6/23/99 - I want superpowers.  OK, one superpower.  Any superpower.  As a one-time avid comic book reader, I used to imagine I was a mutant who kept his powers to control extra-dimensional energy a secret from others, except when it was time to help out the X-Men.  Y'know, I'd come to the rescue and take out Magneto all by myself, but deny myself any kind of glory.  Then I thought it'd be cool if I was the Flash and had unbelievable superspeed. The Flash could outrun time, so I could get some from like 50 chicks in a minute.  But that's not real original -- everybody wants superspeed.  Telepathy would have been nice since I would be able to get over my fear of what other people are thinking about me, and find out if there are any honeys who dig me and what I need to do to make them happy.  But of course that was always kind of a girlish power anyway.

Fuck, I'd even take prehensile hair.  (If you know what prehensile hair is, then congratulations, you're a dork).

Yesterday was a nightmare at work with everything going wrong, and most of it wasn't my fault.  I'll spare myself of the horror of recalling yesterday's miserable events, but I will say that if every day of summer is going to be like yesterday, then I should just move to Australia where it's winter and the days are shorter.  I wonder if they have good bud in Australia?  They seem like a partying kind of people.  Boozy and sexist and racist, but fun.  Maya likes Australians, so that counts for something.  I'm not sure what, though.

Today's work hasn't been any better.  I won't bore you with the details (nothing makes my eyes glaze over faster than reading about someone else's job, unless it's a really cool story, like if a journaller took a dump in someone's desk), but the Deej is out sick, Duc just got back from the doctor, wearing jeans and cowboy boots (at 12:50), and Akiyo is venting about work like the Hoover Dam.

Summer does mean one good thing -- lots of honeys out of school in skimpy outfits.  I went to the Cerritos Town Center yesterday to pick up the new Limp Bizkit CD, and while I was eating dinner I simply could not keep my head from swiveling from left to right, checking out all the yuhjahs in their short shorts and high heels.  Yeah, I know most of them are underage.  But hey, looking isn't a crime if they aren't naked!  Man, in Ireland I think the legal age of consent is 16.  Maybe I could get some and then say I was Irish if I got into any troubles.  "Oh no, offishers, my name is David O'Flannery, and I thought that if a wee lad is 16 then it's ok to grind my privates with there's.  Oh, please don't hit me with a shillelagh!"

Wonderful -- I was wrapping up a couple of hits of E to mail to a friend when a summer associate came in to ask me about the Washington statues.  I'm pretty sure she knows I was up to something, but probably not what.  And of course, I'm bragging about violating Federal mail and drug laws right here for everyone to see, not to mention my penchant for checking out high schools girls. 

I guess I'm just in a pissy mood b/c of work and Ray.  Ick, what a terrible entry.  Sorry.

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