Hmmm, I thought. Monday. Monday... So if it needs to be there monday... we need to have it finished by... hmmm... Oh. Wednesday. Oh. And then, obviously there's a weekend between those days, so we lose a bit more time.
Bugger.
Earlier in the day I'd been pondering whether to spend tuesday night down the gym or out for a run. Well, that all went out the window. To steal a phrase from Spock, the needs of the issue outweigh the needs of the abs, or the biceps.
I set to work. My friends, let me tell you - I was like an editor possessed. Sometimes there's nothing like a super-tight deadline to bring out the best in people. I'm not saying that's what happens to me; no, I'd rather not have any deadlines and spend my days watching The OC, but unfortunately you can't have everything your own way.
Anyway, the issue is now (*cracks knuckles, casually puts hands behind head and leans back in chair*) done. Time to chiiiiiill out.
Wha... what do you mean there's another one to do?
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I stole The Killer's album off my brother the other day. They're another one of those bands/artists that I've discovered a bit later than everyone else (the same thing happened with Nirvana - I was about seven years late to that party; anyone know what Kurt's up to these days?). It sort of makes me feel like the special kid at the back of the class who's just mastered 2+2 while everyone else has moved on to trig.
Two things:
Firstly, although the album is called Hot Fuss, thanks to Dora, I can't help but refer to it as Hot Ticket. And because that reference was only made in this blogger circle, no one else understands what I'm on about, and once again everyone looks at me like I'm that special kid at the back of the class.
I was, I'll have you know, a straight A student.
Secondly, consider these lyrics from Mr Brightside:
Now they're going to bed
And my stomach is sick
And it's all in my head
But she's touching his chest now
He takes off her dress now
Let me go
And I just can't look
It's killing me
And taking control
Question: why on Earth was he wearing her dress?
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According to the weather forecast we're going to have a mini-heatwave in the south of Britland tomorrow. Now, look: I do like summer, and I do like heat. But it's September - the latter half of September, in fact - and I demand some autumnal weather. I want cold; I want rain; I want wind (and not the sort you get from an all you can eat buffet at the local curry house). I want leaves falling off the trees, and as a resident of Britland, I want to complain about the weather being too cold. And I can't do that if it's hot.
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I burnt myself reaching into my oven tonight. It stung for a while, but on the plus side, I've now got a manly scar.
That said, how would you define a womanly scar?
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We've got a new toaster in the office: £9.99 from Woolworths! Now that's either the bargain of the century, or a Claims Direct case waiting to happen.
So far I've managed to under-toast one bagel, and over-toast another. I'm guessing that the optimum setting is probably somewhere in the middle...
More on this exciting development as it happens!
13 comments:
FIRST!
Womanly scars... I'll have to go away and think about that one...
Second!
Humph.
Um, d'ya know, the scar doesn't hurt, but it sends a shiver down my spine everytime I look at it. Or touch it. I should probably stop looking at it and touching it.
Ooo - poke, poke, poke.
I look forward to your thoughts on womanly scars!
You hot ticket Tim. I say hot ticket all the time and people always give me strange looks. You know you love it.
A womanly scar? ummm...in the shape of a flower or dolphin or some crap like that???
Stop touching it.
The scar that is.
Ohmygod! Dora is third, fourth, and fifth!!
I'm just waiting for the opportunity to unleash hot ticket on my work colleagues; sure, they'll be a few odd looks here and there, but no more than when I sit here making Star Trek sound effects. And believe me - I do.
I've stopped touching it.
For the minute.
It's so tempting!
People will give you strange looks - but whatever they are just jealous. You should refer to yourself as a hot ticket like I do.
I'm glad you stopped touching it. Resist temptation!!!!
zuvdx: a sound effect made by Tim for the amusement of work colleagues (and himself)
That's a very good point! I'm a hot ticket, goddammit!
HOT TICKET!!!!
Now you've made me look at it again.
*Pokes scar*
Ouch.
*Pokes scar again*
Ouch!
nxosh: I think I just engaged my warp drive...
See how much better you feel when you refer to yourself as a hot ticket? It's almost as good as poking your scar....
Good point about 'her dress'. Maybe that's why the protagonist's stomach is sick. Not that there's anything wrong with that kind of thing.
Womanly scar: scar shaped like a woman.
Dora - You're right! I'm hot-ticketing myself from this moment forth!!
Will - Indeed! I've always been slightly mystified by that lyric. But then, they're millon pop stars and I'm not, so I shouldn't really let it bother me.
I'm liking your idea of a womanly scar. I'm visualising it like Monroe circa Kennedy's birthday. I wonder how you'd go about getting a womanly scar...?
Ok, I think you'd have to stand above a subway grating and wait for some superheated steam to billow up your dress. Apart from being all "Seven Year Itch" you'd get a very womanly scar. Meaning if you were a man in a dress, you would only have a womanly scar where your tackle used to be, and a woman would be fine because we dress appropriately for those sorts of things...
That sounds a very painful way of getting a womanly scar!
On the other hand... I'd never be a man in a dress - sorted!
I was actually asked by a friend's mum once to put on a dress; nothing kinky, she just wanted to hem the bottom or something (around the bottom, not actually the bottom), and I happened to be the right height.
I just looked at her blankly and said "um, NO."
She never asked again.
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