Jan.21 2008 10:29pm
Thi9s morning was fairly uneventful, with the exception of my fellow employee not being on the bus to work. I later found out he had been storm-stayed in Walkerton. Poor bastard had to miss a day of work.
The real gritty shit began when I came home.
We made spaghetti-
-and ate it.
Gem printed me off a document at work detailing some information the feds are going to need for my passport application. Turns out, I need a guarantor. Someone who has an active passport, and I've known for the past 5 years. Liam, Bren, I'm looking in your direction, because I don't know anyone else who has one, let alone who I've known long enough.
The whole application process has my titties in a twist, because there's a good chance I'm not going to get it done in time for the last week in May.
Sidebar- Gemma proposed that we spend our one year anniversary in Cuba. She loves it there, her family loves it there, and I hate heat and sand.
But the idea is starting to sound pleasing to me.
We've worked out our budgets and we'll be able to afford it on top of our bills, so the whole thing is a go, except for the passports. Hers is just expired so her re-application is not a problem. But I've never had one and apparently there's a paramount wait list for these bastard things.
It's stressful, and Gem and I got into an argument over minced words and misinterpretation (of my frustrated ranting. She thought I was angry at HER, not THE MAN, who doesn't want me to leave, apparently). I was saved by the bell when an old friend of hers rang up and called Gem down to bum one of my smokes and have a chat with her. I obliged, and put a pinch of tobacco in my pipe and retired to the veranda. A few syrupy puffs later and I'm docile and posting.
I think the evening will cap off with a few sit-ups and crunches on my part, and a bit of pillow diving. (A cute euphemism for sleep that I just came up with. Go on, take it. It's yours.)
Tomorrow my boss is back from his trip to Florida. I'll have stories.
Hang loose. It's easier on the testicles.
Ben
The real gritty shit began when I came home.
We made spaghetti-
-and ate it.
Gem printed me off a document at work detailing some information the feds are going to need for my passport application. Turns out, I need a guarantor. Someone who has an active passport, and I've known for the past 5 years. Liam, Bren, I'm looking in your direction, because I don't know anyone else who has one, let alone who I've known long enough.
The whole application process has my titties in a twist, because there's a good chance I'm not going to get it done in time for the last week in May.
Sidebar- Gemma proposed that we spend our one year anniversary in Cuba. She loves it there, her family loves it there, and I hate heat and sand.
But the idea is starting to sound pleasing to me.
We've worked out our budgets and we'll be able to afford it on top of our bills, so the whole thing is a go, except for the passports. Hers is just expired so her re-application is not a problem. But I've never had one and apparently there's a paramount wait list for these bastard things.
It's stressful, and Gem and I got into an argument over minced words and misinterpretation (of my frustrated ranting. She thought I was angry at HER, not THE MAN, who doesn't want me to leave, apparently). I was saved by the bell when an old friend of hers rang up and called Gem down to bum one of my smokes and have a chat with her. I obliged, and put a pinch of tobacco in my pipe and retired to the veranda. A few syrupy puffs later and I'm docile and posting.
I think the evening will cap off with a few sit-ups and crunches on my part, and a bit of pillow diving. (A cute euphemism for sleep that I just came up with. Go on, take it. It's yours.)
Tomorrow my boss is back from his trip to Florida. I'll have stories.
Hang loose. It's easier on the testicles.
Ben
posted by Ben at 7:29 PM
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