mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary

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I Would Hurt A Fly

So, yeah, I forgot a couple of things about the fourth of July, the first being that every single asshole teenager in my Ma's complex starts setting fireworks off about a week before and continues until about two or three weeks after, which only bugs me because the number two thing is that the dogs hate this holiday. They hate it and they show their hate by barking very energetically whenever a firecracker explodes or some drunken douchebag yells "Woooooooooooooh!" outside in the parking lot at 1am (and again at 2am, and 3am, and then hopefully by 4am he or she has been arrested) or one of those whistling rockets takes off. The dogs hate it, and I hate it a little, too. I'm not patriotic, I usually have to work, I have no interest in fireworks, and this year, I don't even have an apartment to throw a lame-ass party at.
On the upside, Carol said to me today, after watching me join Danny W for lunch for the gazillionth week in a row, "What is going on with you two?" And I said, you know, nothing, Carol, we work together, he's off limits. And that's kinda true but goodness, he's one hell of a cutie. He runs the casino but has the face of a freaking 14 year old, our employees call him "Baby Danny," even though he is at least a few years older than I am. Anyway, Danny and I are working on a collaborative placemat art project, which means that each week, we both add a little bit to the drawing that used to be a crazy orchid but is now a demonic, smashed geometry fairy. Danny says it looks like a Mardi Gras mask but I like the geometry fairy idea better. Alas, he is way, oh so way way WAY out of my league, and I am not the kind of asshole who normally says things like that (or even thinks them) but he is attractive, smart, funny, stable, kind, charismatic, creative, and decent. WAY OUT OF MY LEAGUE. Sigh, sigh.
Oh, hey, I mashed my supervisor's balls with the swinging door today, that was fun. Good thing he looooooooves me. We went to grab a few sodas and head out to the patio to smoke, and he left just before me but held the door with his foot. So, when I turned around, I failed to see his right leg on the inside of the room and tried to PUSH the door instead of PULLING the door. I kept right on shoving that door right into his poor battered crotch until he finally made a weak little "eeeeeeeeh," noise. Again, thank heaven above that he loves me. I think ball-crushing is a firable offense.

1:44 a.m. - 2007-07-02

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