Think I’ve reached the max. It’s gotten to the point that I can’t find anything to do on the interwebs.
This job I started last summer has me doing a whole lot of nothing. Nada. Zilch. I just sit and stare at the computer, update Facebook, online shop, and stare out my door longingly hoping someone will come and talk to me.
Mixed blessing having an office. On the one hand I can surf the web all day and take online surveys for airline miles. On the other it’s so painfully boring that I sometimes pretend I have to go to the bathroom just so I can talk to people. Legit the people are are totes anti social. Do you have any idea what it’s like for an extrovert to work with a bunch of people who hate talking to other people? I hope you never have to find out. Ever.
It’s barely noon and so far I’ve already: looked at Facebook 16 times, read all the celebrity gossip TMZ had to offer, attempted to find pants that fit my ample ass, looked for patio furniture, responded to 3 emails, went back to Facebook, and updated my resume.
What the fuck am I supposed to do for the rest of the day?
Oh hey! It’s been a while. What’s new with you? How’s life treating you?
Yeah, I’m pretty good. New job. New city. Have a cat. Still single. Hate my job. Still fat. Did I mention I’m still single?
So tell me everything that’s going on in your life!
Psst…I’ll let you in on a little secret: Mexicans don’t celebrate Cinco de Mayo. Mind blown. I know. Totally try, google it.
Now, since I am Mexican and I live in the US and I love margaritas I’m gonna go ahead and drink as many as I can without wanting to die. So join me! Let’s vow to swap out all our beverages for the day with margaritas, and to fill our bellies with tacos. Sombreros are optional.
Who’s with me??
Oh, and more secret. God forbid Trump wins, Mexico isn’t going to help him build that wall.
My name is “No.” My sign is “No.” My number is “No.” You need to let it go. You need to let it go, need to let it go.
That’s not even good writing! And yet, I can’t stop wandering around singing it to myself. You can imagine how cool I must have seemed wandering through the local Wawa singing that out loud when I was reaching in the cooler for a can of Diet Coke. Somehow doing that doesn’t seem quite as sexy and charming as if some pop star was doing it. Doesn’t translate into real life.
Damn you, Meghan Trainor, for sticking this damn song in my head!!
I need Taylor Swift to give me something better to sing. Like “Blank Space” or “Wildest Dreams.”
Being a dentist must be difficult, it’s hard to imagine another profession that’s as detested. Just imaging laying back, the dentist shoving both hands in my mouth while he asks me about how work is going, and then having to spit in the little toilet sink is enough to make me break out into a sweat. I generally find every excuse to postpone the appointment.
With things being so shitty at work now, and as I count the days until I can quit the thought of going doesn’t seem quite as bad. Option 1 is to stay at work all day and listen to one of my clients complain about why we’ve changed to smaller cup sizes in the cafeteria, option 2 is to go to the dentist and listen to inane stories of travels to Florida for golf trips with “the boys”. I choose option 2.
Several months ago my friend, Judy, sent me a thoughtful birthday gift – some delicious chocolate covered caramels from the other side of the world. I had popped one in my mouth and was thinking happy thoughts about what the next year would bring when I bit down on the caramel. When I pulled my teeth apart I realized that one of my crowns had remained in the chocolate.
Not a good start to the year.
In January I went to see the Endodontist. “You have to have a root canal!” she announced while staring at the X-ray. “But I’ve already had a root canal on that tooth,” I told her. Who knew you could have multiple root canals on the same tooth? As it turns out when I originally had it done about 8 years ago that the dentist was a jack ass and failed to do it right. That would explain why over the years why I’d suffered from the most excruciating mouth pains known to man. So there I was, fresh off my 32nd (+10) birthday being told that I needed to spend more time with hands shoved down my throat.
The sexiest part was when the tooth was taken down to the rotten nub that it was and she announced that I couldn’t have the crown put back for 6 months. Yeah, nothing says sexy like a 32 (+10) with a tiny nub for a tooth. SEXY! How about adding that to your Tinder profile??
Fast forward four months, and I’m finally heading back to get it taken care of (fuck that 6 month rule of hers). While I hate the idea of having to spend hour upon hour in that scary chair, I take comfort in knowing that every second in that chair means one that I’m not at work. You know things are bad at work when the best part of your day is leaving early to go to the dentist’s office.
Nothing like having gloved hands shoved in your mouth while being asked questions about your summer vacation plan to make you question your existence.
That’s right, fans. I’m taking matters into my hands and doing what it takes.
And by “matters” I mean “every snack food I can find” and “doing what it takes” I mean “shoving them down my throat”.
Stupid PMS. How is it possible to have so many cravings that can never be satisfied? It’s a miracle I haven’t eaten the island in the middle of my kitchen. The only reason I haven’t tried it is because it’s black and gray and I can’t think of any appetizing foods that are black and gray.
In the last 45 minutes I hoovered:
- An entire bag of chips
- 3 candy bars (the mini ones)
- A bowl of ice cream
- 2 pieces of cheese
- 1/4 herb turkey
- 1 mango
I also managed to break out with 2 brand new pimples. Welcome Simone and Simone 2!
Next up I’m going to sit on the couch and sob my way through the latest episode of Game of Thrones. First I need a big glass of wine so I can rehydrate myself from all the tears I’m going to shed.
How much longer until menopause and hot flashes?