Haircut 100
Yet another check arrived in the mail the other day. First Jerome sent some buckadingdongs, then Fearless Taco's check arrived.
Car-girl gave Trish a ride to work yesterday morning, even though it was O'listless. When she left I watched the remaining tracks on the Peter Gabriel video we'd been watching, then trucked over to the bank to cash John's belated X-mas gift. I tried the bank on the corner, but they sent me to Waste Fargo, & then I went to the barbershop around the corner for a haircut.
I ate lunch at El Taco Loco, then came home to find Ted's latest re-make/re-model of tachyon-critters. When I tried to download the file, it became corrupted, though, so I wrote Ted a note asking him to resend. I tried again, but MS-Word crashed, so I rebooted. This time, I got it. I edited a chunk of it, then ran MS-Antispyware until Fred came over. We whipped out the guitar -- whip it good -- & played around with Peace Frog. Trish called around 3:00 so we turned off the machine & went out to Pizza Hut to pick her up.
When we arrived home Trish ate her personal pan pizza, then showered. She played Penguins for awhile, while I washed dishes.
Jeffer Auss came over in the evening, along with a movie he'd picked up at Creative Leisure. It was a thriller about an FBI training mission that went awry, with a serial killer amidst these profilers, on an abandoned island to learn their craft.
I'm not certain if I'm going to the Perky Pam Layout along with Trish today or not. On the one hand, there's the need to socialize -- a need that's hard to fill there as the clients do not understand either me or my goals -- but on the other hand I'm in a place where I cannot be rejected for stigma. Also, I hate arguing with Cheri, though Lisa is cool. Mostly, I'm concerned with finding time to work on TC, but I'd rather take my time & do it right than rush thru it &, at the very least, have a lot of scientific improbabilities about it that Stan would reject it over. The main problem with the Layout is that once Trish leaves, there's nothing to do other than listen to Noncorean screaming, "Magoo!".
Tuesday night we went to Trish's office party at the Eagle's. Drinks were cheap, a buckadingdong for a diet pop, & everyone exchanged presents. With all the caffiene in my system, though, I had to take an extra sleeping pill. Let's hope no bozo from the Science of Church-a-tology picks up on this page & decides I'm living proof they're right about "psychiatry", & piss on Tom Cruise. If they could see the difference "psychiatry" made in Trish, they'd immediately pull their heads out of their asses & relent their silly superstitions. Scientology is an evil, wicked religion & a total fraud. Piss on the whole lot of them. I'm taking my pills, no matter what they or the Scooby Club may have to say about it.
Car-girl gave Trish a ride to work yesterday morning, even though it was O'listless. When she left I watched the remaining tracks on the Peter Gabriel video we'd been watching, then trucked over to the bank to cash John's belated X-mas gift. I tried the bank on the corner, but they sent me to Waste Fargo, & then I went to the barbershop around the corner for a haircut.
I ate lunch at El Taco Loco, then came home to find Ted's latest re-make/re-model of tachyon-critters. When I tried to download the file, it became corrupted, though, so I wrote Ted a note asking him to resend. I tried again, but MS-Word crashed, so I rebooted. This time, I got it. I edited a chunk of it, then ran MS-Antispyware until Fred came over. We whipped out the guitar -- whip it good -- & played around with Peace Frog. Trish called around 3:00 so we turned off the machine & went out to Pizza Hut to pick her up.
When we arrived home Trish ate her personal pan pizza, then showered. She played Penguins for awhile, while I washed dishes.
Jeffer Auss came over in the evening, along with a movie he'd picked up at Creative Leisure. It was a thriller about an FBI training mission that went awry, with a serial killer amidst these profilers, on an abandoned island to learn their craft.
I'm not certain if I'm going to the Perky Pam Layout along with Trish today or not. On the one hand, there's the need to socialize -- a need that's hard to fill there as the clients do not understand either me or my goals -- but on the other hand I'm in a place where I cannot be rejected for stigma. Also, I hate arguing with Cheri, though Lisa is cool. Mostly, I'm concerned with finding time to work on TC, but I'd rather take my time & do it right than rush thru it &, at the very least, have a lot of scientific improbabilities about it that Stan would reject it over. The main problem with the Layout is that once Trish leaves, there's nothing to do other than listen to Noncorean screaming, "Magoo!".
Tuesday night we went to Trish's office party at the Eagle's. Drinks were cheap, a buckadingdong for a diet pop, & everyone exchanged presents. With all the caffiene in my system, though, I had to take an extra sleeping pill. Let's hope no bozo from the Science of Church-a-tology picks up on this page & decides I'm living proof they're right about "psychiatry", & piss on Tom Cruise. If they could see the difference "psychiatry" made in Trish, they'd immediately pull their heads out of their asses & relent their silly superstitions. Scientology is an evil, wicked religion & a total fraud. Piss on the whole lot of them. I'm taking my pills, no matter what they or the Scooby Club may have to say about it.
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