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I’ve been meaning to write about work for a while, but now that I no longer have any idea who is reading this, it’s kind of a dicey proposition. For one thing, I would have to come up with nicknames for people so that I would have deniability in case I ever get dooced.

I’ll just skip to the punchline which was, “I’ll have you know I’ve been called beautiful by two different drunk men!”

Apparently my company also employs a porn star. Or a phone sex worker. All I can say about that is that she used the PA system to invite all employees to get ice cream at the back dock in a verrry sultry voice. I’m pretty sure “ice cream” was a euphemism.

Speaking of euphemisms, I need a date. I kind of blew off the match.you’re.a.failure.at.love.com woman after I gave her yet another chance with yet another clever, witty email full of things for her to respond to – and got no response. Until the day before yesterday when I received an email that said, “Would you care to chat some?” She hadn’t even read the second email I had sent ten, count them TEN, days before. Not that I keep track or anything. Actually, I just thought she wasn’t interested. But that response, “Would you care to chat some?” annoyed me.

Why? Who the hell knows? I’m easily irked. I think it was because I’d put a lot of effort into trying to get to know her and I felt like that effort was neither matched nor appreciated. I finally responded with “I’d prefer to stick with email for now. I suspect we’re looking for different things, but I’m willing to find out if I’m wrong.”

Which was a pretty bitchy thing to say and I didn’t expect a response. But I got one that said, “Ok. I’m still planning to respond to your email as soon as I have time.”

Oh.

Then I felt like a bitch because I totally get not having time for things. I make time for email and my blog because it’s how I blow off steam, but if you’re not a person who likes to write, then email is probably the last thing on your list when you’re busy. So now I don’t know what to say. I feel like I should say something. Preferably something that isn’t snotty and/or rude.

Speaking of rude, MoC is mad at me. I went over tonight to fix dinner for her and found a plastic food container on the counter. It had a stain on it (some kind of pasta sauce) and a note that said, “This is why I don’t put plastic containers in the dishwasher.”

To which I replied, “They’re cheap and easily replaceable.” God damn it. And then I tossed the container and the note in the trash, where Joy will find it in the morning.

Then MoC said, “That note isn’t for you, it’s for Barb.” (the weekend day person).

So I said, “So what? It’s rude and it’s none of her damn business what we put in the dishwasher.”

So she said, “I can nuke dinner and you can just go if you want.”

Fuck.

I’m working a shit-ton of overtime this week and I am leaving Friday morning for Hell St. Louis, so yes, I was in a hurry to get back home so I could feed the beasts and have my own dinner, but I didn’t realize I was being that cranky.

So I left.

And now I feel bad about the whole thing and am sitting here wondering why I’m alone in the world. Reading over this, I see no clues at all. Nope. Not one.

Weird, huh?

I need a break.

I need to go straight to hell St. Louis.

 

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