Ewwww...

[trinityvixen]

Skeevy...er, 'scuse me, DODGY security guard from Unilodge hit on me while I was trying to watch Johnny Mnemonic for film class. Will now have to watch again to take notes because he interrupted me while I was trying to read a passage from my reader which would have told me what I needed to take notes on. Not that I mind (it was an all-Keanu night: TV had Speed and Chain Reaction on, though, sadly, I only saw the latter of the two--and to make matters worse, investigation of films available for hire at Unilodge revealed none of Keanu's best movies are there--no Matrix, no Speed, hell, no Devil's Advocate though mercifully no Little Buddha either). Still, eeeeeeew dodgy dodgy dodgy.

I had to put up with a massage and I was constantly being told to lean back against him. When I hopped up to stretch out my legs, he offered to massage them, too. *GAGS* Ugh. I'm being shallow, but ugh, not attractive, not very interesting, and, worst of all perhaps, distraction from my one serious attempt in a long while to do some friggin' work. Will now have to watch movie again to have gotten anything out of it. *grumble grumble* But uggggh, he's like "come back tomorrow after seven, I'll be here." Yeah, will do there, Jim. So, somehow, must find way not to be watching any movie in lobby ever.

Man, I wish I'd just kept the damn thing on reserve, then I wouldn't have to watch it in a week's time. Stupid one-week rental policy. Rowden-White, kiss my bionic ass. Or shiny metal ass. Or just kiss the porcelain goddess as I proceded to kick your stomach's contents out through the mouth. Or maybe I'll just keep coughing up my lungs instead. I only need one, right? Whew. Or wait...was that only one kidney you need? Damn, this is why I'm not a pre-med. Would you really want me as your doctor? "Oh, one lung? Yeah, that's good enough. While you're at it, can I have one of your stomachs?" I mean, what? I dunno what I mean. In the future, Newark isn't part of the USA anymore, and that's all she learned from her attempt to be good. In short, being good=you get shat upon, excuse me, hit on by skeevy people who look like they've eaten, well, a person roughly your size. That's mean, but true, sorry Jim.

This is making coherent sense to me, but, Carrie, who's the world's biggest asshole when it comes to READING OVER PEOPLE'S SHOULDERS WHEN THEY ARE TYPING, says it makes no sense. I like to think I'm allowed to ramble on as I please, seeing as she's been on the computer for, oh, a bajillion hours. Literally. She was on the computer allllllllllllllllll the time over the past few days on ONE STUPID JOURNAL ENTRY. Then tonight she spent a conservative three-four hours finishing it off (all the while telling me "i'm almost done" at EVERY CHECK I MADE WHILE ESCAPING THE FLIRTATION OF JIM, which were frequent enough for her to be a filthy liar everytime she said it). And then it took TWENTY MINUTES TO POST IT.

Am I just being, I dunno, "unfair," or does NO ONE REALLY CARE ENOUGH TO HAVE MERITED HER SPENDING MOST OF HER TRIP TO MELBOURNE ON THIS ONE POST MOST OF YOU WILL ONLY SKIM READ ANYWAY? I think I'm right here. She's trying to guilt me with her own culpability (woo, ten points for that one at 4 am), but she's the arse, not me. Wait, security guard....*shudders*

Comments

[viridian.livejournal.com]

no no, I can tell you with certainty that I care little enough about what people write on LJ for anything they write to warrant four hours. tell Carrie that's crazy, yo.