Archive | March, 2013

Just Let Me Die

13 Mar

Stomach flu.  Or food poisoning.  Either way, just let me die.  Wonder if it’s related to the Cool Whip that I take out of the freezer every night, let it soften, take two bites from, and then put back in the freezer.  Ugh.  Gross.

In half an hour I’m supposed to be leading a session for a fancy client.  That is totally not happening, mainly because I don’t want to vomit all over the floor halfway through the session.  My efforts to find a back up have totally failed.  They’re on their own.  I hate having to do that.  It’s shitty.  I do a favor for a friend and pick up this session, and then the day of I have to back out.  Horrible.  Just horrible.

I’ve never been the type of person to drag myself out of the house when I feel like dying.  Frankly, I’ve never understood how on earth people are able to do that.  How can you sit at your desk, stare at the computer screen, and get any work done while you’re also trying to hold all your puke down?  Vomiting is bad enough, but when you’re forced into a little stall and you know all your coworkers are hearing you it makes it that much worse.

No thanks, I’ll stay home, curl up on my bathroom floor, and then cry while I throw up.

They’re Ba-ack

11 Mar

Daylight Savings Time is upon us.  That time where many of us here in the States (aside from the smart people in Arizona) adjust their clocks forward in hopes of having some extra time in which to do their outdoor chores.  For many of us, it’s a time that the curses to our alarm clocks become even louder.

I do this asinine thing where I adjust the clock by 35 minutes because I HATE when I look at my clock and it tells me that it’s still before 7:00.  Deep down inside I know that it’s 6:35 when it goes off, but seeing the numbers as 7:10 makes me feel better for some reason.  I think it has to do with the serotonin levels or the fact that I’m part idiot on my dad’s side.  Not sure.  I know enough to mumble, “fuck” every morning when I try to do the calculations of how many times I can hit the snooze button while still ensuring I have enough time to get read for work.  It works out to something like this:

  • Snooze once – entire morning routine, no impact to arriving to work on time
  • Snooze twice – skip the leg shaving, approximately 5 minutes late to work
  • Snooze three times – dip head under faucet and go for full shampoo, approximately 5 minutes late to work
  • Snooze four times – everything is totally fucked no matter what

I know the outcomes, but I still have to go through the process every morning.  It’s just as well, all that thinking makes it harder to go back to sleep anyway.

This morning when the alarm went off it made it harder to weigh the pros/cons of the snooze vs. cleanliness debate.  Mainly because I had been robbed of that hour of precious sleep.  Lord knows how I managed it, but this time I managed to actually get to work on time – for the second time this year.

On the bright side, there was still light out.  Nothing makes me feel as accomplished as getting home and putting my pajamas on while there’s still sunlight out.  It really brings an element of pride to know that I’m sitting on the couch, eating chips out of the bag, wearing flannel pajamas, and watching repeats of “Dateline”.

So hear I am, all tucked up on the couch, remote control in hand, setting sun behind me.  Ready to go and excited to watch what mystery will unfold, when it hits me – the sound of the neighborhood children scream outside.  Tis the season when youngsters who have been cooped up for an entire season begin flocking to the streets in masses.  They climb trees, they play ball, they play hide-n-seek, they yell, they scream, and then they yell some more.

Damn little bastards.

In somewhat related news I’ve suddenly become an old biddy.

Proof He Wants Me

8 Mar

At least he does in my mind…

So yesterday my boss and I were off to a meeting together, the following conversation ensued.

  • Hot Boss with Dreamy Blue Eyes: I have to go stop in the bathroom.  Can you wait for me?
  • Me: Sure.  Do you want me to hold your stuff?
  • HBwDBE: Great! [Hands me his coffee and folder] I have to take a dump.  KIDDING!
  • Me: Good luck!  If you’re not out in five minutes I’ll send help.

That totally happened.  He said that to me.  I’d still totally make out with him.



3 Mar



Number Two

2 Mar


Who knew there was actually an audience for saving your poop? Went to the Philadelphia Flower Show today and part of the exhibit focused on this.

In somewhat related news, I’m on the train on my way home and it’s filled with drunk college kids. First of all they’ve totally killed my buzz. Secondly, I hate each and every one of them. Especially the blond one with the hooked heels who seems to have forgotten how to walk. Whore.