Last night I did not sleep very well. I tossed and turned, suffering fitful nightmares about death and mutant babies and HAVING SEX WITH AMERICAN IDOL CASTAWAY MATT ROGERS. It was possibly the worst night of my life. I don�t know what self-loathing corner of my brain generated those horrors or saw fit to visit them upon me in the dark of night, but I hope it is a corner that remains heretofore unexplored for the rest of my natural born life.
I finally clawed my way back, got out of bed, and stumbled through my morning ritual all the way to work�where I discovered that last night? Somebody broke into our offices. Again. And of course they took the same shit they did last time, which is to say, the receptionist�s computer. This time, however, I seem to have been granted a station of higher import than last time, as Sophie has poached someone else�s computer for our current receptionist to use. Which only makes sense, since I�m working for two now.
But seriously. Who�s breaking into our offices? It�s not like we�re in some high-end business district, or that there�s any reason to assume the goods in our building are any better than the goods in any of the other offices in our complex. Sure, we�ve got that big, plate glass window (well, �had� that big, plate glass window), but so do all the other offices! Pick on them for a change! And, while we�re at it, what kind of moronic assclown breaks into an office and then steals the shitty computer without even exploring the rest of the floor? Poor moronic assclowns, I would suppose. Great shootin� there, Tex, hope you have fun trying to sell that �92 Zenith.
Although, why the hell am I complaining? My computer�s still here, along with all my shit still on it. At least I�ve got that going for me. Although, I don�t know how safe I should really feel, given that this is the second time in about six months that someone�s busted in and stolen shit. I can�t really count on all future burglars being as mentally underdeveloped as these guys were, either. Sooner or later, someone�s going to get the idea that maybe there�s more in the building than just that decrepit plastic box on the front desk and they�re going to come upstairs. Maybe I should boobytrap the place? That�s a rational reaction. I�ll buy a gun, too, just to be safe.
The break-in was pretty basic, as far as these things go. I mean, there was no Mission: Impossible-style rappelling through the skylight, no lock-picking, and no fancy-schmancy key-card cloning. Just your basic rock-through-the-window shitty computer heist. There�s all this broken glass scattered throughout the front office now, of course, and Sophie�s all, "Don�t touch anything!" Like she�d ever catch me trying to clean up that mess. "Don�t touch anything." Seriously.
Also disturbingly, our email seems to be down, which means that despite the fact I�m working for two, I�m not really accomplishing anything -- an experience with which I�m familiar, having worked in food service for many long years of my college life. Given the fog in my brain from the sleepless night, the buzz from my extremely powerful cup of morning coffee, the surreality of the break-in, and the emptiness brought about by my non-operational email, this is shaping up to be one weird-ass April Fool�s Day.
Oh, and despite the date? I�m not bullshitting you guys about any of this. If any of this is a prank, the joke would appear to be on us.
PS --- It�s not my story to share, but Lauren had her operation yesterday, so everyone send her healthy, get-well-soon vibes.
Someone Got Here By Searching For: "so a man walks into a bar�" And: donna martin protest I�m Watching: The lost episodes of Karen Sisco. I hate it when they cancel decent shows. And: The O.C. I hate it when they cancel good shows almost as much as I hate Marissa. Stupid Marissa.