I forgot to talk about the fucking massage I got: Mer and I went out for a walk to this little Gay Pride festival near our house, and one of the thousands of little tents was one of those Asian massage things where you sit in this weird chair and they give you a back rub. (Was it gay? Not sure.) Mer likes that sort of thing, so I offered to pay for her to get one, but once those crafty Orientals saw that we were interested, they started pulling me over to one of the chairs by my arm. I was like, "No, just her," pointing at Mer, but the lady pulling me was like, "No. Two. Two. You." So I had to get this stupid uncomfortable massage for ten minutes. I'm not one of those creepy people who's got some kind of thing about being touched -- I don't even have any Personal Space -- but I just flat out don't like back rubs. My back is fine, thanks. Anyway, at the end I had to pay for both of them.
One of my fucking Bosses, I'll let you guess which one, tried to suggest that I didn't know what IP multicast was. Wait, this is sounding like I'm being purposefully oblique. To qualify this, let's say that networks are like Shakespeare; it's like accusing someone of not having read Henry IV. Granted, not as popular as Hamlet, but if you're an English major, you've 100% probably fucking read it. "So, is it possible that [THE THING] is picking up the multicast address instead of the regular IP?" "You even know what multicast is?" Jesus Christ. And I was fucking totally on-the-money right, too. Anyway, he's incredibly rude. I don't like feeling like one of the whiny Executive Assistants I used to temp with; and I don't, really. I'm not going to say, "Dignity's more important than money." Please, humiliate me. I have to pay rent and save up for grad school. And hoard it, too, of course.
Kevin the Wass-man is having a 4th Of July party that I'm totally going to. With his usual degree of Mortal Kombat bombast, he claimed that he was going to have "1100 fireworks, at least." I haven't seen him in like 3 years. It's gonna be awesome.
Internet's still not working, but I successfully set up the wireless network last night. If you're in the area, the router's name is Goethe, but don't bother trying to connect, 'cause it's all WEP-secured, fags.
I'm reading the Live From New York book that I got Mer for Christmas. I knew everybody hated Chevy, but did you know that they also hated Nora Dunn, Victoria Jackson, and for cryin' out loud, Harry Shearer? Apparently Harry Shearer is a prick of tremendous proportions. And listen to this quote about Chris Farley, who I once saw in a restaurant:
Farley once stuck his ass out the window of the seventeenth floor at 30 Rock and took a shit. Another time, in front of twenty or twenty-five people in a very crowded writers' room -- mixed company, women, men -- Farley came in naked. He had his dick tucked between his legs and he was doing Jame Gumb from Silence of the Lambs. He took a golf club and shoved it about three inches up his ass, then pulled the golf club out and started licking it.Jesus Christ!
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