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Just a few things that make up the lives of the unemployed.
First, after being stuck for a whopping two months, I finally got my Seaman to help me move the rock. You don't understand. The evolution of the creature in this video game is supposed to take roughly a month. I've been doing it for nearly two months now and according to the strategy guide, I'm only half finished. And tonight, I finally figured out what I was doing wrong. I didn't have the light in the fish tank FULLY on. That's it. Two months of un-productive feeding with the Seaman and it's all because I didn't flip on the light switch. You see, there's three levels to the lighting. Full, half, and dark (when he's sleeping). I had it on half-light, that way he can sleep and still see when he's awake. Apparently I was supposed to keep the lights on FULL to get him to help me move the rock that will drain the tank and then he'll get pregnant and give birth to frogmen. You don't understand how happy this makes me. I've been feeding and taking care of this suped-up Sega Tamagochi for this long and I've finally made progress. See? The moral of this story is persistance pays off. Keep working at it and you're dreams will really come true.
I so totally need to get a life.
In the Counter-productive News With A Purpose Department, I can't take back a submission from a certain publication. Which I think is kinda dick of a certain somebody with whom I have a SEMI-good relationship. Granted, this person of "power" and I aren't exactly best buddies, but I felt there was a mutual respect thing going on between us at the very least. I got my friend to help me and even though my friend's one of the most fucking diplomatic people on the planet, even he titled the email subject line: some people are dicks. Apparently the fact that I wanted to withdraw the story piqued the fucker's interest even more so he read it. Now, according to my friend, I think some covert sneak and shred mission is gonna happen. I better get him a decent Christmas present this year.
I can't really talk about why it's important to take the story back. Basically I figured, hey, it's a small publication, what are the odds that the girl I was writing about would actually come across it. Then one night at a function, there she was, apparently chummy with said editors.
I really need to learn to disguise my characters better already. My life is gonna turn into a Woody Allen film soon.
Friday, November 24, 2000, 12:48pm
This had to have been the strangest Thanksgiving I've ever had. All I planned to do was stay home with Mommy; I even have the rented DVD from Tower Records to prove it. Then I get the phone call, innocent, "let's have a quick drink." And then here I am and I'm actually hungover. There's a fucking sign you're growing old. You're even using the oldest of cliches: "But I didn't drink that much. I've had more to drink before!"
So anyway, there is just something so wrong with digging out on your family for Thanksgiving and going to Ocean. But then, apparently I wasn't in the minority. The Good Mother told me, "They're escaping." Like I told Dental Chick: "Is there something wrong with me? I don't wanna escape my Mommy." Regardless, I was fucking shocked at how crowded the joint was on Turkey Day. I wasn't shocked at the Good Mother's behavior: juggling two guys and doing body shots with the Furry Overbite. (Side note: apparently he had no clue I used to go out with his ex. Something like Dental Chick was making jokes about how when you sleep with a person, you're sleeping with every other person they've slept with, therefore, "You slept with Aaron!")
The one that completely shocked me was the Balding Flip. My God, talk about someone who just cannot get drunk gracefully. He was walk-him-to-the-restroom drunk. Then in the long-ass line, he started flicking the light switch on and off. "No, don't touch that." Then he looked at me and starts speaking gibberish LOUDLY. After quieting him down, I turned to the guy in line behind. "First time in a nightclub." I'm sorry but there's an art to getting drunk. It's something I read Cameron Crowe write about Glenn Frey; Frey told him to tank that first drink fast so you get buzzed. Then for the rest of the night, nurse the rest of your beverages enough so that you'll be buzzed but not embarassingly shitfaced. I've tried to use that advice.
That's not too bad. Usually there always is that one person in your party who has entirely too much to fucking drink, but last night, there was TWO. Complete with someone puking in someone's X-Terra. I swear, there is something so entirely wrong with an evening out when I'M the soberest person there. But then at least I'm the only person from last night that got away with his dignity totally intact.
I swear, the people at Ocean must think I'm some sort of alcohol-binge negotiator. Everytime I go there, I'm carrying someone out. Or I'm outside trying to talk them down. Hey, maybe I can turn this into a full-time job. I'll take care of your embarassing, blubbering, puking buddy while you can continue to have fun. $250 an hour.
The Sixth Day was one of Arnold's better recent films. But then, that's not saying much. It was better than I thought it would be. It's like my career goals though; I just don't feel like talking about it.
