Today wasn't bad. Got online, got to do a drive-by Forum-ing as well as reading my Friends list and checking up on the rest of the world online. In other words, seeing how little you people had updated or commented on Bad Religion. Which was good. Then Jehanne called and we headed out to see Claire and Dee, proprietors of the local New Age/pagan/flake shop. Which was certainly... interesting. And Dee records his own New Age music which didn't suck, whis sure shocked the hell out of me. And I was introduced to the ghost, and it sure felt like he shook hands with me. Then we wandered past the frankly psychotic rides that they have out (who the fuck wants to be spun around at high velocities when they could be drinking?) and went to eat. We wandered the length of Rose Street and back to find food, and ended up in the Rose Srtreet Brewery hunting down food.
Now, I'm not sure how this works in other parts of the world, but normally when one orders food, there is an acceptable length of time between the order and the food arriving. I have not yet found a place where this acceptable time was over an hour. Though it was so today, that is fucking unacceptable. Fuckers. I'm going to write a letter to complain. "Dear bloke who owns the place, don't ever make us wait an hour for a couple of steak and ale pies again." And if he ignores the letter, I'll do what I always do, and start drinking and shouting at people. Who says I have no plan?
Anyway. The food (when we finally fucking got it) was good, and we headed back. When I was in the pub, it turns out my parents had tried to phone me. I had no signal in the pub, so couldn't tell until we got out. I called them back at around half eight, having finished breakfast/lunch. They said that they had been trying to reach me as there was something there which was recorded delivery. "Eh?" says I, as I wasn't expecting anything of the sort. Now, this shit is usually urgent (hence the recorded delivery), so I asked my mum to open it.
"Dear Sir, and all of that shite. Corporate blah, corporate blah... we would like to inform you of our acceptance of your application post interview. You've got the job, you filthy layabout, and will therefore no longer be able to drag your arse out of bed at noon, watching daytime TV and going to bed at 5am. Now you are a corporate whore."
But I tell you, for $GRADUATE_PAY a year *salary* I can deal with being a corporate whore. I'm software testing, with formal qualifications. 90% test plan, 10% destruction testing. And it's close enough that I could bike it. So I won't be online as late as I have been. Even I need to sleep when I have work to die at.
So, yeah. I have a job.
As a sidenote: If you comment on this but do not comment on Bad Religion I will hunt you down and do hideous things to you as punishment. This is me blatantly pimping out my fiction for comments. I even have the pimp hat for it. Deal.
: Originally "bastards", but that was the vodka talking. I love you really.
: That is the vodka talking.
: Not "What the fuck?" as this was my parents.
: I fucking paraphrased, alright? Bollocks!
: As in, not hourly rate, with pension and sick pay. And paid holidays. Fuck me, that's weird to have. I had a salary in Germany, but it was ($GRADUATE_PAY-3K) a year and no pension or sick pay and time in lieu rather than sick days.