Well, I've been promoted from Top-Secret Receptionist to Top-Secret Training Assistant/Receptionist. What does this mean? I'm fucked. Actually, it means I get more responsibility, with no raise. I almost died at work today, thanks to the fact that they decided to make me Training Assistant the same day Alex went to have his tonils removed (They always get infected when you spend too much time deep-throating strangers). So, I had not only my regular duties, and Alex's duties to take care of, but our training officer was giving me assignments as well.
I didn't even have time for my internet fix. I did, however, run across an interesting diary in Poison Ivy. Either I haven't been checking the list often enough, or that web ring has a huge turnover rate. Maybe it's because the ringmaster actually checks out the sites on her ring to make sure they're still writing. Language of The Mad: The Journal of Lady Strange. When I read other people's diaries, I usually don't bother going to the beginning and reading all the entries. I usually content myself with reading the previous month's entries, if that, and continuing from there. I was driven to read this woman's whole diary. She's paranoid schizophrenic, and it shows. No offense to her, but you can tell when she's running low on meds. The thought of slashing yourself open for your art is not my cup of tea.
I tried contacting Katie, to get her to go out with us, but she never e-mailed me back and wasn't home when I tried to call. Teenie, this intern at work, is leaving us today. She's moving back to Florida. I won't miss her. She talked too much, and asked a lot of questions that were none of her business. I went to her party, though, and ate way too much cake, which means my blood sugar level soared, then fell through the floor. I spent the rest of the day about to pass out.
When I got home from work, there was an obscene message on my answering machine. "Agent Skatter? This is Ken. You know why I'm calling. Call me collect as soon as you get this message. I'll try to reach you again later this week-end." Hahaha! Die stupid motherfucker! Just die! I used that money to buy a book! Suck it up! Whoa...deep breaths. I'm getting all worked up here. Anyway, that's what I was chanting in front of the answering machine while the message played. My father was laughing so hard I saw tears running down his face. My mother told me that I was being mean. I guess I should actually send him his shit...Nah. I need to aggravate him more than he needs his "treasures" back.
Dirk and I went to another mall (There's a billion around DC). Springfield Mall. It's big, it's got two levels, and we haven't been there since Dirk freaked there a few weeks ago. Went to hot topic, and I got another leather fetish item there. It's this neat thing with a loop that goes around your middle finger, and crisscrosses over the back of your hand with spikes pointing outward. I'll scan it up as soon as I take a picture of it. It was on sale (half-price!). I don't think it matches anything, but leather fetish doesn't need to match to be cool. One day I'm going to graduate to full dominatrix costume, I swear. I've already got the leather bra, collar (spiked, with faux leopard fur), bracelets (spiked, patent leather)and now the ultimate S&M hand thingie. I don't wear the stuff, usually. It's just neat to have. So no kinky sex e-mails, please. I'll forward them to Dirk, who'll track you down and beat you up. Or anyway, send you a sarcastic little e-mail.
We got a new copy of the City Paper, I got to eat KFC, and Sunday is Mother's day. My family's going to dinner tomorrow night to celebrate.
Well, shit, I almost forgot to mention that Pia's back from Florida. I haven't seen her, because her flight arrived while I was out with Dirk. Sucks. I wonder how her trip was. I'm really going to miss her when she leaves on Thursday.