I know. I haven’t written in like a week. And I have no good excuse. Except that I find being utterly lazy and sloth-like is a damn good excuse.
Don’t worry, I didn’t eat too much bacon and have a heart attack. No, I didn’t melt into a puddle like the Wicked Witch in Wizard of Oz because of the damn heat. And no, I didn’t get a DUI and end up in jail in a cell next to Paris Hilton. (Although out of all these fake situations, that one is the most realistic.)
Work sucks. Yeah, I said it. I don’t much care for my job. I think a lot of it is because I’m new and still figuring out when I can tell someone to shove a steel bar up their ass and when I can’t. And I was hating it so much towards the end of last week I was about to cry or quit. And figured that you probably didn’t want to hear all about my ranting and whinyness and overall bitter attitude. Because really, I need to shut the fuck up and just do the work and pay the damn bills. Because maybe I should keep a job this time around. Ya think?
But actually I was super busy last week with that conference. Busy not being able to type in the meeting room. Because you? TYPE LOUD! And I think they caught me checking out MamaPop. Which, roll your eyes at someone else person who is checking Yahoo mail and a BAKERY WEBSITE! Those in glass houses and all that shit. Because I got a fucking trunk full of rocks! (I have no idea what that means.)
And yesterday I went to my brother’s graduation at Navy Pier and then we went on a boat cruise on the Lake. And I was so damn tired from the walking and the sitting that I went to bed at 7 PM. Like when the sun was STILL OUT. But mostly it was because I didn’t get home from Jenn’s birthday party until 2:30 AM. Which meant that being at Navy Pier at 10 AM was going to be rough. But I made it. Am rockstar. Hand over medal.
And now I’m a fucking sloth because I ate too much for dinner. From the Mexican dive-y place down the street. That I am convinced should start giving me free burritos because I think I’m part of the reason why they are still in business. I’m like a walking advertisement. What with the jiggly belly. And the flabby arms. And the round jovial face. Jammed with carne asada. And the fact that I’m usually walking in and out of that place at least once a week. (I was there last Thursday too.)
And I’m even more mad about the full belly because I have Oreos in the house. And milk! And I want to eat them! But then will vomit on the cat. And I just took him to the vet and damn the vet is expensive and I need to keep him around a little longer to justify the cost. And by the way, he has cat acne. Hey kids, become a vet. That’s where the money is. I paid $32 for Kitty Oxy 10. Am world’s biggest fucktard. Zits never killed any one. And he fucking licks most of the medicine off every time I put it on anyway.
And now I must go to bed. (Did you notice I started like every fucking paragraph with AND? Because laziness = small words and/or the same word.) Because am still tired from stupid conference. And all the liquor. And apparently boats are exhausting.
And because when I asked Bacon, he said “Boycott Tofu.” Where Tofu must mean writing inane bullshit on your blog. But tonight! I defy you Bacon! Don’t spit grease on me. It hurts.
And Tuesday night I’m going to the Cubs game. So don’t ask why I didn’t post. Because clearly I will be drunk. Unless my stomach explodes from the mass of tortilla and steak in my belly.
In which case I’ll stick to less than 12 beers.