rageprufrock: beach (Default)
Hi, New York City.

How was your day? Good. Me? Not so good, New York. I am tired. I am cold. I am wet. I am not wet in the way I enjoy being wet. You know how everybody in the world was predicting we were going to get hit with a SNOW TYPHOON which married a SNOW HURRICANE and that we were going to be SNOW SNUFFED today? That did not happen (yet!). Instead, what we got was you SHITTING SLUSHEE ALL OVER THE FIVE BOROUGHS AND TURNING MY ENTIRE WALK HOME INTO SOME SORT OF HORRIBLE 7-11 ACCIDENT GONE WRONG. FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU SO MUCH. AND ALSO, WHY DID OUR GOVERNOR DO FUCKAWFUL THINGS AND THEN GO MISSING? This shit never happened to me when I lived PLACES THAT ARE NOT NYC.

And now, I have poured myself a vodka and cranberry the size of Mike Tyson's ego and I am going to read this Jilly Cooper book wherein I hate 98 percent of the cast, and you will THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU HAVE DONE.

Regards, Pru.
rageprufrock: beach (Default)
So after about 2.5 years of living in the urine-scented hellscape of New York, I finally lost my Fuck, I Have To Go To The Emergency Room At 3 A.M., Better Call A Car Service-Ginity! This is after I was an asshole and forced poor [personal profile] merelyn to come bring me a thermometer and make sure my brain wasn't cooking inside my skull at 11:30 at night, and then I put it off some more until I realized that I could feel my fever spiking (again!) at which point, my lizard brain said: "Get up off of your 101-possibly-102 degree fevered ass and go to the ER. At least if you have a seizure there, people will know what to do."

I'm not dying anymore, but when I called in to work this morning, I got what sounded like genuine sympathy from my boss, which -- believe you me -- is super, super weird. So I guess I still sound like I'm dying. Also, I present to you, "Misery, In Repose":

fuck you, too, january - Photo Sharing!

For those of you with eagle eyes: Yes, that is a book called Pregnesia on my nightstand; no, my kung fu is not strong enough to have read it yet; no, I did not spend U.S. legal tender on that ([personal profile] merelyn did, for Christmas); and lastly, no, you cannot see the Icy-Hot condoms in this photograph.
rageprufrock: beach (Default)
(1) Someone I work with told me on the phone today that I should find some rich old man to marry so I didn't have to do my job anymore -- bad sign, y/y?

(2) Dinner at Buttermilk Channel, which I love because of their fabulous cheese plate and duck meatloaf in addition to the fact that the name "buttermilk channel" sounds like a porn thing, possibly a first-cousin twice-removed to a dirtpipe milkshake. (Also, they make awesome onion rings.)

(3) Going on vacation for two weeks. Behave yourselves.
rageprufrock: beach (Default)
rageprufrock: beach (Default)
Dear White Sox:

Dude, that was fucking embarrassing. I hate rooting for the Yankees, but damn.

Ashamed on your behalf, Pru.
rageprufrock: (west coast tourist)
Now, I hate my job a lot. (A lot, a lot. Trufax, kids.) And so when my friend walked past today and was like, "Pru, how's stuff?" and I said, "I'm so angry right now," her default reaction was like, "Oh God, what did our Evil Overlords do today?" -- for the first time in a long time, it had nothing to do with my job, and everything to do with this miserable piece of work.

I was actually angry enough I wrote a letter to the newspaper. )

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