Right now I'm drinking a fabulous Starbucks latte in an attempt to wake up out of my stupor. (If I were a hip, early-adopter, I might make that very same statement on Twitter. But I'm not. Don't understand the Twitter. Fear the Twitter.)
I'm getting close to zombie-like status - and am about to use toothpicks to hold my eyelids up - because I was out drinking pints of beer with hubster's hockey team until 1am. On a school night.
I am so smart. S-M-R-T.
(**And now... a musical interlude! Tall and tan and young and lovely... do do do do do do do do do...**) That song is STILL stuck in my head. Blech.
Anyway, as I was saying - Wait... what was I saying? Oh that's right: Nothing interesting!! Seems that this dead tired thing affects my writing. Which is rather unfortunate since that's how I make a living. Won't the big wigs at work be happy to hear that little tidbit of info?
I'll be all: "Buy this cellphone... blah diddy blah... I'm tired. Leave me alone, dammit!! Blah blah... rate plan... Wha? Where am I? Who are you???"
And then they'll be all: "You're fired. Get some sleep. You look like hell."
Me: "Fine. I don't need your stinkin' badges anyway."
Big Wig: "What badges? We're in advertising, stupid. You write copy to sell cellphones to people who don't need them."
Me: "You're stupid, stupid. (Pause. Blink, blink.) No wait! I need this job. I've gots to support my Starbucks habit. I need the job to pay for the Starbucks to keep me awake so I can do the job. It's a vicious cycle, yo."
Big Wig: "You're boring me."
Me: (Hanging head in shame) "I'm boring myself."
Big Wig: (Staring at me with look of disdain)
Me: "I'll just show myself out."
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