Dear Mr. Diary,
Mr. Diary, you are almost one year old! Do you realize what this means? You are one year old in human years, 7 years old in dog years, and 420 years old in fruit fly years! I think that this should make you quite happy.
For a refreshing look at a neophyte’s take on the corporate world, see my roommate’s words for the day.
Excuse me, Jaime Garcia, the man who can’t configure a com port, asks me to send him a ‘special email.’ Be right back.
For those who email me, I’m sorry I haven’t replied. Y’see, my buddie pally good old friend Ferrill (partner in Nutshell) decided to send our URL to a submission engine that SPAMS me with over 200 messages of CRAP a day.
So I miss messages, understandably.
So mark you messages HEY YOU DUMBBUTT RIZZN READ THIS! so I can read them.
I have a cell phone finally. For a week, I guess.
Y’think, working for a cell phone manufacturer .. not just any of them, but the Top Selling manufacturer NOKIA I might get a phone before 3 months of working with the company.
But no. I get one. On loan. After 3 months. For a week.
Oh, did I mention, that it only works inside the building?
Quote of the Entry: “What eludes me is what exactly did I think they were thinking before that? That someone shoved a basketball pump up my ass and blew me up a few pants sizes? “
[ed: sorry malk, with something like that in your diary, you can’t expect it not to make qoe]