Dear Seattle,
You don't call. You don't write. We had so much fun getting to know each other. I know I wasn't the best you've ever had, but please. I need closure.

Seattle?



In other news, I get into fights every weekend! Okay, not really but it looks like it. Last Sunday, I played a ton of underwater hockey and busted hell outta my hand. It was all bruised and bloody. In fact, its kinda sore still. So my hand was mad busted up like I had been punching dudes and my face was all puffy because of the chlorine and getting booted in the face repeatedly. Now yesterday, I was shaving in a mad rush and sliced my lips open in three spots. Upper lip on skin and the actual red lip part on top and bottom. I probably would have gotten the bottom lip on skin except there was hair there. Its pretty cool looking, but it definetly looked like I took a massive shot to the face.

My goal is thus: to strike fear into my boss. I figure if I keep going into work every Monday with a new wound, I can convince him I'm a bar brawler and he'll fear me. Then I can do stuff like tell him I don't really want to work today, so why don't you do it. And be all menacing and stuff. Its gonna be awesome.

Also: my sister starts working tomorrow. She is going to be a barrista at a local coffee shop. She has promised to serve much sass with her overpriced cups of espresso. I hope she becomes like Dora. Sassy people are good for bantering.
- posted by Pat @ 7:11 PM