There really was no reason for the dream, other than the fact that I'm a history nerd. The year was sometime in the early 19th C, the location: somewhere in England. Don't ask me why because I haven't read any Jane Austen recently.

So I dreamt last night that I was a son of some profligate man and a semi-royal woman. My dad in the dream (not anything like my real dad) was having a rather open affair with another woman, thus threatening the family's semi-royal standing. My younger brother (also not like my RL bro) was training to become a soldier because he feared we'd lose our wealth and whatever remained would all go to me anyway as the eldest. He was a little weakling and hated the exertion and prayed he wouldn't have to really become a soldier. I don't know what shape I was in (most likely toned and excessively manly like RL), but it didn't matter because I had no worry of becoming a soldier. I was the eldest, mature, and responsible child of the family (exactly like me IRL) trying to reign everyone in, including my wild sisters (who do not exist IRL) who were dressing very un-lady like and flirting with strange men.

I only remember snippets now, but at the time I remember it being a really cool dream. I had a English accent and I was wearing a cravat and everything and looked so posh. Strangely, I wasn't so bothered by my dream-dad having a mistress as I was that everyone was behaving so awfully in public, including him kissing his mistress open mouthed in front my mom (poor woman, I don't even remember what she looked like) or my sisters letting their dresses slip up over their petticoats. For shame!

And there may or may not have been some gay fooling done on my part (I'm a pure, chaste, noble soul IRL), but if there was any, it would have been exclusively in the bedroom and not in the middle of the park. That was cause for hanging back in the day. Just saying.

Crazy dream, huh?

An infinite supply of money, or perhaps more accurately, the fact that the world is concerned with money, first and foremost.

How I'm working to overcome them: becoming a rich and mighty philathropist.

I had a dream I was Gary Oak.

I took these a while back, but forgot to post them. These were shot within 20 minutes at the most. Ugg indeed. It's everywhere.



( Image heavy: not for the Ugg-phobic )

So we have this fire exit/staff entrance in our work area that requires a card to open it w/out triggering the alarm. Since we first moved into this building a year ago, we've had constant problems with people forgetting/not caring and setting it off. We also have regular contractors that have not been given access, so they either ask us to let them out, or they go ahead and set it off (usually the latter). The alarm goes off at least every half hour, Monday–Friday. Yes, it sucks.

This morning we had our usually daily dosage crammed into a 25-minute session, as though folks were driving off the death of silence or something. Anyway, one of the librarians sent a complaint email to our CIO (aka, the boss of us all), because we've learned that if enough complaints go to him, problems are more likely to get resolved.

Remember that I said our CIO is the boss of us all, as in, he's the Information/Data equivallent to a provost, which would imply he's got important, boss-like things to attend to and wouldn't have time to personally come down and address a disgruntled underling? Remember? About 5 minutes after the librarian came by my desk to tell me about her email, I hear a voice floating across the tops of our cubicle walls from none other than our CIO. Our CIO who lives on the 3rd floor (we're ground-level). Our CIO who came down to explain to this librarian that some A/V folk are doing some special work and are causing the higher traffic. All very detailed and mannerly. I had to go to the bathroom, so I didn't stick around to hear his explanation, but I left surprised that that's what he spends his day doing. Then I remembered that this is guy who personally goes through all the online study room reservations, deletes ones that violate the rules, and send lengthy explanations as to why said reservation was deleted, so I guess I'm not that surprised.

Man, I want that six-figure salary job.

I'm thinking about starting a blog of shame where I post ridiculous pictures that I take of people and make fun of them, like girls wearing leggings instead of pants. Would you read it?

Poll #1381056
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 4

Should I make a blog to make fun of people?

I hate my office. It's perpetually at 69˚ whether it be January or June. And they brag about this new building being so "green". Using less toxic building material + running the AC high 24/7 =/= green.

Sorry, I have nothing witty or funny to say.

I've been toying around the idea of writing some kind of self-help book for a good long while, but Steve Harvey's climb to #1 this week has inspired me to really get serious and make tons of money quick.

So, what kind of self-help book should I write? I need something that would have mass appeal, lowest common denominator-type. Or maybe the self-help angle is all wrong; maybe I should focus on "other people-help" books, for those nosy Parkers who just have to tell other people what they ought to do (Religion maybe?)

but then I forgot I used it all up years ago.

Sunday was fun. I spent the first day of Daylight Savings getting free stuff around town and looking at homes with a sexy realtor. I think I mentioned him before once upon a time. While we were driving around, cracking jokes here and there, I found out we have quite a lot in common. We're both short (I knew that already), eco-friendly, and health conscious (he also drinks soy milk!). He seems far more active than me and in better shape that I could ever hope for. I know, I know, the simple fact that I'm in NorCal almost guarantees at least 75% of the people here will fall under these categories, but as he said, he was recycling back in the '70s before it was cool.

I smiled to myself, finding it uncanny how much we were alike. I've already admitted to myself that I have something of a daddy-complex, so he could either be on my hot list or a glimpse into my near-distant, utterly fabulous future (gay guys have to use that word, right?).


Oh, and for something completely random, I'm in love with T.I., particularly his lips. Smashing.

/foolishness

It must be because I'm cool and have a fabulous life. Or, it might be because I'm lazy. NaNoWriMo is officially over, and I barely wrote 24,000 words our of 50,000. In other words, I failed.

I read Dream Boy over the Thanksgiving holiday. It's a really a good book, and I highly recommend it. I nearly cried at the end; it actually left me feeling depressed for the rest of the day, but it was definitely worth it. I'm now starting on As Meat Loves Salt. It's historical fiction, and also seems promising, but it doesn't look like it has nearly enough sex. Great inspiration for my own story, though.

( In other news... )
So, interweb denizens, do I go with Realtor A who I'd now call a friend because she's been so helpful, but works at a realty that 1) charges a bit more in commission and 2) has crazy realtor who mind find out I'm back and stalk me through my boss or something? Or do I go with the foine Realtor B who I'd get on my knees for would give me a discount through my work?

P.S.: I guess my dilemma is really self-inflicted. I'm over-zealous when it comes to loyalty, so maybe most Americans people wouldn't think twice about dropping the more expensive realtor, friendly or not. I need to stop being so thoughtful :/

Consumer goods.

So what if it's a bittersweet victory? I'm still going to be happy about something!

Don't forget to vote tomorrow. And vote correctly (which means for justice, freedom, and peace.)




*I just realized that in this context, it sounds like I'm talking about political party members, when in fact I mean "party like it's 1999" kind of party peoples, ya dig? So if you're square, don't bother voting!

Holy crap, I'm doing NaNoWriMo! Waaaaaaaaahhhhhh!


I WILL WIN THIS YEAR.




Also? My costume rawked. Everyone and their uncle loved it. AND I GOT 3 FREE MASSAGES FOR LUNCH. OOOOH.

There's this guy in my cubicle talking to my boss about drugs and a marijuana convention in SF. He's the typical, office tech-nerd, snarky know-it-all, with the obligatory balding head. Some background: he is friends with my boss, so it's not like he's totally random and talking about drugs.

Some snippets from the conversation (G denoting guy, BL meaning Boss-Lady aka. my bozz):

G: I'm all for decriminalizing pot, but come on! We need the guys in suits and ties from Harvard talking about decriminalizing marijuana, not these hippies and anarchists out there asking to decriminalize drugs. I mean, you use drugs! No one's going to listen to you. (Blathers on about how Harvard ties believe drugs ruin the fabric of society, but sure, they'll support decriminalizing it.)...You need to tax the hell out of them, like we do cigarettes...And then there's the Hip Hop people.

BL: I didn't know Hip Hop people smoked pot.

G: Oh yeah! But it's more of a West Coast thing...East Coast, not so much. (another 2 minute soliloquy having something to do with pot and smelling "dank!")

BL: And one wonders, where does this 'slice of society' get the money? We eat out maybe only 3 times a week to save money...

G (very scientifically): Well, there's three ways to get pot. One is to sell it, another is to steal it. And if you're like my old roommate in Oakland, you don't have any other hobbies or spend money doing anything else. Like, she'd come home every day, eat dinner, watch TV and smoke pot, then go to bed. That was it. She wouldn't go out on the weekends, eat out, nothing. If you lived like that, what else do you spend money on?

BL: And I'd imagine your clothes start to smell.

G: Yeah, that's one reason why I had to move out. But it was a great neighborhood. You could find all sorts of people there, from every walk of life, every color, every nationality, blah blah blah (rhapsodizes about his "old neighborhood" for another 4 minutes? I stopped listening)

Eventually, Boss-Lady declares her "brain is fried" and that she isdone for the day. Guy-guy follows her out, most likely to tell her more about the wonders of his dear old Oakland neighborhood.