Pity, Party of One.
Monday, Mar. 31, 2003 @ 3:17 p.m.

I'm sick. I'm sick and that means I'm also weepy. Please, everyone must feel sorry for me. Poor, poor Adrien. She has a cold and everything is bleak. Poor, poor Adrien had a shitty weekend, as did her husband. Weep for us both, friends. I'm trying very hard to not cry at work and I only wish I was kidding.

I want to cry because I'm sick and can't afford to take the day off. I want to cry because I missed the first bike race. I want to cry because it snowed yesterday. I want to cry because, for about an hour, we had a house and now we don't. I want to cry because I can't find a job and I feel like I'll never catch up financially. I want to cry because I have to buy a new muffler for my car with my clothing consignment money. Wah. I know, it's tough all over, Ponyboy.

Really, I'm a fully grown up lady of 31 and I want to have a huge temper tantrum about how UNFAIR things are. But I'm sick, and being sick makes me all full of self-pity and melodrama.

Ooh, I think my decongestant just kicked in. I'm still congested, I'm just much, much calmer about it.

My nose is sore. Ooh, hm. Decongestant makes me stupid. No write good.

********************************

Small Talk.

So, here's an addition to the Smarmy story on Friday. Apparently, Smarmy had his fianc�s engagement ring in his pocket (I guess he was holding it for her so her mom wouldn't see it) and he was (get this) afraid the diamond was going to cut a hole in his pocket and fall out. Ha! What the hell kind of diamond is this? A razor-sharp industrial drill bit diamond?

It gets better! He then put the ring in his wallet, but was afraid he'd sit on it and crush it. Crush it? Crush the powerful denim-cutting diamond? Such logic. He ended up putting it on a chain around his neck. Fool. I'm surprised he wasn't worried that the diamond would slash his throat, being so sharp and all.

In other work news, I'm pretty sure my boss thinks I'm insane. We all print to the same giant printer and I was printing out a cover letter and copy of my resume on the sly (so I can then fax them off on the sly). At the exact moment I hit "print", my boss sudden heads for the printer. Disaster!

I sprinted out of my chair and reached the printer at the same time, just as her hand was reaching for my cover letter. I practically pushed her out of the way and snatched the cover letter off the printer before she saw it. Saved. But, uh, really, rude of me. Hopefully she'll just chalk it up to my being sick and out of it. Hee.

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Party Games.

I don't know why, exactly, but when I'm really, really stressed about my job situation, I find that applying for a job, applying for any job, makes me feel better. Maybe it's just that action makes me feel less like a Helpless Victim of the Bad Economy. Also, I'm allowed to complain about how I can't find a job if I'm actively trying to find one, right?

But maybe it's really because somewhere deep inside, like, somewhere in my small intestines, I still think that one of these resumes I send out will actually take. I still believe in myself enough to think that, one day, someone will look at my resume and find what they're looking for.

I can only hope they'll overlook the January-September 2002 time gap that screams: OUT-OF-WORK SLACKER! WHAT DID SHE DO FOR 9 MONTHS? NOT WORK, THAT'S FOR SURE!

Boy, I sure would like a real job.

********************************

Party Favors.

Overheard in the loan center:

"I'm having trouble finding summer shoes because everything in the stores is so trendy." Said by a woman wearing an Eeyore sweatshirt.

Have some fun with Porn Star or My Little Pony?, brought to you by The Brunching Shuttlecocks, who also offer The Apathetic Online Journal Entry Generator, which I think will come in really handy.

*******

0 chatty monkeys

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