the merchandise link.

SELL ME SOMETHING!

Yeah, they have the typical stuffs -- books about the lions. Patterson's account of killing the lions. A bookmark. A pen.

LIONS OF TSAVO KIDS TRAVEL BUDDY??? WTF??!

No, seriously. What the fuck? Dude, how 'bout they have a Lions of Tsavo action playset while their at it? You could have a Lt. Col. Patterson figurine with shooting platform and an Indian train worker set, complete with workers, who'd have detachable limbs so that your Tsavo Lions figurines could disembowel them. WHEE!

Wow, some people will do anything to sell a plushie.

Actually, it IS kind of cute.



**Note: This was originally posted at my livejournal account. But I love you all so much, I've posted it here as well.

[EDIT] Side note. I am an IDIOT! I was looking at my "Pimp My Ride Post" and I accidentally recommended myself by incautiously hitting the buttons like a clumsy, random oaf. I looked for a way to remove it, but there isn't. I'm really not that self-centered a tool -- I'm just a regular tool, who apparently can't grasp the concept of buttons and when to hit them and when NOT to.

*head-desk*

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Recently I received this email from my sister.

ANNE:

DO YOU LIKE BEAR GRYLLS?

YOUR RESPONSE IS OF DIRE IMPORTANCE.

JANE.

I emailed her back with an appropriately confused response.

Yes. I want to marry him.

WTF???

She has yet to reply... and now I'm worried.

What does she know that I don't? Is Bear Grylls out to get me? Is he hiding in my closet right now, eating lint and cat hair just waiting for his moment to strike?

I checked the closet, just in case, but I didn't find anything. It doesn't mean much. I've watched Man Vs. Wild, and that Bear is a crafty man. He could have evaded me, making some kind of screen out of birch bark and old jeans.

Whatever the case may be, I'll be sleeping with one eye open from now on...

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Dude, on the way home from work today I saw the stupidest looking car.

It looked like a Lincoln Continental circa 1970, painted mint green and get this... they had it jacked up on fucking monster truck wheels. Seriously. Here's a breakdown of the equation:



Plus



Equals



HOLY FUCKING SHIT! YOU ARE THE BIGGEST COCK ON THE BLOCK! FOR SERIOUS! YOUR HUGE ASS RIMS MAKE YOU MORE FUCKING PUNK RAWK THAN ALL THE OTHER KIDS! HOLLA!

Jack-ass.

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Ugg.

Well, here I am, struck down by illness, AGAIN! This time I'm not sure what it might be. Whether it's the flu or allergies is anyone's guess. The fact remains that I am tired, stuffed up, coughing and congested, and overall in a killing mood because of it.

(Not literally, folks. Put down the pitchforks...)

You know, I realize I really have nothing to say about anything.

I've noticed that. Moreover, I've noticed that no one else really has anything to say either. Really, this world is riddled with varying levels of mental detritus -- some which we deem important, but most of it is worthless crap.

I watched "Idiocracy" tonight, and I'm beginning to think that Mike Judge's vision of the future isn't too far off. We really are degrading. Sure, technology has evolved, but I think in a way, our dependence on machinery and technology hamstrings us.

We're so busy immersing ourselves in our idiot boxes -- whether it be a cellphone or a video game or reality TV -- that we don't see the irreparable harm we're doing to ourselves -- no, not only ourselves, but our future -- this planet.

Sometimes, I think it wouldn't be so bad if we went extinct. Humans, I think, are a the most successful virus. We just reproduce and reproduce and destroy anything in our way that tries to stop us.

And the fact is: despite the fact that I think this and feel raw about it, I'm as much a part of the problem as anybody.

At this point in my life, I think I'm too jaded to try and rally anyone to make a change, because change is a pretty big damn thing -- it's not something one person alone can do. I'm so small, and the problems of this world are so big. Who am I to shake my fist at the stars in an attempt to forestall fate?

Really, I think if we all just took a look at those stars from time to time -- to remind us how small we really are -- how ultimately insignificant -- that maybe things'd be a bit better.

But then again, what do I know?

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I am bored.

Over at the parent's house. Relatives over. Booooooooooored. *sigh*

Sometimes you just don't want to talk about what you're doing because when you say it out loud it sounds hopelessly idealistic and kind of pedantic and boring. Even worse, if whatever it is you're doing is kind of cool sounding, then when you talk about it -- it's like you're bragging.

It's annoying.

You know what my dream is? To be paid to write and draw, and maybe travel. I'd like that. I recently wrote a little piece for the Anti-Advertising Agency. I was griping about the ads before movies. It kind of filled me with joy that I got to gripe about something for an entire group of other people, rather than what I normally do -- which is gripe to myself and bemoan the fact that I'm the only one listening.

Subject switch: I need a haircut. Badly.

...Today is a pleasant kind of summer day, the kind most people don't like, which is to say it's very cool and overcast and not at all warm. I'm wearing a light hoodie sweater over my t-shirt and jeans, and I'm not sweaty, nor do I feel like laying down and dying from the heat. I really just want to punch people who like warm summer days. They're not pleasant. They're not fun. They're uncomfortable and filled with sweat. I know I mentioned the sweat thing already, but I really can't put TOO fine a point on it -- I hate being sweaty.

I don' t mean to sound like some basement dwelling goth-emo kid about this, really. It's not that I hate sunshine and puppies. I love a good sunny day, and puppies are alright in small doses -- with the proviso that they don't piss on my leg. I just don't like summer days. I love a good sunny day in autumn or in spring. In winter, sunny days, while sometimes blindingly white, they can be quite beautiful. But summer... with a sunny day in summer comes excess heat. Excess heat leads to me being warm. Being warm leads to sweat -- you see my connundrum here?

Also, being that I am of British descent (I am a melange of the British Isles, if you will), I am naturally pale. Really pale. (Okay, my brother is paler. He looks like a white sheet with hair and blue eyes.) Being so pale, I'm prone to burning and for those who don't burn easily -- getting a sun burn sucks all ass, just an FYI.

My brother just did a little dance for me. It'll live in my brain forever -- until I go crazy and die.

Also, the ice cream in my parent's freezer has committed seppuku; it's innards are strewn all over the ice cubes that lay below it. It's my belief that the frozen peas were its second.

That's all... I'm out.


listening to: They Might Be Giants (in my head) and that stupid Chocolate Rain song (also in my head)
mood: Bleh

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