waste of tape

As it turns out, I am addicted to Tab Energy Drink and against my better judgment, have been downing them for breakfast and elevenses with a venti americano chaser. In case you were wondering, this is a BAD idea. Once the caffeine takes hold of my system, my vocal cords become one with the Speed Force.  Then my hands begin to shake and maybe, just maybe, if I’m really lucky, I knock over the Starbucks cup and americano goes flying all over Everything In The World.  Not that that’s happened.  More than once.  Or that I had to get a new monitor or anything.  And *if* I did have to get a new monitor it would have sucked even more since our departmental IT guy?  Total robot, hand to god. He looks at me like whatever I just said or did is going into his files later. Data points on Awesomepants, Ahe: moods and emotions, annoyed by spelling errors and enjoys baking. He’s also got this lurky, only the darkness understands me, I walk a lonely road, the only road that I have ever known thing going on which, unless you’re a member of the Bat Family is totally not cool. I mean, I think that I am pretty straightforward in my displeasure.  If I am pissed, you will know and if you are smart, you will run.  Mr. Roboto will just bust out these empty, impenetrable stares, this blank wall of “draw your own horrible conclusions.”  It’s pretty impressive, actually.  I should learn that skill and add it to my repertoire.

Speaking of work, I finally have someone new to hate: the latest intern, Fake Accent. Srsly. Her parents are from Great Britain, but she was born and raised in Texas and she has this really convenient, slightly upper crust British accent. When I say “convenient,” I mean that it only comes out when she’s trying to be smart, is totally condescending for no discernable reason or is talking to an executive. Oh, and it disappears when she’s talking to her friends on the phone. Because she does that a lot, the whole talking to her friends on the phone thing. At work. When she’s supposed to be, I don’t know, fucking working?  Fake Accent is also flustered all the time, which I can’t quite figure out since she never seems to have anything to do, but apparently that whole load of jack and shit is stressful enough that she spends her day stompy-clomping around, throwing notepads on her desk and sighing like the tragic heroine of a bad romance novel.  I’ve been doing my level best to make her life miserable, naturally.  I figure if she’s going to act like a spoiled brat, I might as well give her something to complain about, and I know that’s spiteful and cruel, but I’ve already come to terms with the less-than-savory aspects of my true nature.

Confession:  I am severely addicted to Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight series.  If you’re unfamiliar, to sum up:  super hot eternally teenaged vampire falls for ordinary teenage girl.  Oh, and the rival for said girl’s affections?  Werewolf.  Oh yeah.  That’s some classy literature right there.  I swear, I have actually reverted to my ninth grade self and it’s freaking me out.  The other weekend, I got wasted and in the car on the way home, I was holding one of the books and the driver asked me about it and I was like, “zomfg it’s the superest awesomest book EVAR about a wicked hot vampire who falls in love with this high school girl.”  My rambling, incoherent professions of eternal love for the series were met with blank looks and a drunken Neil in the backseat snickered and responded that it “sounded dumb.”  I immediately yelled back, “YOU JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND!!!”  Literally.  I used those exact words.  I should be ashamed, but I’m not.  Those are my words and I stand by them.  Who doesn’t want a hot, awesome vampire boyfriend, goddammit?

Confidential to the production team for DC’s Countdown Issue 33: UNFORGIVABLE! Are you telling me that this somehow slipped through the cracks?  Seriously?!  Seriously!   Letterer Jared K. Fletcher, Inker Jay Leisten—you’re on notice. Whoever is responsible for frigging proofreading—you’re dead to me. Feel my disdain, dumbasses!