My breath smells like sisig now, that delectable mix of diced pork ears, pork liver, onions, and chili peppers served sizzling on a hot cast-iron plate. If only I had a bottle of Pale Pilsen to go with it, and the company of someone particular, ah, that would have truly made my day. ============= I’d really like to rant about work—well, not really work, but one fantastically idiotic person at work—but that wouldn’t be right. I just get really burned out sometimes, sitting in my workspace right beside her office, hearing snatches of conversation (" Ay, Mother! Chika chika chika! Blah blah blah! ") that have nothing to do with work—this coming from someone who tells everyone else to stop talking to each other while working—and saying robotic yes-es to senseless and utterly stupid demands. I keep telling the people here who have a like mind that I am slowly evolving into some synthetic polymer product. I keep remembering last Christmas, where she kept telling anyone who cared to...
Insanely idiotic, mind-bogglingly brilliant, and all points in-between; more of the former.