Nen Lev'i
Jul 23rd, 2010, 04:36:22 PM
I hated mornings.
Actually, that's not true. I hate mornings, present tense. They're stupid, idiotic, and I never could get the hang of 'em. I mean, what are they for? Only annoying and awkward things ever happen in the mornings. There's waking up. There's waking up, and realising that you're not in your own bed, leaving you to rummage around wherever you are trying to suss out where the frell your pants are.
Worse, there's waking up, and realising that you are in your own bed, but so is someone else; and then you have that akwardness of not being able to get on with anything until they've gone, and then they expect you to hug, or talk, or act like you give a katarn's ass about their name; and worse, they always seem to raid your chill unit, and eat the last of everything. I mean, seriously. Who does that? Who goes into a guy's house, chows their way through all of his munchables, and then has the nerve to wander through - wearing nothing but your shirt, no less - and casually say "I think you're out of -"
You don't think I'm out of anything. You know I'm out of it, because you finished the last of it. Now shut up, frak off, and buy me some more munchables. Stupid bint.
Hmm. Munchables sounds dirty, if you say it right. Hello there; would you like a mouthful of my munchables?
I am so using that.
Anyway. I was bitching about mornings, weren't I? They suck worse than a randy mynock, and this morning was no exception. My head felt like some idiot kids in snubfighters had flown in through my ear, and shot a few missiles into my brain, causing an explosion that shattered my skull and reigned fiery, burning chunks of my awesome face and brain on the unsuspecting native population of the planet below.
But still, I thought I was handling it well. I was actually out of bed, which like, never happens, and I was even dressed. Well. Sort of. I was wearing pants, which was pretty much as closed to dressed as I was likely to get, this side of sunset. I was wandering around, downing namara juice - out of the carton, because I'm just that kind of classy guy - because I read somewhere that it restores your protassian levels, or some dren like that.
Basically, I was doing well. I had grabbed the morning by the waist, and was busily pounding it into submission. I had made this morning my bitch.
Then, there was a knock at the door.
Now, you guys are probably thinking: "Hey, what's so unusual about that," right? That's because you probably live in some nice, comfortable place, where the guy knocking on your door is the mail man, or the blue milk man, or some crazy religous guy who wants you to read through some literature about how their faith is based on some guys who might possibly have witnessed a guy, or something.
I don't. I live on Nar Shaddaa. If someone knocks on your door at this time in the morning, odds are it's the mob, and they probably want to shoot - or in some other way violently mishandle - your ass.
Thing is, with it being a morning and all, I wasn't exactly in my finest state of mental clarity, so I sorta forgot that kind of common sense thing. Forgot to stop by my desk on the way to the door, to grab my blaster. Hell, I didn't think to stop and grab a shirt.
"Comin'!" I groaned, padding barefoot around the cold, durasteel floor that pretty much ran the whole way from my bed to the bathroom, because the architect who designed my appartment is a sadistic bastard.
I could barely even see, but hey. I got to the door, hit the lock, and let the thing shoom open.
Two impossibly hot chicks were standing there. I'm talking impossibly hot. Ridiculously. My brain, even at the best of times, would have been fried, and right now my brain was little flaming comets in some planetary atmosphere, remember?
Had I had any sense about me, I would have acted cool; suave; you know, like normal. But this was a morning, and like I said, I hate those. So yeah. I did the best I can."
So yeah. I stared - elsewhere from the face region, if I'm honest - and muttered; "Hot damn!"
Actually, that's not true. I hate mornings, present tense. They're stupid, idiotic, and I never could get the hang of 'em. I mean, what are they for? Only annoying and awkward things ever happen in the mornings. There's waking up. There's waking up, and realising that you're not in your own bed, leaving you to rummage around wherever you are trying to suss out where the frell your pants are.
Worse, there's waking up, and realising that you are in your own bed, but so is someone else; and then you have that akwardness of not being able to get on with anything until they've gone, and then they expect you to hug, or talk, or act like you give a katarn's ass about their name; and worse, they always seem to raid your chill unit, and eat the last of everything. I mean, seriously. Who does that? Who goes into a guy's house, chows their way through all of his munchables, and then has the nerve to wander through - wearing nothing but your shirt, no less - and casually say "I think you're out of -"
You don't think I'm out of anything. You know I'm out of it, because you finished the last of it. Now shut up, frak off, and buy me some more munchables. Stupid bint.
Hmm. Munchables sounds dirty, if you say it right. Hello there; would you like a mouthful of my munchables?
I am so using that.
Anyway. I was bitching about mornings, weren't I? They suck worse than a randy mynock, and this morning was no exception. My head felt like some idiot kids in snubfighters had flown in through my ear, and shot a few missiles into my brain, causing an explosion that shattered my skull and reigned fiery, burning chunks of my awesome face and brain on the unsuspecting native population of the planet below.
But still, I thought I was handling it well. I was actually out of bed, which like, never happens, and I was even dressed. Well. Sort of. I was wearing pants, which was pretty much as closed to dressed as I was likely to get, this side of sunset. I was wandering around, downing namara juice - out of the carton, because I'm just that kind of classy guy - because I read somewhere that it restores your protassian levels, or some dren like that.
Basically, I was doing well. I had grabbed the morning by the waist, and was busily pounding it into submission. I had made this morning my bitch.
Then, there was a knock at the door.
Now, you guys are probably thinking: "Hey, what's so unusual about that," right? That's because you probably live in some nice, comfortable place, where the guy knocking on your door is the mail man, or the blue milk man, or some crazy religous guy who wants you to read through some literature about how their faith is based on some guys who might possibly have witnessed a guy, or something.
I don't. I live on Nar Shaddaa. If someone knocks on your door at this time in the morning, odds are it's the mob, and they probably want to shoot - or in some other way violently mishandle - your ass.
Thing is, with it being a morning and all, I wasn't exactly in my finest state of mental clarity, so I sorta forgot that kind of common sense thing. Forgot to stop by my desk on the way to the door, to grab my blaster. Hell, I didn't think to stop and grab a shirt.
"Comin'!" I groaned, padding barefoot around the cold, durasteel floor that pretty much ran the whole way from my bed to the bathroom, because the architect who designed my appartment is a sadistic bastard.
I could barely even see, but hey. I got to the door, hit the lock, and let the thing shoom open.
Two impossibly hot chicks were standing there. I'm talking impossibly hot. Ridiculously. My brain, even at the best of times, would have been fried, and right now my brain was little flaming comets in some planetary atmosphere, remember?
Had I had any sense about me, I would have acted cool; suave; you know, like normal. But this was a morning, and like I said, I hate those. So yeah. I did the best I can."
So yeah. I stared - elsewhere from the face region, if I'm honest - and muttered; "Hot damn!"