It's Time To Win!

I've got a big day at the work place tomorrow. Please, no one bonk me on the head with a mallet or shave obscenities into my eyebrows. If you insist on shaving obscenities into my eyebrows, please make them easily changeable; I'd recommend POOP, since I can do a lot with all of those letters, perhaps transforming that into P88B or something. Is that really better than POOP, you ask. Well, maybe. At least with P88B, I can say it's my ham radio call sign. I put it to you, the readers of Goulash. Who would terrify you more: the fecal matter enthusiast or the ham radio nutjob? That may be one of those eternal riddles.

Anywhosies, the reason tomorrow is so important is because we're doing a demo of the big project we've been working on for several months now. The bigwigs will be there, reputations are on the line, and yours truly will be the master of ceremonies. Can you say 'Recipe for Unemployment'? Demos are scary. You can work on something for months, testing it over and over again, and then the first time you have to show it to someone else, the computer bursts into flames and shoots mustard gas into your boss's office. "How the hell did that happen?" you might wonder. There's no point in trying to figure it out; them's the demo rules.

I've been preparing, though. I came up with a script. I ran through it with some coworkers. In my life, preparation usually doesn't prevent failure, it just makes it a little more frustrating since I was supposed to know what I was doing. I'm acting like that's not the case; I'm acting like a winner. Someone cut me off on the way home and rather than take the affront meekly, I followed them to the next red light, jumped on their hood, and shrieked, "YOU DON'T CUT THIS WINNER OFF!" I realize now I may have to tone this new persona down somewhat at the meeting. That's fine; winners can do these things.