Earlier today featured email wherein I declared that the IT guy could go fuck himself with a swordfish. (Thankfully the letter was not addressed to said IT guy. Do not make enemies with the IT guy.) This is not, just to clarify, particularly in character for me. Nor is the comment that I really wish I had some Rammstein to listen to. I was feeling very dark and angsty, but judicious application of a free chimichanga has lightened my mood enough that at least I am not frowning violently. The sky is still looking rather sour, the IT guy did spend most of lunch talking loudly about Traci Lords and hot redheads, someone made some kind of "joke" about unwanted advances from those "pretty boys" in the West Village that (pre-food) almost made me cry, and I still have a month's worth of moving-related work to do in about 5 days. But at least I have some food in my belly and can thus theoretically regard all else as mere nuisances.
In happy news, I will soon live in a home with a kitchen and living room tinted "jean blue" and "pear green." I am still interviewing colors for the position of "My Bedroom Walls."
I do still wish I had some Rammstein. Screaming at the top of my lungs, even if only vicariously, sounds tremendously satisfying.
ADDENDUM: I just drank a mug of half-and-half with three sugars, and am prepared to declare it the most horrifyingly wonderful thing I have ever consumed.