Pre-Pride Season is whooping my ass. Yesterday, I caught myself talking to a client about an artist and writing an e-mail at the same time. About half-way through the conversation I realized I had forgot who the client was and which artist I was supposed to be switching out. Thankfully, I was clever enough to look at the Caller ID and catch myself up to speed.
"Of course, CHAD, we can get DEBORAH in there." Hee.
Thankfully, we don't have any artists traveling and/or performing this weekend except for DJs. And, the firefighting is so minimal with them. I actually have a weekend to relax. I need some down time. (JAZZ HANDS) Yeah, don't ask.
Yesterday, I told my boss that our new slogan should be "breaking the spirits of promoters and clubs across the globe."
He told me to get back to work.
I said "ok."
So, R & R this weekend. I was all excited about hitting the Renaissance Festival with Ferg too. No, seriously. There was something about escaping into a surreal change of scenery, screaming out "Your finest ale, Wench" and beating Ferg with a turkey drumstick.
But, it's supposed to rain. Again. All Weekend. How. F'n. Beat. Down.
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"In my world, every truth is judged solely on its entertainment value." ~JOSH KILMER-PURCELL (swiped from "I Am Not Myself These Days")
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- Arman R
- Generally, I don't tell people what they want to hear. Life is just too short for sugar-coating and euphemisms. I'm perpetually late, but will call to be courteous. I tend to be pretty laid back, but quite gregarious after a martini or three.
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