fraud, science fiction and fromage

If I could hear myself think over the loud ranting of my Italian co-worker, I'd explain the several bizarre things that have happened to me in the last few days. Besides being prostrate atop a crimson tide and coming close to losing my mind this weekend, I suffered one of the worst bloody migraines in the history of the world. My head still feels like a bruised peach.

So work is just a gas, cause one of our clients is probably (hopefully) going to jail for fourteen years on fraud charges. And although I've been frantically searching for a new job (not so much fun being part of an organisation where bailiffs know my first name), I'm worried my frequent job switcheroos may be giving the wrong impression. You know like, that I have ADD or can't commit or something. (Oh. Right. I do. And I can't.)

Honestly I think maybe I should go against my constant need to FLEE everything and stick it out. I gave my boss a PowerPoint presentation last week for an idea to bring in clients and donate some money to the Canadian Red Cross at the same time which I'm sure she will do everything in her power to ignore...but it could be worse. I could be making 20 thou a year. Oh fuck.

Despite my raging depression over the NASTY weather, I am doubly bummed about having finished watching the last of the 'ANGEL' DVDs we bought. All done...Withdrawl is already kicking in. (Yes, I'm pathetic)

I'm also really annoyed by something I read on the Oprah website (don't judge me) where this woman actually wastes space saying that one of the things she 'resolved' to do to improve her life was to eat more cheese. PARDON ME? Is this what passes for AHA moments on Oprah now? More cheese? I mean, I like a good cheese, but WTF?

Coolest thing EVER. Finished typing my dad's stories about the Vietnam War. Turns out he drove a young man through the border in the early seventies that was none other than Henry Miller's son. So I decided to write to an email address I found for a Val Miller (supposedly Henry's daughter Valentine)since I couldn't find one for the Miller boy (man)asking that she send on my request to ask him a few questions and whether he remembered my dad. She said she'd forward my message but that she couldn't guarantee that he'd write back. BUT HE DID, folks. Said my dad was brave and very generous. My dad. Henry Freakin Miller's son. No shit. They're going to write to each other and say "HI" after like 35 years. My dad. Did I mention Henry Miller's son?


Stay fuckin weird, world.