Two-minute Hates
HATE HATE HATE stupid crap bullshit morons stupid meeting stupid stupid HATE HATE HAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE!
Whew.
posted by tornadia @ 5:06 PM
Listen Creaky!
Painting with words.
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7 Comments:
holy highsteppin hades, tornadia!! what the dolly parton is going on over there?
Just a little work-related hatin' going down. But now, on to the two-minute loves (which sounds like it should be on a totally different sort of blog):
Severe thunderstorm watch! Yay! Huzzahh! Happy! Fluffy bunny kitten rainbows!
Uck. Turns out two minutes is too taxing. If we get that upgraded to a severe thunderstomr WARNING, I'll commit to a full two minutes.
Come on, weather!!! Do your stuff!
(i have a vision of Tornadia saying that, hands on hips, head thrown back defiantly, lips pursed, stance solid in unpractical boots as her hair dances with life within her own forces, whipping wildly about her -- oh, wait - she just took out a lasso and is inciting the winds to see that her will be done. Go Tornadia! Go!).
glad the meeting's over.
oh yeah. i saw Serena Williams, the tennis playa, on the street yesterday. forgot to tell you last nite.
i had just left work, and was not six doors down when i passed by her, all decked out in a bright blue tweed skirt suit, all vintage movie star-cheeked, looking up at the windows above trying to find the right door to go into, i think.
her ankle was bandaged and she was limping, but she was still muoy stylish. those tennis playin girls gots the fa-shon!
so, as i walked by her on my way home, i realized, "uh, that's freakin Serena Williams." her chauffer was getting her prissy little ugly rat dog out of the car while she walked on ahead alone. i turned around to her and said "uh, scuse me. yer an awesome tennis player," "thanks," she said, continuing to look up and past. i went on my way.
it was good. thinking about it, there's really nothing that i wanted to ask her about. no "remember that match when you schooled that other player? that was awesome!"s or "how the hell do you hit the ball so hard?" or "hey, Serena! whadya do to yer ankle?" "yer awesome" was about it. you know. im a bad communicator these days.
she was shorter than i expected. you look a lot bigger while smackin the shite outta a tennis ball, i imagine.
well, in a new york minute. whoo eee ooooh.
not that seeing a tennis god is a hate, or nothin.
apologies for poor organization of thoughts under headings.
Let's see. On my way home from work, I saw...huh. Nothing. What do you know about that.
And to update the weather front: it sprinkled. That's it. No 1 to 2 inches of rain an hour, no golf-ball sized hail, no high winds, no lightning, no thunder. I think Mike Sola's just toying with me.
what's WITH these weather people?
what ever happened to Ed, our snide and cynical public radio meteorology boywonder who, for years, reigned smugly over the airwaves cloaked in the lavish adoration of his senior citizen listeners. he got it right sometimes . and he ran exciting tornado events for the peoples, too. and his girlfriend was on jeopardy (did well).
(sigh) the good old days.
but mike sola did make me very happy, and caused me to up my contribution to the station, in an "ask the meteorologist" session in which he corrected Davisd Inge on his question asking about "weathermen." "Actually, David, there are a good number of women metereologists and forcasters in the field also," i still recall him saying in words that rang from radios housed throughout the conservative central illinois corn fields. "It's a wonderful profession for anyone to go into."
so while Mike could totally afford ta get a little less dramatic and fatalist in his schtick, he's not all bad. he prolly just doesn't know that he's exciting some of his rabid weather-freak listeners, and eventually disappointing them, with his warnings (not that yer rabid).
better safe than sorry = not always true.
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