- Although Matt Roberts, inventor of The Tinge vibrator slash razor, had enough free time to read my blog, comment on my blog and send me a passive-aggressive email mocking my broken Slammock dreams, he isfaaarrrrrtoo busy to respond to my Tinge Challenge. In the words of the great Stephanie Tanner; how rude! In the words of the greater Mr. Bear; go fuck yourself dickweed.
- I still have yet to hug John McCain. I believe this is directly correlated to the tears I cry every night and the nightmares I wake from every morning.
- Although I lost The Great JDate Debate, I never emailed my J-Stud. This is primarily because I don't have a JDate account and refuse to pay $40 for a one-month subscription just to email him. It's a recession and sorry guy, but you're not $40 hot. $15 hot? Sure! But $40? Pfff, please...I'm not even $40 hot, so don't take it too personally.
Oddly enough, a few weeks after our debate, JDate matched Anna's roommate Jill with JStud #1. She emailed him and heard crickets back. Perhaps he was too busy ruminating about how cool the ocean is or was on a hat factory tour somewhere. Our loss.
- Although I still think I'm cursed, I never went in for my reiki-healing session. This, again, is related to my lack of the monies. However, I opened my umbrella in my apartment by accident last week and have now convinced myself that I've doubled my curse and will die of swine flu the H1N1 virus soon. Maybe I'll start saving the Mall Madness dollars I get paid in and actually go?
- Lazy-Eyed Tim's story checked out. He really is best friends with my boss. Even better, he apparently just took over the DC/MD/NoVa veneer territory and will from now on be working out of our office frequently. We already have an event scheduled together in two weeks...soooo get ready for more Lazy-Eyed Tim stories!
Apologies to the masses who were looking forward to yesterday's recrap of The Hills (and by "the masses," I clearly mean Sabrina from Toronto.) Every now and then my real-person job has to take priority over the blog. Oddly responsible and out of character, I know. Here's the long and short of Monday night's episode: Brody banged Audrina; Lauren is still boring and Spencer is trying to find Jesus. 'Stache already found him years ago, so that should help.
I have to explain what just happened to me at work. Because writing about how painfully awkward and unfortunate I am makes it easier to habitat my person. All day. Everyday.
Russell the Co-Worker had a sales meeting this morning with some people from the Pentagon. Russell decided to shoot the shit with said various Pentagon officials directly in front of my desk before starting their studio tour. I hate when he does this. Because it puts a lot of pressure on me to stop g-chatting and googling "pugs in cute outfits" and actually do my job.
Normally this whole shit-shooting session lasts about five minutes. Sure, I'm temporarily irritated but I get to go on with my day, no fuss, no muss. Today's shit-shooting session, however, went horribly, horribly wrong. It was like some Lemony Snicket shit; unfortunate event after unfortunate event...and none of them made me look very cute.
First of all, I really had to re-adjust my boobs. I don't know what to tell you about that. The bra I'm wearing today is highly uncomfortable and when you've got giant hooters, sometimes you just gotta resituate 'em. However resituating is considerably difficult when you have Pentagon officials staring at you waiting for you to piss your pants laughing because "it feels like a Wednesday, huh?" HAHAHALOLZ IT DOES! WE ALL HATE OUR JOBS AND IT'S FUNNY! I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING WITH MY LIFE LOLZ! SOMETIMES I CRY LATE AT NIGHT!! LMAO!!!!1
My uncomfortableness increased when I became aware of a bug bite on the top of my left foot. That sick son of a bitch itched like I have never felt from a bug bite before. Not wanting to reach under my desk and make a rapid jerking/scratching motion, I decided to be stealthy and use my right heel to do the scratchin'. Which worked out quite well. I felt better and returned my attention to figuring out how I could squirm at just the right angle to fix my jugs-conundrum.
Then, I sneezed. There's really no classy way to say this, but I sneezed an ample amount of snot directly into my hands. Sorry, I'm only human. A human with allergies. So I was in this horrible situation where I couldn't take my hands away from my face or else Pentagon guys would probably lose their complimentary cheese danish, but really need to fix this situation. I didn't know what to do. I just kind of awkwardly sat there for a few seconds covering my face being like, "it is far too early in the morning for me to figure out how I remedy this highly complicated situation." I finally came to the conclusion that I needed a tissue; the nearest box being in the swatch library behind me. But damnit—how to open the door handle with my hands otherwise preoccupied?! I decided the classiest way would be with my ass. And you're welcome, Pentagon officials. If it weren't for the snot, I bet it would slightly hotter.
Once in the library, I blew my nose, fixed my jugs and was feeling 100% better. I opened the door (again using my ass, because frankly it felt kind of cool the first time) and walked out of the library feeling composed, until I slipped on something. I looked down and thought "Hm, I don't remember tracking in any mud?" But it was not mud. It was blood. There was a trail of blood leading from under my desk and into the library. There was a genuine moment of panic when I thought to myself, "Holy shit...did I kill someone? Was that fantasy about shanking the man who bumped into me without saying 'excuse me' on the metro this morning not a fantasy at all, but rather reality?" Thankfully (or not-so-thankfully,) I looked down and realized that my left foot was bleeding profusely, filling my newly purchased and expensive shoes with blood. Damn you bug bite! Damn you pointy heel! Damn you decision to scratch said bug bite with said pointy heel!
So, I had to figure out a way to clean the pool of blood surrounding my desk without Russell or the Pentagon people being any the wiser. This is especially terrible timing as yesterday my co-workers approached me about how they think I'm mysterious and aloof. I guess a pool of blood surrounding my desk leading into the library miiiight not make me seem any more approachable?
I had to clean up the blood before the studio tour started. Because there was no time to go back to the library and get tissues, I busted out a Macgyver move and used 235,259 post-it notes and a bottle of Deer Park water to clean it up. If our cleaning people find the pile of bloody post-it notes in my trash, I will in no way judge them for calling the authorities. I probably deserve as much.
I believe it was when I was going for that last hard-to-reach splash of blood underneath my desk with a hot-pink post-it note that Russel the Co-Worker, looming over me asked, "Girl, what in the hell are you doing down there?" "It's not what it looks like?" was my only answer. He paused, shrugged and then stepped over me to start his studio tour.
So to answer your earlier hilarious question Pentagon guy, yes. Yes it truly does feel like a Wednesday.
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