Current mood: drained
I woke up today.
That was my first mistake.
Would've been better off
In the middle of a dream
I was havin' bout a brighter day.
Yesterday, I gave my heart away.
By the middle of the day,
You could search for a sucker
and buy it now on ebay.
~ "Lovesick Stomach Ache" by Bowling for Soup
So, today – bloody hell, what a fucking day it was. I started a blog earlier that was going on and on about how Garden Salsa Sun Chips burn the hell out of my mouth, because they are deceptively spicy – and then I was going to transition into the night that D/BFF and I went to see Henry Rollins do his Spoken Word show – and how I had to eat the ultra hot salsa at dinner and teared up from the pain – but then my day went to Hell in a hand basket – and the two minutes I spent starting to type a blog turned into 2 extra hours after work, working – if that makes sense. So – no salsa chip stories – no humorous work anecdotes –and no "happy Girl Genius" stories.
If that is what you were expecting then you need to log out of the internet and turn on Girls Next Door. I am distracted at the moment by the Last Comic Standing. The guy who was just up – Adam Hunter – reminds me of someone – but who it is escapes me -- luckily I am watching it on the DVR – so I'll rewatch it if I really need to remember who. Iliza is definitely the funniest comedian on this show. In my opinion anyway!
Okay, so back to the day I had. Seriously, I was somewhere between madness and despair by 11am. First off, it was PT day – meaning that my neck and back were prodded and poked and bruised – all for the sake of HEALING what AILS me. Poor Nicolai – he tries so hard not to hurt me – but by the time I leave the session, I am definitely moaning and not in that "hit me baby, one more time" way. Anyway, after the torture-fest was over, I went to work – where the day just got better and better!
In between dealing with "Never Works Guy" and HTML coding a very large and daunting document, I was able to drink 3 cans of Mt. Dew, listen to my iPod, and humiliate myself by professing a "crush" that I don't even have -- to someone. Okay – the word "professing" is an embellishment – what I really did was tell someone that I had a crush – and when he asked on who* ("whom*" I corrected in my head – but not aloud as it could hurt his little feelings) I said, "you". He then said something along the lines of . . ."hmmm, heard you have a date with so-and-so coming up". To which I respond in a defensive and self-deprecating manner. And wonder who the hell told him that! First off, it isn't a date really, I conned him into it. Second, who told you????? Was it 'Surfer Boy'? Is that who opened his big mouth?" Where did the conversation go wrong? I tell boy that I have a crush on him (which was obviously taken as a joke) – boy mentions a date that I (may or may not) have in the undisclosed future – and I react like a fucking crazy person! WTF??? Then- he CALLS ME OUT on my craziness – via Chat of all things. And he was right! I was behaving like a lunatic over a comment I said in jest!
By 4 o'clock, I was 'running on empty' and the Fiber One bar I had consumed hours earlier was long forgotten. Hence, the need for the aforementioned Garden Salsa Sun Chips. Fast forward an hour and I am desperate for assistance. I do not understand the notes I am working from and I need clarification. So I ask 'Crush Boy' for assistance – and he sends me to someone on my DTM list! Really? Really? The DTM (Dead to Me) list is serious business. I cannot talk to people who are dead to me – it defeats the purpose of the damn list! But in desperation, I called him and left a voice mail that said, "Look, you are dead to me, and we both know it – but I need your help – so, if you have time, please call me back." And he did!
Guess he is a Hindu – with the reincarnation wheel of karma on his side – because he no longer has DTM status! Redemption!!!
Now, I am at home, unable to build my bookcase because I cannot find the hardware to it. Somewhere, either in the garage, in a box – or more probable, on the side of the interstate somewhere between Fort Worth and Omaha – there is a bag of hardware. I will now have to call IKEA and pay for new hardware. And pieces of bookcase are littering my living room.
Alright, I think I am finally done ranting. I apologize that there is no 'funny' or 'witty' or even 'tolerable' sentiment in this posting.
I'll make it up to you – I promise!
PERSONAL NOTE: I need to find my own Michael Weston! How fricking cool would that be? You can have Shawn Spencer and we can have a double wedding! Woohoo!!!
