It's been an interesting couple of days. I'd like to reiterate my whole hearted 'Fuck you!' to Mr. Easter Bunny. Mr. EB exerted his god like will this Sunday forcing the corvette, in which I was a passenger, to go sliding 360's down a crowded street at speeds near to or over 100mph. I'm not really quite sure how fast we were going, but it was pretty damned fast. So, Mr. EB, it's on. We're at war, you silly little freak of nature.

The good news is I think I might still have my job. It's an interesting thing about crashing in front of your place of employment, they tend to get too involved in the situation. Now, if I were to have crashed in Tuscan Arizona, for instance, would they give a flying fuck? I think not.

As a matter of fact, I could have taken out a bus load of easter children, and as long as I was able to go back to work, it would have been just fine and dandy. I mean, why would they give a fuck about easter children? They don't gamble, they don't drink, so who the hell cares, right? But no, since Mr. EB decides to derail me in front of the god damned casino, they get all intrusive and act 'concerned'. Poppycock, I say.

Well, besides my personal war with the little egg laying freak of nature, yesterday was entertaining. I called a girl, who happened to be a stripper, 'arrogant' for creating her own religion and for butting into a conversation that, quite clearly, was none of her fucking business. She then proceeded to talk to me in an extremely loud voice while breathing alcoholic breath on me. I was upset about the whole exchange. Okay, not really 'upset', but annoyed. I wanted to talk to this other girl, Erika, who wasn't related to the drunk stripper chick. She's an assistant for a photographer here in town. I overlooked the fact that this photographer and I have butted heads in the past, and that my general view of him is quite unfavorable. I do believe the term 'Piece of shit' came up a time or two. Irregardless (I like using words that people insist they do not exist), she seemed fairly interesting and was a pleasure to converse with for the short time I was able to converse with her. It's amazing the diversity of people you meet at the same time.

She didn't belong. I'm not saying she wasn't attractive, no, she's probably one of the most attractive people I've ever met (not in a traditional sense, mind you, but in a kind of unearthly way. And no, I wasn't drunk.) And I don't mean that all strippers are attractive, or that they aren't, or fuck what the fuck, you know what I mean. She wasn't a stripper. I gave her money, and told her to get the fuck out of there. I actually think she's going to. There's something about this one. She either hustled me or we're going to end up married or something. Because I'm sure people get married by doing shit like that. Positive, in fact. Right, so, anyway...

Paul and I talked a bit about the whole diaryland experience. He commented about how it was similar to a slow chat room for quasi-intellectuals. I've always thought of it as more like published emails to people where we don't have to feel guilty about talking too much about ourselves. Both views are basically correct. We're all self-centered exhibitionists in our own little ways. Add a dash of vanity, and ta-da! Welcome to Diaryland. I'm perfectly okay with this. Aren't you?

I ditched school today, just thought I should confess. First day after spring break, how important could it have been? Pfft.

-G

P.S. Go here and don't let the hunter get nabbed, unless you like watching that sort of thing.