So I was sitting here at work today and I said to myself, "Wow. NCRF is this weekend. I should start getting ready for it." My Self, being the snarky bastard that he is, replied, "Yeah, you better pull that garb bag out from underneath your bed before it's too late. Dufus." Used to My Self's condescending manner and not easily riled, I quipped back, "Bite me, fucktard."
Well, that just pissed him off. I'll spare you all the lengthy descriptions of the titanic battle that raged as we each fought for supremacy. Needless to say however, I won. *g* I'm sure an epic sonnet will be composed in my honor shortly. I'll keep you all informed as to it's release date.
Where was I? Oh yes, titanic battle. After I had subdued my internal insolent ragamuffin, I pointed out that I did think of something else I need to do to prepare for NCRF.
I need to clean my mug. No, I don't mean wash my face (I don't think ANY amount of soap and water is gonna help my looks at this point), I mean my faire mug. I doubt seriously that I cleaned it after my last foray into the 16th century. I'm sure I just threw it in the bag and then the bag under the bed. While it is always fun spitting out kilt lint and the occasional stray favor from the first drink of the season, it can be quite the adventure trying to name the chemical compounds growing at the bottom.
"Honey, could you bring me the electron microscope? I think I just discovered a cure for cancer."