Friday Office Schemes

Yesterday, my laptop was diagnosed with cancer--or some form of it, technologically. It's slow to move; slow to react. It gets frustrating when you're at your most enjoyable moment as a crooning typist extraordinaire. You get to cut and paste reports to the tune of "Under the Sea" while still breathing all the salt water from your most recent vacation. That went away just like that. So I had our chic IT girl operate on it. She updated the new service packs for MS XP, then installed the new IE 8.

While my laptop was being serviced, I was handling a spare one, so I could do some more office chores. It had a temp MS Windows 7, which is supposedly sleeker and comfier than the previous blasted Vista. I could feel my archaic fingers dumb up to this new OS. Mind you, I am not tech-geek at all. Although I know how to do email's, I've developed my own super-efficient work flow system here in my space. And using Windows 7 feels like all the plastered graphic dreams of its creators where put here to defiantly mock people like me. It has a sleek design interface, yes, but all this new sweet sleekness drives my 'system' nuts.

That was yesterday; my brush with the new Windows technology.

For now, it's not that friendly.

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Today, Friday. My laptop arrives with spruced up with service pack updates that's supposed to make it 'faster' and 'better'. For one thing, it wasn't noticeable. Well except for the part where my wallpaper wouldn't 'wall' up to my extended monitor. And that IE 8 would not run our company website as neat as should be. Bad thing is I couldn't do my work properly. So I had it sent again to IT. And again, the evil cycle of removing/ updating windows stuff ensues.

So what does that do to me? I'm reading a book, walking around table to table, smiling, dawdling, and hawking table items everywhere the whole day. That makes my Friday start my beach-full weekend.

My Right Brain is On Vacation

YES, He is.

He doesn't seem to work, or does not want to.

I went to Puerto Princessa, Palawan during the weekend (21 - 24 Aug 09) and RB (right brain) here just swam near the shoreline, and did some snorkeling here and there (snake island, starfish isle, pambato / pamatay reef), went boating to the underground river, did some 'market'-ing, went on a pasalubong spree, and that's it.

NO FRIGGIN PICTURES!!!

Yup. brought 4 kamerameras and rarely lifted them. Oh, my babes are too sensitive now to even think of loosing face.

Sometimes George Eastman just wants to strangle me.

Snippets #99382

For somebody who's coaxing me to write stuff, even the most minute words every day, I tell you, knock your socks off. Or just wear them while we MOMOL (make-out, make-out lang she says).

I'm the most-shallowest-person I know. So I have insecurities when it comes to writing, and being deep, and reflective and yadda yadda yadda. I adore you for being yourself, the worry-wart, the reader, the thinker, the clown, the funny face, the girl. I could 'print screen' my workstation and you'll never know the difference between cyborgs and the pirate captain left hook.

Bob the Bob wants to be in a beach hut on the weekend. He says he has music for moods, those from the dub era, where beats were slowed down, and multiplied back. That's enough sonic space for the future.

On the other hand, DeeDee the punker wants to take stills of stairs.

While Brucey, the big Brusko, insists on putting cute tiny umbrellas on slinger shakers, then picturing them ooohhh-la-la.

These are mighty fine senseless thoughts.

Greetings from Aruba.

PS. I left my body at work.

Dear inGlorious Mrs. A

Dear inGlorious Mrs. A,

I shall be blunt and not call you President; or worse, Madame, your honour, excellency, or whatever that builds your ego.

I would not call you MY president because MY president is a leader who emulates his/her maker--Christ. You are a hypocrite. If you were in the sermon on the mount, and Jesus gave 5000 loaves of bread, you would probably have taken the 4999, and leave the last one with Christ, for you are not greedy at all. You would probably do this out of pity, as he has nothing to eat, so you give him a slice. Because I'm sure, you are a God-fearing woman. Perhaps not now, not while you're still in power, not while you are still alive; You will fear death when it is near, but after you have lived your lavish life of entitlement. Perhaps when you're one hundred and seventy-eight. God only takes his children home when they are good. And you dear GM-A, are not. Have you not learned anything from kindergarden?

MY president shares this last bread for supper, even if he/she were that hungry, from a whole day of working and preaching under the sun, knowing that another one is hungrier.

Because MY president should be someone who will walk with me and help my carry my cross; not one who would pay someone to carry my cross for me, or worse, have me silenced for wailing too much.

Oh dear president, you, are not that greedy at all.

Dear Persons In My Head

Dear Persons in My Head,

You are my only friends.

Talk to me. Talk to me.

Talk to me please.

As we please.

Consciously Unconscious

I don't know, but I feel like I was dropped by my body off the cliff and landed on the foot of the mountain. I'm hovering around my skin in my astral state.

Right now, nobody commands my ship.

I need to get out of this dementia;

Back. Back. Back.