vectors are like... math
Jun. 3rd, 2005 10:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7Ahhh. Heh heh heh. Am laughing at the punchline of an inside joke I don't get. Heh heh heh. Ahh. Yes.
Have had slightly under half a bottle of red wine and am TOASTED. So toasted I'm using Doocecaps. (Like when she wants to emphasize something and just hits capslock for half the sentence? TOTALLY.)
This was going to be a really witty post but so far, no dice.
Dave's working on a notifier for Gmail. Which would be awesome. So far it's integrated with Safari's password database, and also has a singularly flawless icon he spent all morning doing up with vector art in Illustrator.
I had me a run-in with the Secret Service at work today. Will leave it at that, as I am, indeed, semi-coherent, and also, it's far more interesting to just leave it as a teaser. (He left his folder on the bar. Embossed leather folder saying WHITE HOUSE on it. Did I open it? Details at 11.)
(the following might possibly be funny to fans of Barenaked Ladies) I wish this seaside beerhall would sink into the bay: A mechanical failure caused a false hijacking message on the transponder from a JFK-bound London flight; Homeland Security forced it to land in... Halifax. Hello city!
Now that song's stuck in my head. (For the record, the Ladies have made their peace with Halifax but do continue to perform the song.)
I hear explosions. I suspect fireworks. I don't know and probably never will. Hm. (Dave suspects a baseball game. Oh yes, the Internet confirms: Bisons vs. Clippers. Fireworks presented by HSBC.) Huh, we should go to a baseball game this year.
Wrote Katy another long letter. Third week in a row I haven't had a letter from her. Also no email. Am refusing to do the Irrational Worrying, as that's mom's job. Baghdad's totally safe now anyway.
Dave made Beef Goulash Budapest for dinner tonight and it was fukkingood. Also it used 1/4 cup red wine so we had to finish the bottle, right? Mmm, nascent headache warring with desire to write Elfsmut.
I showed up to work wearing a black blouse and short skirt, because it was the Club and I could. (As long as I don't wear open-toed shoes they really don't care.) Was asked by several people if I had a hot date later. Guess I looked good: Dave merely shrugged. Had my hair down; the morning bartender insisted on brushing it and wouldn't stop saying how nice it was. She is a crazy Quebecois woman. Totally nuts. And she BRUSHED my HAIR. i figured, OK, why not. At least she wasn't a dirty old man. Firms my conviction, though: Crazy people think I'm pretty. Normal people, not so much. I should break down and date a crazy person for the ego boost but I don't think I have the necessary patience.
Oh no! Am sobering up! Break out the sherry!
Have had slightly under half a bottle of red wine and am TOASTED. So toasted I'm using Doocecaps. (Like when she wants to emphasize something and just hits capslock for half the sentence? TOTALLY.)
This was going to be a really witty post but so far, no dice.
Dave's working on a notifier for Gmail. Which would be awesome. So far it's integrated with Safari's password database, and also has a singularly flawless icon he spent all morning doing up with vector art in Illustrator.
I had me a run-in with the Secret Service at work today. Will leave it at that, as I am, indeed, semi-coherent, and also, it's far more interesting to just leave it as a teaser. (He left his folder on the bar. Embossed leather folder saying WHITE HOUSE on it. Did I open it? Details at 11.)
(the following might possibly be funny to fans of Barenaked Ladies) I wish this seaside beerhall would sink into the bay: A mechanical failure caused a false hijacking message on the transponder from a JFK-bound London flight; Homeland Security forced it to land in... Halifax. Hello city!
Now that song's stuck in my head. (For the record, the Ladies have made their peace with Halifax but do continue to perform the song.)
I hear explosions. I suspect fireworks. I don't know and probably never will. Hm. (Dave suspects a baseball game. Oh yes, the Internet confirms: Bisons vs. Clippers. Fireworks presented by HSBC.) Huh, we should go to a baseball game this year.
Wrote Katy another long letter. Third week in a row I haven't had a letter from her. Also no email. Am refusing to do the Irrational Worrying, as that's mom's job. Baghdad's totally safe now anyway.
Dave made Beef Goulash Budapest for dinner tonight and it was fukkingood. Also it used 1/4 cup red wine so we had to finish the bottle, right? Mmm, nascent headache warring with desire to write Elfsmut.
I showed up to work wearing a black blouse and short skirt, because it was the Club and I could. (As long as I don't wear open-toed shoes they really don't care.) Was asked by several people if I had a hot date later. Guess I looked good: Dave merely shrugged. Had my hair down; the morning bartender insisted on brushing it and wouldn't stop saying how nice it was. She is a crazy Quebecois woman. Totally nuts. And she BRUSHED my HAIR. i figured, OK, why not. At least she wasn't a dirty old man. Firms my conviction, though: Crazy people think I'm pretty. Normal people, not so much. I should break down and date a crazy person for the ego boost but I don't think I have the necessary patience.
Oh no! Am sobering up! Break out the sherry!
