Part of my malaise is due to the fact that I'm fucking sick of dealing with so many inflated egos at work. We're here to DO something, to PRODUCE something, not to make each other feel good or pretty or popular or thin or smart or funny. I don't advocate people going out of their way to make people feel bad, but why should I have to kiss someone's ass just so they'll give me what I need to do my job?? Captain Whacky, my boss, is reviled by some due to some pretty decent reasons (she makes Don Rickles look smooth and polished sometimes), but if she made you feel bad, get the fuck over it and just do your damn job and leave me the hell out of it. It's like I'm working in a prima donna factory.
The other anvil whistling toward my head is the vast amount of work that needs to be done in and to my house. Here's the short list:
And the list could go on and on and...
This morning I was so cranky that I was actually impatient with Katy! I yelled at her for eating poop!
Then on my way to work I was an hour late because of this:
There were dozens of police cars, at least a dozen motorcycle officers, two fire trucks, several tow trucks, and several ambulances at the scene. They had closed down the highway. It was scary and very sobering, even though I wasn't drunk yet.
In papal news, I don't want to see the dead pope on my tv anymore, so stop showing it. It's not respectful, it's gross.
I have been driving around with a BB gun in the back seat of my car for two weeks. Am I a real Texan yet?0 comments so far