Boy, am I tired. Like really, wiped-out tired.
A few minutes ago Bruce dropped off a drawing that I had sent to the plotter with a "this yours?" The question mark was barely there. Didn't even say "hi" or "good morning" or anything. I called out a greeting as he flew away, but received no response.
It's great to be back.
Every entry I try to write about Vegas, and how awesome it was, quickly becomes sidetracked and denigrates into a post about how much work sucks.
So, the vacation was awesome. We missed a lot, though, so we'll have to go back. The Star Trek jawn exceeded my expectations. Drinks with dry ice in them rule. I won more money than I bet, but I spent more money than I won. Chris and I both wore Acapulco shirts on Tuesday, and a Klingon asked him if someone had thrown up on his shirt.
More details when the pictures appear, which should be in two to three years.
In closing, work can suck it. I need to start funnelling more money into my retirement fund, because this job shit is for THE BIRDS.
You guys, it is eighty-seven degrees in my apartment. W. T. F.
I'll tell you what, though, it got a fire under my ass to actually look at some of these listings that Donna Flood sent me. Because fuck this noise! I mean also I'll call maintenance tomorrow, but you know.