 ©1999-1999 ICFTP What're you, kidding? |
12 September 1999:
Day 100. Hmmm. Doesn't feel all that different.
Touched glasses with Tanya at The Mill to celebrate the day. Just sort of smiled, nodded, clicked glasses (Irish coffee in hers, Bombay Saphire martini in mine) and said "To Day 100."
It's another of those milepost kind of things. I wonder if I collect $200 as I pass? New tests and stuff don't start until Wednesday.
This is the spot where I could bitch about the yuppie scum lawyers and their blindingly stupid dates who descended on The Mill riding perfectly pristine Harley's (not Hogs, these) and bitched - loudly - at each other about various court cases they'd been through. Cell phones, Palm Pilots and spotless Harley brand-label leather vests. Ironed Sturgis t-shirts. Ironed black jeans. Designer boots.
But I won't bitch about them. I got over it. I had another drink.
Check this out:
Wouldn't that just hurt? Like, a lot?
It'd be great.