Wednesday, January 24, 2007
12:10 p.m.

After my myriad attempts to avoid work for the past several hours proved futile, I must resort to venting on my own time. I only have 30(ish) minutes. I’ll get to that.

Because I came in late on Monday, I need to make up some hours to ensure I will have a full paycheck next week. I was to come in from 7-5 (or 7-4:30 with 1/2 hour lunch) instead of my usual 7-4. Monday night I was super-productive to atone for the last several days of panic, mania, and general household slackery. I put most of the laundry away, did my homework, and even ironed my pants for work. I NEVER iron. I usually try to negotiate Brian to do it for me. Sometimes it works. Anyway, I set my alarm and went to sleep. I woke up at 8:01am. There are two alarm presets: 6:00am and 8:00am. Obviously I chose the wrong one. So I was an HOUR AND A HALF LATE when I’m supposed to be making up the time I already lost Monday. Bollucks and curses. So yes, I took a vacation from being my perfect self. I had to reconfigure my little schedule, and now I am taking my pathetic little 30 minute lunch and huddling in my cubicle with a hot pocket. Thanks to yesterday’s fiasco, I have to stay here until 4:30. For shame.

Let’s explore this: How fucking hard is it to set an alarm clock? Carl’s Junior employees open that place at 7 or before, and probably get up at 5am. If they can handle it, what’s my problem? I even looked at both settings and picked Alarm 1. Or 2. Whatever. It was the wrong one. The one excuse I could use is that it’s a new alarm clock, I’ve had it since Christmas. It works with my ipod, and once I figure out how to maximize it’s capabilities, it will be awesome. So far I’ve just used it to fall asleep to music and end up waking up to the same damn A Tribe Called Quest song because I haven’t learned to program it. A Tribe Called Quest is obviously the first band on the ipod. I considered deleting it, I don’t even like them that much, “I Left My Wallet in El Segundo” is one of the only notable songs for me. So the moral is, I need to learn to use my alarm clock and possibly delete A Tribe Called Quest from my ipod.

Now that I’ve berated myself thoroughly, I resume my position as Perfect Girl and continue the shameless, remorseless ridicule of others:

Irritant 1: I don’t know why I don’t like you, you’re perfectly nice. Supposedly. But UGH, even your fucking sneeze annoys the bejesus out of me. What is that weird funny groan at the end? Are you climaxing? Gross. I sense a smugness lying beneath the surface, or an arrogant intelligence that you keep in your pocket to whip out at a moment’s notice, like a switchblade in a rumble among street toughs. I feel guilty for even writing all this about you, I barely know you. But obviously not that guilty, or I wouldn’t at all. And I’ve gotten a lot of positive feedback on my negativity.

Irritant 2: Oh my god, you have GOT to stop talking in that dreadful, insipid baby voice. You are way too old and not nearly attractive enough for that to be cute. “Uh-oh, paper tray empty! Me sad.” The problem is exacerbated when syllables are drawn out. I.e: “Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii [name]. How aaaaaaaaaaare you?” God dammit speak like a fucking adult! Suppose that the baby voice is our control subject. You are a variable (Variable 1). Another variable is a smokin’ hot chick  that everyone wants to bang. A guy sees said smokin’ hot chick (SHC) and thinks “Damn, I need to get my fuck on with her! Tell my daughter she’ll have other birthdays.” Guy meets SHC and she pulls the sickening sugary drabble. Guy’s chubby drops about 3 points out of 10. Maybe even 5-6. If he’s a normal guy, assuming he’s not a Jay I’ll-fuck-anything-that-moves frat-tard (that’s an entirely different variable). Since he still has 4-7 points of his chub, he’s thinking, “still fuckable.” Which means that despite the utter repulsion, sexually and otherwise, of the baby voice, the overall attractiveness of the SHC (Variable 2, you’re still Variable 1) and his sex drive (Variable 3), he will tolerate the baby voice in order to get laid, and possibly establish some kind of NSA (No Strings Attached) relationship with SHC unless he discovers that she’s a brilliant biochemist or something, that just happens to have a weird peculiarity. Therefore, were it not for Variables 2 and 3, he would most certainly have nothing to do with such nonsense, and probably want to kick you in the face to make you stop. Or better yet, kick a baby in the face, right in front of you to make you stop. “Keep talking and I’ll keep kickin’, you baby-talking bitch!” Please. Save the baby. Stop talking like a retarded infant. Other than that, I love you. Really. Don’t change, call me, have a good summer, keep in touch. All that shit.