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I can't decide if my day is like this:
Or like this:
On the one hand, Roomie has exploded into flailing tantrums at his computer three times today. I don't mean that he's sworn at it or grumbled at it or even screamed at it in a moment of frustration. I have done all of these things and more at video games during boss fights. I mean that he has, quite literally, stomped his feet and waved his fists and threatened to topple from his chair with his wild gesticulations. Apparently, Avast borked the spell checker on his version of Openoffice when it decided to update mid-check. Ever since, the program has crashed every time he runs a spellcheck, so I can only assume the dictionary file was deleted or corrupted when Avast accessed it during use. Thanks a heap, Avast. This is the second word processing program you've broken for no discernible reason.
Anyway, since he RPs quite a bit with friends, he's been pissy and flaily all day, shrieking at the computer in incoherent rage at random intervals. Which means that my nerves are shot because my CP-magnified startle reflex responds to every gibbering howl as though it were the detonation of a nuclear warhead. Spasming and jerking like someone mistook your asshole for an electrical outlet is fun, so fun, let me tell you. I know he isn't doing it on purpose, but I'm tired of being on the edge of mindless panic because he has impulse control issues.
On the other hand, Flack was so hot last night in that cranberry sweater. So hot that the sweater immediately conjured several dirty fantasies in my febrile, undersexed brain. I'm indifferent to CSI:NY's imminent passing at this point, but I am going to miss Flack. So much.
I also had prime rib and fried pickles for dinner. That makes today a push on the enjoyability scale, I think, so I'm going to post this and drink sweet tea and wait for the latest installment of Metal Evolution. Oh, and look at pictures of this:
At least until I can find pictures of Flack in that cranberry sweater.
Or like this:
On the one hand, Roomie has exploded into flailing tantrums at his computer three times today. I don't mean that he's sworn at it or grumbled at it or even screamed at it in a moment of frustration. I have done all of these things and more at video games during boss fights. I mean that he has, quite literally, stomped his feet and waved his fists and threatened to topple from his chair with his wild gesticulations. Apparently, Avast borked the spell checker on his version of Openoffice when it decided to update mid-check. Ever since, the program has crashed every time he runs a spellcheck, so I can only assume the dictionary file was deleted or corrupted when Avast accessed it during use. Thanks a heap, Avast. This is the second word processing program you've broken for no discernible reason.
Anyway, since he RPs quite a bit with friends, he's been pissy and flaily all day, shrieking at the computer in incoherent rage at random intervals. Which means that my nerves are shot because my CP-magnified startle reflex responds to every gibbering howl as though it were the detonation of a nuclear warhead. Spasming and jerking like someone mistook your asshole for an electrical outlet is fun, so fun, let me tell you. I know he isn't doing it on purpose, but I'm tired of being on the edge of mindless panic because he has impulse control issues.
On the other hand, Flack was so hot last night in that cranberry sweater. So hot that the sweater immediately conjured several dirty fantasies in my febrile, undersexed brain. I'm indifferent to CSI:NY's imminent passing at this point, but I am going to miss Flack. So much.
I also had prime rib and fried pickles for dinner. That makes today a push on the enjoyability scale, I think, so I'm going to post this and drink sweet tea and wait for the latest installment of Metal Evolution. Oh, and look at pictures of this:
At least until I can find pictures of Flack in that cranberry sweater.
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