Sigh. I'm a horrible employee.
I've missed the last two days of work. First, I took the friday off in order to be a good tour guide to the Lockharts. Though now when I think about it, I can't remember if I took them anywhere or not. Hmmm.
Anyway, that was that. Then I got sick that same day. A sickness that haunted me the whole weekend, as I drove around the city, searched for whales (I'll get to that later) and ate really good food in really nice places. But underneath it all I was sick as a dog (odd, cuz I don't think I've ever seen my dog sick).
So, Sunday night rolled around and I couldn't sleep. At all. Except between 6 AM and when Ross's alarm went off at 7:30 AM. Of course. So, I had no choice but to call in sick and miss yet another day of work. I worried how the NBA Live would get on without me.
Turns out fine, because when I returned to work today, we were no longer on Xbox 360(infact I think the game I helped de-bug...or screw up...ships out this week).
No, today and FOREVER, I am now doing NBA on PS3.
That's Playstation 3 for all you people who don't know. Don't laugh, I didn't know that this morning (hey, I'm still sick!).
Ah yes. Lucky Me. I get to work on PS3 before anyone else.
Well. Let me tell you something. IT SUCKS!!! It's the most bug-ridden, game-crashing piece of crap I have ever seen. It angers me to look at it and makes me want to hit whoever is designing this game over the head repeatedly with the controller.
Where am I going with this?
Oh yeah. So, there I am today, staring blankly at the HD screen, watching it slowly load and being disturbed by some player's that have no eyes, severe underbites and appear to do the moonwalk when they aren't being used, when a guy sits down in the chair next to me.
I look over at him, not really focusing. He looks vaguely familiar, his eyes especially. But maybe I'm just used to staring at basketball players who have no eyes.
"Remember me?" Mystery Man asks.
I look down at his umbrella and briefcase. I'm quite confused and must have looked it for he gave me a bit more information.
"Grade 5. West Vancouver. Mrs. Mullan's class."
And then it hits me. I remember last week. I had gotten an email from a Lochlan Morrisonm a name that reverberated throughout my inbox.
Lochlan was my true love at age 10. We hung out together, did everything together...we got along like peas in a pod. Until I asked my friend if he liked me. And apparently, Lochlan "didn't like me that way" for I was too greasily limp-haired, fat-faced and sniffly to be of any sort of "romantic" value at that age.
CRUSHED! My first rejection and it still haunts me to this day...in the same sort of way that any New Kids on the Block song haunts me to this day.
Well, anyway, to make a long story short, there was the pre-teen crush sitting across from me (he also works QA at EA but DT Van)and all I could think of was, 'do I look OK?'
The answer: I've got bags under my unfocused, glazed eyes, my hair is greasy and I'm sniffling all over my face.
Somethings never change.
On a completely different note, wonderful Elena came by the other week. My first "victim" at La Alberca, Elena was visiting up from Seattle where she was seeing her American bf. She was nice enough to grace me and my wee apartment for a night before she was whisked off to Victoria to visit the Island Sisters (and half of the notorious "Sex-Pests").
I took Elena to Milestones on English Bay(the place to take Spaniards AND Scots apparently)and we laughed and giggled, talked about men and drank a lot of wine, just like the ol' days.
Again, somethings never change.