Sittin’ here in the office dinkin’ around on MySpace ’cause there’s not really much of anything better for me to do at the moment. Actually, that’s not true, but the things I should be doing I am not in the right frame of mind for right now. And so I am here typing away on my Tablet PC, which I have dubbed “Penfold”
a.) Because you can write on the screen with a pen (a.k.a. “stylus”… if you want to get all technical about it)…
b.) Because you can fold the screen around and back down over the keyboard…
c.) Because Penfold was a character on Danger Mouse, and that show rocked…
d.) Because I am an absolutely immense specimen of a dork, and have named my laptop for god’s sake.
That was not a multiple choice test. There are no circles to fill in with your #2 Pencil (NO X’S! NO CHECKMARKS! WRONG! FAILURE!!!!! GO BACK TO KINDERGARTEN!! DO NOT TURN THE PAGE UNTIL TOLD TO DO SO!!!)
I am sitting in my office right now. At my desk. Looking out the window. I can see the glowing red neon pegasus from here. Sometimes it spins around, but it’s not right now. I suppose that means it’s broken, but maybe they just turned off his rotatey thing… I don’t really know why they would do that. He doesn’t spin very fast, so I don’t think they’re concerned about him (I’m assuming it’s a him) rotating into a whirling, red frenzy and flying off the roof and crashing down onto the street. Although maybe he should. That’ll teach ‘em to shut of his rotatey thing… the bastards!
Last night was the first night of the 12inchpimps Club One After Hours Infotainment Real Estate Seminar… no… sorry, Dancing-like-a-Monkey Cirque du Crazyhouse. It was pretty freakin’ fun. Lotsa people. Lotsa music. Lotsa lasers… “lasers”… and a guy wearing a saddle… Yes, that’s right. Random guy wearing a saddle, whom you could ride should you choose to. I chose to…refrain. I chose instead to do a little dance, talk(SHOUT) to people, and shake hands. Sometimes even do the kind of shaking hands that requires multiple steps, and which I am completely not cool enough to be allowed to do. But I fake it pretty well.
… listening to Frank Sinatra sing “One For My Baby” is quite nice, by the way… <—-(this is known as an “aside”)…
But, yes when properly motivated (read: “liquored up”) I can be known to dance. I’ve been told in the past that I’m actually “good” at it, but that might give the false impression that I actually know actual dance “moves.” While I did take a ballroom dance class with my friend Tasha once, only a small quotient of that knowledge remains in my brain, and therefore my dancing consists of what, to a sober outsider, might appear to be the beginnings of something they might should call in a priest about. I dunno… I just do what I do… tha’s how I roll… playa’… (see that’s why I shouldn’t be allowed to do those multi-step handshakes….)
Just so you know… I’m typing this in order to kill time until people come back to the office, ’cause supposedly we might be going to Nikita in a little while… but until then, I type. I just looked at the word “handshakes” above, and for a split second I read it as “milkshakes”… and now I want a milkshake… dammit…
….
(a few minutes later)
Okay, I keep finding other things to be distracted by, so I think I’m done with this now… Gonna’ leave in a few minutes anyway…
ZONK!
