So got back to work this morning... After a few days off after making long to-do lists for the guys. Piles were still there. Hair on head remains. Mostly because the day was survived by thoughts of keyboards (how sad is that?), hand cuffs in the mail, and that idea of Steven Spielberg being rejected from USC.
Because, really, that makes anybody feel just a little bit better.
And about the ignorance, yes Camilla. it. is. too. late.
On the other hand, think about how much fun it is to actually know these things, i.e. you can actually realize some fraction of all the reasons out there to panic and grow overly depressed, addicted to chocolate, and kill printers?
Oh and another thing... For info on how to... save... some of the printers in the world from assistant rage black outs, check out 'Hollywood assistant's handbook, 86 rulesfor aspiring power players' by Hillary Stamm and Peter Nowalk. It's hilarious, sarcastic, packed with great feel good and hysteric material, and lists... Because who can resist lists? It also confirms Tarantino's thoughts of 'Blockbuster is my university.' Amen darling, amen...
kisses and such
Peaches ;)
Showing posts with label creative people. Show all posts
Showing posts with label creative people. Show all posts
Wednesday, 12 November 2008
Tuesday, 4 November 2008
Ey! And gooeyness
Okay, Peaches here...
And first of all let me clarify one... two... a couple of things. One, Camilla is an amazing friend. She tells you those little things you need to hear like "dude, get the f@ck out and get milk cause you need to get laid." And of course knows how to mind-game you into doing exactly that regardless of your excellent reasonings not to... because, really, think about this. Computer and ice cream for a night in vs. gooey eyed boy in the grocery store...
Yes. He has gooey eyes. I hate the damned gooey things. I hate the girly little thingy whispering in the... my... ehrm... head. It's annoying, and he's just a pretty little puppy thing and then I will visciously dump him and carry on being the "wound up bitch" (quote per 40yr old whom I did not allow to buy me Whiskey). I can add "with serious committment issues" to that. But nevermind.
I went. I saw. I made very snarky and fairly cool (i.e. he might not have noticed the riddiculous creeping blush and the way I stared at his lips) comments, got my milk, and left. See, goal achieved. Not, to throw some things back. 1. I am so not falling into the little compartment of girlieness which includes but is not limited to constant swooning, making 'awh' noises (I will stop it soon enough), or pouting while wearing too much make up in the hopes he'll unbotton his shirt for the world...
... mmm..
Oh, no right... No. Not happening. Just a tinsy bit of sexual frustration here, nothing more. Now, abt miss Camilla here... Bastard's been creative and productive and is coming close to going way way past the 50,000 word count mark this month. Remember those annoying ppl who got things done and could put 'The end' signs on things I yapped about earlier? *points * There, there's one of them... Love her though, and am counting the days til I can see her (and secretly steal her hard drive).
Is it wierd that I really want peaches now?
PS. US guys or citizens or anybody eligible to vote, get out and vote dammit! For any of the candidates, or Don Rosa, or even Paris... Just vote! It's democracy for you... :)
And first of all let me clarify one... two... a couple of things. One, Camilla is an amazing friend. She tells you those little things you need to hear like "dude, get the f@ck out and get milk cause you need to get laid." And of course knows how to mind-game you into doing exactly that regardless of your excellent reasonings not to... because, really, think about this. Computer and ice cream for a night in vs. gooey eyed boy in the grocery store...
Yes. He has gooey eyes. I hate the damned gooey things. I hate the girly little thingy whispering in the... my... ehrm... head. It's annoying, and he's just a pretty little puppy thing and then I will visciously dump him and carry on being the "wound up bitch" (quote per 40yr old whom I did not allow to buy me Whiskey). I can add "with serious committment issues" to that. But nevermind.
I went. I saw. I made very snarky and fairly cool (i.e. he might not have noticed the riddiculous creeping blush and the way I stared at his lips) comments, got my milk, and left. See, goal achieved. Not, to throw some things back. 1. I am so not falling into the little compartment of girlieness which includes but is not limited to constant swooning, making 'awh' noises (I will stop it soon enough), or pouting while wearing too much make up in the hopes he'll unbotton his shirt for the world...
... mmm..
Oh, no right... No. Not happening. Just a tinsy bit of sexual frustration here, nothing more. Now, abt miss Camilla here... Bastard's been creative and productive and is coming close to going way way past the 50,000 word count mark this month. Remember those annoying ppl who got things done and could put 'The end' signs on things I yapped about earlier? *points * There, there's one of them... Love her though, and am counting the days til I can see her (and secretly steal her hard drive).
Is it wierd that I really want peaches now?
PS. US guys or citizens or anybody eligible to vote, get out and vote dammit! For any of the candidates, or Don Rosa, or even Paris... Just vote! It's democracy for you... :)
Wednesday, 29 October 2008
Nine to five...
.... Peaches here.
Who just spent a good ten minutes on writing a long damned whiny and grouchy darksided posting. And then it vanished! Just like that. Oh well, back to my original ramblings... Work. And people who manage to be creative afterwards.
Admit is, you've heard the stories. Those guys who do their day time jobs for 8+ hours, then come home, and spend half the nights writing... Or painting... Or researching... Being creative, and realizing their dreams. They spend the time practicing and putting 'The End' signs at the bottom of the pag... Ehrm... their projects.
I want to write down a 'The End' sign! I want to spend my nights typing away! Except... I'm exhausted. All I really want to do at the end of the day (six thirty if I'm lucky) is crawl down in my freezing bed, eat Ben & Jerry's (when affordable, i.e. once every second month), and watch bad TV. On the computer... Because who, really, affords a TV these days!
Oh...
When I had essay or exam dates I could pull all nighters. Okay, so maybe I spent two and a half hours out of a five hour exam trying to remember how to spell my last name... But to my defense I have a very complicated last name...
Bottom line, though, is that I cannot seem to get any 'The end' signs down. I spend the mornin hours all positive and with these big decisions on how this evening I will actually get something done. And then I get home, and there is this darkness slowly creeping into the field of vision. I like my job, I actually do (although I have no money in my accounts, if the minus mark doesn't count, and nine to five really means something different, AND if I'd keep doing this exact job for another couple of years I'd...). But imagine ten years from now, when I turn thirty and have joined Mr. air-Guitar-hero outside the grocery store in our search for the perfect 1 cent, and there are still no 'The end' signs!
It's six fudging letters!
Anyways, I gotta go now. I have TV to watch and chocolate to eat... And books on the floor to ignore... Who said studying ended when you got out of school? Naah, see that's when you realized your degree was, accidentally, in the completely wrong subjects, and you have to do it all over again. On your own. While working. Because school is expensive. And because people always say stupid things like "sure hun, that's great, but for real now... what do you REALLY want to do with your life? Something... realistic sweetie." Then they pinch your cheeks, sweetly.
Then there's certain people * points* who are able to get stuff done, and spend hours actually being creative, and pick degrees they actually like! Some people are just born ass-kickers... and muffin bakers!
happy (dirty) dreams
Peaches
Who just spent a good ten minutes on writing a long damned whiny and grouchy darksided posting. And then it vanished! Just like that. Oh well, back to my original ramblings... Work. And people who manage to be creative afterwards.
Admit is, you've heard the stories. Those guys who do their day time jobs for 8+ hours, then come home, and spend half the nights writing... Or painting... Or researching... Being creative, and realizing their dreams. They spend the time practicing and putting 'The End' signs at the bottom of the pag... Ehrm... their projects.
I want to write down a 'The End' sign! I want to spend my nights typing away! Except... I'm exhausted. All I really want to do at the end of the day (six thirty if I'm lucky) is crawl down in my freezing bed, eat Ben & Jerry's (when affordable, i.e. once every second month), and watch bad TV. On the computer... Because who, really, affords a TV these days!
Oh...
When I had essay or exam dates I could pull all nighters. Okay, so maybe I spent two and a half hours out of a five hour exam trying to remember how to spell my last name... But to my defense I have a very complicated last name...
Bottom line, though, is that I cannot seem to get any 'The end' signs down. I spend the mornin hours all positive and with these big decisions on how this evening I will actually get something done. And then I get home, and there is this darkness slowly creeping into the field of vision. I like my job, I actually do (although I have no money in my accounts, if the minus mark doesn't count, and nine to five really means something different, AND if I'd keep doing this exact job for another couple of years I'd...). But imagine ten years from now, when I turn thirty and have joined Mr. air-Guitar-hero outside the grocery store in our search for the perfect 1 cent, and there are still no 'The end' signs!
It's six fudging letters!
Anyways, I gotta go now. I have TV to watch and chocolate to eat... And books on the floor to ignore... Who said studying ended when you got out of school? Naah, see that's when you realized your degree was, accidentally, in the completely wrong subjects, and you have to do it all over again. On your own. While working. Because school is expensive. And because people always say stupid things like "sure hun, that's great, but for real now... what do you REALLY want to do with your life? Something... realistic sweetie." Then they pinch your cheeks, sweetly.
Then there's certain people * points* who are able to get stuff done, and spend hours actually being creative, and pick degrees they actually like! Some people are just born ass-kickers... and muffin bakers!
happy (dirty) dreams
Peaches
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