"Sorry."

"It's okay, I was just sayin'."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to jump on ya'. But, y'know, it's just that yesterday everyone was jumpin' on me, and it just pisses me off that they don't even bother to check first instead of fuckin' crawlin' up my ass..."

"Yeah, I know the feeling."

So that was my conversation with Roly just a few minutes ago. Then we moved on to other annoying work-related stuff and whatnot. He told me that I need to do the JHA's from now on, 'cause Art can't, or hasn't been, whichever way you wanna look at it. Fucker ain't doin' his job, is what it boils down to. So now guess who gets to scoop up crap after his ass? *sigh* Sometimes I feel like I've got too much shit on my plate. But they're paying me for it, right? S'long as they don't bug the shit outta me every night from now on like they did last night:

And on to other news...

I fixed my damn internet. FINALLY. Shit. It was the damn phone cord all along. I was just too damn lazy to change it out. Having to rewire that shit from my room all the way to 'Ama's... but anyhow. It's done. So now I have no more excuses as to not updating this shit more often. And lo and behold, I'm still updating from work. It's just that... well, I don't wanna work. I'd much rather do this. And I better take advantage now that there's no one in the office apart from Roly. And he's in the other room, so he can't see what I'm doing (I hope). All people hear is the tappity-tap-tap-tap of my fingers on the keyboard and automatically assume I'm working on something really, really important. *smirk* I used to do the same thing, back when I was a wee one in school, except I'd scribble stories or journal entries and glace up attently at the teacher now and then so they'd think I was taking notes. It worked like a charm all through middle school and high school, too. I was always the studious, quiet one in the back, taking notes and not talking to anyone. Figures I'd end up an English major. It's where all my characters were born, baby, and now I wanna flesh 'em out and stick 'em in a comic book someday.

I can hear Juan screaming outside. He let out a mariachi yell right now. *smirks (again)* So much for the fucker coming in at noon. (Roly's throwing a tantrum over the phone in the other office.) It's already three, and he's barely punching in. Says he wants to put in the O.T. so he can buy himself a Mustang. I say, fat chance. Fucker can barely save enough to feed himself, and that's 'cause half his groceries consist of booze. I bought clothes for his daughter, once. Such a cute little girl. One day, Nenni's gonna be just as pretty. Well, no prettier. Y'know, they say she looks like me? Shit, and they said Angel looked like me when he was born too. But his features changed eventually and he looks a lot more like the Dud now (and a little bit like his dad - but just a little bit!). He's still got my eyes, though. It's weird, to look at my features on someone else's face. Especially when it's such a little face, full of wonder and mischeif and stuff.

Joey just walked in, made a comment on Turner (called him a fag, in other words), and walked out. Funny kid, that Joey. He's a pal.