mordicai caeli (mordicai) wrote,
mordicai caeli
mordicai

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(The other half of the battle is lasers. G.I. Joe!)

Blitz continues. Blitzkrieg. What is a krieg? A war, a war on xmas—that is what this is. Xmas is one big battlefield & these are the trenches. Punishing—gloaming of the evening always lingering on you. Wednesday was another work party—this one was thrown by our floor—& yes, that means I started drinking holiday cheer around four. Ho ho ho! It was in swing & I was enjoying myself, when the clock struck five thirty & everyone turned into pumpkins. I snuck away—probably always best to leave the party at a high note, right. Then I met Gerd! For coffee. Nothing says sober up like a black eye! Gerd was in town, but I hadn’t seen him, on account of I didn’t pay attention when he changed his number, so I’ve been pouring text messages into a void. We talked—he’s a doctor, right, but still hasn’t had to teach anyone! He just makes out with the actors from Battlestar Galactica all day & gives rats the bubonic plague all night. Or vice versa. Then home, but not to rest & relaxation! There was a clarion call—trumpets from the line—charge! Food & wine alone took some grade-A quartermastering. The sandwich with the little mozzarella balls! The wine with the blue Swiss Guard! Then I found a David & took him home with me. David & Maggie for television, as is the tradition. Lilly was testing. Others were not part of this years core guard. How I Met Your Mother is continuing to be a hell of a show. Pushing Daisies continues to be…cancelled? Somehow? Even though it is clearly head & shoulders above any possible competitor. & After that, & a bottle of wine each, Firefly, which was also somehow cancelled. Man, what the heck. Then some monkeyshines with Jenny, sleep, comics (Jeph Loeb is somehow still considered a writer—did you read that Buffy? That wasn’t even a story, it was like a Hostess Cupcakes ad) & now work. I am miserable, but hopefully will meet up with Pamela for Googlefood.
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