I’m kind of awake. I have to be at work for 8:30, so I have to skedaddle soonish (I promised the poor sods who are working this early morning rental bagels). I’ve had about four hours of sleep. It’s gonna be a long day.
I hosted a pub quiz at the work party and, while I had a few drinks, I sure as hell didn’t eat enough (ie anything) there. Again. The quiz involved a lot of heckling, including a dispute with the boss over whether winning Rebecca winning Best Picture means that Hitchcock has indeed won an Oscar – it does not. Producers get those Oscars. Hitchcock’s name was not on it. He did not win a single competitive Oscar. SO THERE.
Aside from a few quibbles, and the dominance of Team Two (who won by ten points and inspired one team to change their name to ‘Fuck Richard’ halfway through the game), I think it went well, though. It was the best-attended staff party that I can remember. Everyone posed for a photo in our new polar fleece vests from The Big Boss. My Christmas bonus was a tidy sum, which’ll probably go towards cross-country skis.
I feel like crap on a cracker, though, as my cold, sensing my weakened state, has really taken hold. My voice is shot from shouting as well. I tried to use a neti pot, but the flow just wasn’t there, yo. So I’m drinking some Cold 911 tea and hoping for the best.
On that ramble, I’m off.