Thursday, March 10, 2005

Does Anyone Have a Knife?

Trying out new system where I leave a Word doc open all day and type on it when I feel like it. Because I have this ridiculous habit of writing down things that I want to write about and then LOSING THEM because this is what I do. I lose things. More specifically, I forget where I put them and then find then ages later when I can’t remember the thought process behind writing “Jesus pamphlet” on a scrap of paper.

I will have to write about the Jesus pamphlet, but later, because it is a very involved subject and I’m slightly distracted today by the sunshine and cannot focus on anything more mind-boggling than what I would like to eat for lunch in, oh, two and a half hours.

I think I would like Cheetos.

OH MY DEAR LORD I know I have beaten this into the ground, but I really can’t handle the foot pain any more. It’s hideous. I had to get up and take something over to data entry a minute ago (naturally, this is ALL THE WAY OVER to the other side of building) and it took every amount of self respect I had to not pull off my shoe, drop to the floor and WEEP. How can this little thing be so painful? Why is my foot mad at me? I buy such pretty shoes for them! In fact, today I am wearing the pink ones. Surely that makes feet happy, right? Must I wear granny shoes for the rest of my life? I cannot BEAR it!

I came back from lunch to find Ms. Linda’s desk (cubicle in front of me) decorated in balloons, shiny confetti and crepe ribbon. Honestly, it’s a little scary. Ohmigod my birthday is coming up. Yay! I love birthdays. I’m hoping for a better one this year. The last few have blown. Last year I sat in Grumpy’s until midnight with then-friend-who-is-a-boy-with-benefits and drank in my 24th and overanalyzed everything that had gone wrong and ended up in a drunken, depressed stupor. Pathetic. Previous year I was in New York and not a single soul knew it was my birthday and I was so very depressed until my friend Brittany sent me an e-card, but then became melancholy again because my parents didn’t call me until the day after and nobody else remembered. I guess without me there panting in anticipation of another birthday it slipped everyone’s minds. But I was very sad.

But my lunch break was good, even if it did involve me walking across the parking lot into the faraway land known as the “upper parking level.” Kasi and I ate at the Coffee Beanery, which is always tastee and delicious but is filled with the most vile and unhelpful staff. Skanks.

I would like a Popsicle. A green one. Because my throat is itchy and if I’m going to eat a Popsicle I want it to match today’s sweater.

But I have no access to Popsicles so therein resides a problem.

I am boycotting doing any more work. But I have so much more to dooooo, she whines obnoxiously….

My computer makes noises all the time and vibrates the whole desk. I think this is a sign of ghettoness.
G H E T-T O, this is what we call the GHET-TO!
WOOOOO! Goooooooooo GHETTO!! (spirit fingers, everyone!)

Could not lay hands on Popsicle of any flavor so chose green sucker. To match my sweater. Yes, I am that vain. Not really. I just like green flavor better. I don’t like cherry flavored anything. I always pick out and throw away/give away the cherry starburst from the package because I think they taste like Ludens cough drops. Blech. And Cherry Koolaid? Nasty. Like sucking down liquid asshole. My father finds it vastly amusing when I say things taste ‘like ass.’ I think it is an apt description, even if I have never (and never will) participated in the tasting of an asshole. I’m curious as to how the whole tossing the salad thing came about. I mean, before someone even thought that that might be a pleasure center for some folks, who said, of all the things I could DO to your asshole…. I think I’ll LICK IT. No thank you. I would prefer that my asshole stay lick-free. And everything else-free, for that matter.

I need a knife to saw off my pinkee toe. I swear to God I will wear non-pointy gramma like shoes tomorrow. Please stop throbbing. Please. I beg you, feet. Take it out your anger on my calf or my thigh or my elbow… just leave the pinkee toe out of this. It’s delicate and innocent and should not be punished for my own actions.

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