Okay, really? A slutty, ten-year-old witch?

The last several Halloweens have found my girlfriends and myself complaining that all of the prepackaged Halloween costumes for women are always slutty- slutty cheerleader, slutty nurse, slutty Snow White, slutty post woman, slutty police woman, slutty Goldilocks (FOR GOD'S SAKES, GOLDILOCKS WAS A CHILD). News flash: not all of us want to be slutty on Halloween. Some of us don't want to wear a tiny swath of spandex with our Cinderella-cleavage bursting out for all to see. But, you know, that's how it goes sometimes.

Then I happened across this on a website called Back To Basics Toys. I like the website, I like a lot of the stuff they sell, I've never ordered anything from them but I was considering a few things for Reed's next birthday. But THIS! No no no no NO, I tell you!



I seriously cannot deal with this shit, this idea that our daughters (okay, YOUR daughters) are supposed to be wearing fifteen pounds of make-up and a skirt with a sexy slit and a low-cut neck by the age of twelve (the largest size is for a 12-year-old girl), much less by the age of EIGHT (the smallest size listed), you sick, twisted motherfuckers! Lord help us all, I think we are veering madly into some sick, crazy, regrettable territory.

In a world where all our television programming is infested with "Let's Catch a Scary Pedophile!" shows, where lists of people who are convicted sex offenders are available on the internet, are we really also saying "Let's dress our young girls, very young girls, girls that are certainly too young to be viewed sexually, in some sexy, sexy stuff! It's just so darned cute!" And then that poor girl who modeled the outfit. Good Lord! What was her mother thinking? And the website or manufacturer or whomever is responsible for this? "Let's put this picture on the internet, where it's safe and sound and certainly no sexual deviants abound!" Listen, I get that anyone who puts pictures of their kid on the internet risks someone looking at them in different ways and for different purposes than they intend. I get that I put tons of pictures on my kids on the internet. But for fuck's sakes, it's a little different when you're TARTING UP YOUR KIDS AND STICKING THEM ON HERE FOR ALL TO SEE. There's something intentional about it, see? There is a huge difference between me saying, "Look, here's my kid cutting his birthday cake in his bike helmet and Batman shirt!" and someone else saying, "Look, here's my kid, my young daughter, wearing enough make-up to play understudy to Tammy Faye Bakker and a low-cut dress with a high slit! Maybe one day she'll have some boobs to fill it out!" I don't know if you see a difference, but I see a difference.

Point is, it's grotesque, and I think we're asking too much from these young girls when we allow them to dress like grown-ups, like slutty grown-ups, and then telling them to be chaste and save it for marriage, expressing concern about std's and teen pregnancy, espousing these ideals about kids should be kids and they are all growing up too fast. It seems to me that we should be teaching these girls that they have power and ownership over their own bodies and the way that they present those bodies has a lot to do with the way that they are perceived by others. I think that when we take these girls and say, "Aw, look, it's so cute when they dress like grown-ups!" that some part of their childhood is lost, something slips away when they start to think "Hey, I get a lot of attention when I dress this way". And plenty of girls realize that at some point, but I think that they're realizing it a lot earlier these days, using it a lot earlier these days, and I think stuff like this has a lot to do with it.

Selections from an email exchange between friends:

I called him at NINE to see if he wanted to hang out. Fast fwd to 11:15 PM & he finally comes to pick me up. I was so sleepy (see my previous "Help, I have your sleep disorder!!" email), I figured a Red Bull would be a mere drop in the bucket -- WRONG. SO wrong. Luckily, he & his out of town guests were in it to win it, too, and so everybody is just now headed to bed after killing a 12 pack of Bud Light -- WITH LIME (ew), 1 entire bottle of Berringer white zin (oh God, college), and 3/4ths of another bottle of white zin (oh God, more college). Now I'm sitting outside basically sober, smoking a cigarette & trying to entice the neighbor's dog to come over so I can pat him on the head. (He's not buying it, though, & continues to eat grass in the front yard.) A neighbor just came outside, calling for Nick. I think that's the dog. A dog named Nick. I'm oddly amused. Yeah, the dog is DEFINITELY Nick. "Nick, come here RIGHT NOW!" etc. Hahaha. Also, I hope the neighbor doesn't decide to come over & get chatty w/ the stranger sitting on Jonathan's patio at 6:45 am, b/c I'm in no mood to be neighborly with strangers.

...

Holy fuck (by the way, I just typed "Wholy fuck!", and was like,
wait...)! I haven't gotten an email this long from you since I DON'T
KNOW WHEN.

...

I'm sure you know this, but I love when people give animals human names. And, like, names you regularly run across in casual conversation: Nick, Eric, KEITH. (One day, one of us WILL have a pet named Keith, I declare it. And by one of us, I mean me. That'll be the cat I get AFTER my Scottish Fold named Push Pin, which will be after I move out, which will be never, so you know. Yay! "And this? This is my imaginary bunny. Named Keith. Would you like to pet him? He's really imaginarily soft!")
In my drunken stupor last night, I left Dan a message on his wall, telling him "I totes understand about not being able to drive. I'm sure we can make some arrangements -- if you're not gonna bail, that is," with "totes" being my weirdo web speak for the word totally & something I try really hard to keep on the d/l in polite company, because not everybody gets it, and now that's all I'm hearing from him is "I'm not bailing....totes!" and, when I called him a smart ass, "What? I'm serious....totes serious!" Lordy. Do boys EVER grow up?? In other news, I think she is HIS AMPUTEE ROOMMATE. You totally wanna go to the party now, don't you?? (BTW, I just had to Google the word amputee to make sure I spelled it right, and you just don't wanna KNOW the shit it pulled up.) Also I just have to tell you that someone has flipped my poop switch and I CAN'T FIGURE OUT HOW TO SHUT IT OFF. I'm SERIOUS. PS: This email thread alone makes me hope and pray and hope and pray that somebody somewhere at your company is screening your emails, b/c this is what all snoopers hope for when they get into the business. Emails about amputees and pooping.

...

OH MY GOD AMPUTEES! CANCER!!!11 AAAAIIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!!117 You need sleep. I mean, if we were together right now, I would totally be on your level on account of I had some sleep and then I just had a cinnamon crunch bagel and a huge cup of coffee, but then around 11 you’d pass out and I’d be like, “Okay, now it’s time for Mexican.” “Totes?” “Totes?” “Totes?” Word's lost all meaning for me. He will probably never grow up; that is just him. I bet when he typed it he did his little squinty eyed laugh. I think it’s funny that he could even figure it out. If you want to pull out some 13-year-old, inside humor you could reply that he needs to drink his boooooooooost. You have to say it like that, Drink yer boooooooooooooost!

...

I bet he had to Google the phrase "internet slang" and "totes" to figure it out. Was it a cinnamon crunch bagel from Panera? Because I love that shit, except for when they sit in the break room for 8 straight hours and you go to the bathroom and the office smells like cinnamon crunch bagel and you come back from the bathroom and the office smells like cinnamon crunch bagel and you go to lunch and the office smells like cinnamon crunch bagel and you come back from lunch and the office smells like cinnamon crunch bagel until you want to Lysol every inch of your body because EVERYTHING SMELLS LIKE CINNAMON CRUNCH BAGELS. But. They are delicious. "A lighter: you have one?" Dude, I will never NOT love this. ALSO. WHAT THE FUCK WAS UP WITH THAT DRESS, MAN?? WAS SHE SAVING IT FOR LUKE PERRY, ER, I MEAN, ESPECIALLY, VERY SPECIFIC VAMPIRE SEX WITH BILL COMPTON???? That's got to be, hands down, the single ODDEST choice of wardrobe I've probably ever seen in a TV show. & I mean, it's not like she just APPEARED with it on! We had to SEE her picking that shit out! Intentionally! Some costume designer somewhere put SHITTONS OF THOUGHT! into Sookie's psychology behind that choice! In other news, I bet Bill was like "Awww, yeah! I get to fuck Maid Marian! Holla!"

...

First, yes, Panera cinnamon crunch. So, so good. I just went to the bathroom and found some of the crunch IN MY UNDERWEAR. That is not a joke- it is TOTES for realz. And yeah, after Jason and I watched the possum episode we sat at the table making funny dialogue and it was hilarious. And the dress! I was immediately like, “Where did she get that? A Rembrandt Fair?” And Jason was like, “Yes, that is exactly what they’re called, Buffy: a Rembrandt Fair.” And I was like, “Oh, what’s it called? What are those called?” He had to tell me IT'S A RENAISSANCE FAIR, BUFFY ‘cause I couldn’t remember. And that dress is fucking stupid as hell. Also, due to my facebook status and the ensuing comments yesterday, I will forever use the phrase “hanging up one’s meat coat” to refer to people who have become vegetarian. As in, Jason hung up his meat coat.

...

Well thank God you're going with the G-rated version. I was afraid it was gonna be the new "beef peach" -- gack.

Because the world doesn't have enough haikus, yo! Here are a few more.

Some haikus about my life lately:

I've been feeling crap-
tacular these days, for sure
Lobotomy-ho!

My throat hurts but lo!
Hot tea makes me pee too much.
Looks like beer it is.

Looking forward to
turning 30, not afraid
of the rickets. Ha!

Jason, your kid is
going to kill me, I fear.
Tell them to suck it.

I can't stop buying!
Anxiety makes me spend.
I need some more bling.

What the fuck, Prozac?
Where you been these past few months?
Don't do me like that.

"Holy fucking shit!"
my child exclaimed. I don't know
where he gets it from.

Kristi, Lindsey, Chris,
Jason and Duque and Reedy,
you my only friends.

What dreams may come.

Right, okay, so last night I dreamed that I was watching Paul Simon, John Candy, and Bob Hope perform together.

I also dreamed that I watched this guy resuscitate a drowned hamster.

What the? Wow. I am not even making this shit up.

A healthy dose of maturity.

Alagasco hates poor people, and Ms. Little over there ain't nothing but a puppet for The Man. Damn the man, save the empire!!!

Fuck 'em.

Perhaps I'll bring a better attitude tomorrow. But don't be holding your breath.

Part Four.

This is the story of our trip to Costa Rica. Part One is here, Part Two is here, and Part Three is here.

Jason drives us down the hill, and we're all clutching and screaming because apparently first gear is really loose, and ALL the gears are really hard to find, and the stick will pop out of gear at any given moment. Kristi and Chris are bumping around in the back, seatless. Jason manages to get us down and park, and declares that he will not drive that truck again.

We had a nice, calm, quiet dinner and then walked around Montezuma a bit. We came across a table of really beautiful hemp jewelry that Kristi and I both liked. The fellow selling them was a tiny, skinny boy with dreadlocks to his waist. He proceeded to talk to us in Spanish, all in Spanish, and somehow we picked up quite a bit of it. His jewelry is all totally unique, and you'll never never ("Nunca, nunca!") see anything else like it in the world. Each one is totally individual and no two of his necklaces are alike. The necklase that Kristi likes took him three days to make. The one that I like is the "purest stone".

He made the mistake once of letting someone take pictures of his work, and the next thing he knew he was in Mexico and saw a girl wearing a necklace that someone had copied from him. He stopped her and said, "That's my work." She said no, she bought it from someone else. He said, "Yes, that's my work." She said no; he said emphatically YES ("SIIII."). So now no pictures are allowed.

Kristi and I both fall under his spell and buy necklaces. We stand outside the market where Jason and Chris are buying beer.

We're standing there waiting, and I glance into the street and see a boy walking towards us and think, "Wow, that boy looks like Casey Affleck." Something makes me double-take, and IT IS CASEY AFFLECK. WALKING PAST ME IN MONTEZUMA BEACH, COSTA RICA. He passes and I grab Kristi's shoulders and say, "DO YOU KNOW WHO JUST WALKED PAST US? RIGHT THERE, THAT'S CASEY AFFLECK." Kristi says something hilarious like, "I don't think I've seen him in anything," and then Jason and Chris come out and I tell them the same thing. Jason immediately says, "Oh, where's Joaquin Phoenix?" About three seconds later, Kristi's eyes get really big, and she starts jerking her head towards the market that we're still standing around in front of, and there walks Joaquin Phoenix into the market, where he proceeds to start shaking hands with and hugging all the people who work there. We're pretty sure that he heard everything that we were saying about Casey and him. He has one stupid dreadlock sticking out of the back of his head (I love you, Joaquin, but it's stupid). He looks CRAZY. Even Puffy can't deny it.

And guess what? For this particular outing, this one fucking time, we left our cameras in the safe at the house. WE WERE PHOTOGRAPHERS WITH NO CAMERAS STANDING TEN FEET AWAY FROM JOAQUIN PHOENIX AND CASEY AFFLECK.

So I'm standing there trying to figure out how to approach them, and Jason and Kristi decide we need to go because it's pointless for us to stand around in the road staring. I kick them in the balls and then tackle Casey Affleck and lick his face, and then I spray Joaquin with Lysol. NO, WAIT, I whine about it a little and follow them to the truck and we go home and drink beer and FREAK OUT on the front porch about seeing famous people. And I'm like, "200 CIGARETTES CASEY I LOVE YOU and Joaquin I WAS IN LOVE WITH YOUR BROTHER AND I CRIED WHEN HE DIED. And also I hear Space Camp is pretty good."

Then we plan how we're totally going to see them the next night and we're totally going to party with them and take their pictures and hang with them and they'll come back to our house and drink our beer and play cards with us.

Does it happen? More tomorrow.

Part Three.

This is the story of our trip to Costa Rica. Part Two is here and Part One is here.

So we're riding further and further into the jungle, into nowhere, dust and hot sun and our cab driver giving us a thumbs-up with some huge, ruby ring on his finger, when we see the sign for Casa Colores where we're staying. He drives us right up to the door, helps us unload our luggage, and hands our hostess a card.

Our hostess walks us up to our house (no air conditioning) and shows us around the property, including the pool and the breezy, shady cabana with a fridge full of water, soda, and beer. The owner looks at our clothes (jeans, t-shirts and sneakers) and says we better change, because it's very hot. NO SHIT. As we knod, sweat drips off our chins. She tells us that she doesn't recommend walking to Montezuma because of the heat, dust, and degree of incline.

We unpack and settle in and sweat, sweat, sweat. We shower and change and decide to walk down to Montezuma in spite of the owner's warnings. Clearly we know better than a lady who lives there.

We proceed to walk down the steepest, hottest, dustiest hill I have ever encountered in my whole life. There is one stretch of silt where your entire foot will sink down into the dirt. By the time we get into Montezuma we are totally soaked with sweat and covered in dirt and I am seeing stars from the heat.

We eat supper and have a few drinks, then go to the supermarket and buy some food and beer. We are at a loss about how to get back up the hill with all our crap, and I've decreed that I shall not walk up or down the hill ever again. We go to a tourist information spot and ask if they can call us a cab, and the girl there calls one of her friends to take us up. The fellow pulls up within about a minute of being called, and silently drives us up the hill for a couple of dollars. I take aspirin and throw myself into the pool in protest. Actually we all sit at the pool and drink beer until bedtime. I sleep better than I've slept in ages.

The next day we wake up and head to the pool. We're drinking beer by 11. Kristi and Chris rent a car from the owners of Casa Colores. It's a manual shift Suzuki Samurai with windows that won't roll up, no radio, no air conditioner and no backseat. The first time we take it out, Jason drives us in the dark down the treacherous mountain to get dinner in Montezuma.

Does he kill us? NEARLY. More tomorrow.

On 17 glasses of red wine.

So last night I had a dream about a headless dog.

I can't remember all the details of the dream, and I can't remember a lot of the whys, but Jason, Kristi, Chris and I were in Tuscaloosa, but in the dream Tuscaloosa was a big, windy, bustling city, and we were all dressed in nice clothes and nice wool coats and we were in a big hurry trying to get somewhere to catch a bus.

The next thing we knew there were pit bulls everywhere- nice, friendly, sweet pit bulls and for some reason this had something to do with Alabama football or perhaps Bear Bryant. And all of the pit bulls were wearing those wire and gossamer angel wings. And when they ran the wings would bounce in a way that made it look like the wings were flapping or fluttering, so fast that they turned into a blur, and the dogs were waiting politely for the signal to walk across the street.

Then, without warning, one of the dog's heads was on the ground, and its body was still walking around. The head was still animate, it was licking its lips and looking around, the body was walking around wagging its tail. And it wasn't bloody or gross or gory. And I was just standing there staring. Then I turned away for a moment, and when I looked back the dog's head was back where it belonged and he was trotting off with his wings flapping.

The end.

Random thought: Why don't people flush? I mean, what goes on in someone's head that makes them go, "NO WAY am I flushing this when I get through. THIS deserves to be seen."

One week to Costa Rica, you unlucky bitches (unless of course you are Kristi, Chris, or Jason; in that case you are one lucky bitch... or three, whatever).

Don't forget I've started a movie blog that's coming along nicely.

This morning I discovered that someone had searched yahoo for "women who have sex using icecycles" and, for what reason I know not, it brought them to my blog here.

This amused me to no end, so I've added a little section down there to the left titled "Search Engine Terms That Bring People Here". I'll update it as funny stuff rolls in.

I think I'm getting too many gadgets over there, but I really like all of 'em so for right now they're all staying.

"Hang on, let me get my map."

While in San Antonio we didn't have a car, so we took cabs everywhere we went. There are some interesting motherfuckers there, let me just say.

When we first arrived, we took a cab from the airport to our hotel; our boss here had said, "Don't try to wait on the shuttle, because you'll be there all night." So we hop in a cab and tell the driver where we're headed. He is visibly and audibly exasperated and says, "AW, you could have just taken the shuttle." We said, "Sorry, we were told not to take the shuttle. We hope you don't mind." He grunted and said, "I've ONLY been sitting there for two hours waiting for somebody." Then, when we got to the hotel and tried to pay with the company card, he refused to take it. "Cash only." The credit card machine was visible in the front of the cab.

We had more than one cab driver who got lost taking us to our print facility there. One guy pulled over and got his map out. Another had to pull his famous u-turn, which he referred to as "my famous u-turn". That's where I got that.

The fellow who took us to the airport when we were departing was very talkative, very excited, and somehow ended up telling us all about his dog, how his dog always wants to take his pork chops and his steaks, and he could tell from the look in the dog's eye that he was doing it on purpose, that the dog knew he was doing something bad, so he had to give the dog away. On account of the dog always wanted the guy's food. Right.

By far my favorite was this pissy little guy who kept coughing and hacking all over the place and saying, "GOD, I hate getting sick." He asked what all we were going to do for fun while we were there, and I made the mistake of mentioning that I love Mexican food so I wanted to go to some good Mexican places. This really incensed him; he kind of rolled his eyes and said, "Well, there are some really good, really authentic Mexican places here, but I wouldn't want to go to any of 'em." I told him the name of a place that had been recommended to me, and he rolled his eyes some more and informed me that that place is entirely too touristy, I don't want to go there, I want to go to this other place. He then proceeded to dig around in all his crap, his cell phone and some pens and some TISSUES, PROBABLY USED, and dug up a business card for the Mexican restaurant he wanted us to go to. I very nearly told him no thank you, I'm not going to take your germy card from your hand that you've been hoarking phlegm into for the past fifteen minutes, but I gave in and took the card. Which I later burned in sacrifice to the god of Oh Please Don't Let Me Get Sick.

We didn't, incidentally, go to the restaurant he suggested because I looked it up and it was, like, $25 a plate, and that wasn't the experience I was looking for.

Anyhow, if you're going to San Antonio, be sure and take a few cabs, just to spice things up a little bit. But for Pete's sakes, DON'T, whatever you do, go to a Mexican restaurant.

Oh, it's already been broughten!

Oh man, have I been sick the past few days. I think it boils down to a really awful sinus infection that was causing constant and severe migraine headaches and was slowly moving down into my chest. I spent the past few days on the couch, either in terrible pain or dizzy and out of it from all the medication.

Then last night I came out of my medicoma long enough to pack for my trip to San Antonio.

Oh, wait, back up just a tad. You know I mentioned that Kane had strep throat and the flu a couple of weeks ago? Well last week Jude was feverish and feeling bad, and everyone assumed he was catching what Kane had. Then on Thursday their mom asked (in a text, naturally) if we wanted to take them to a sock hop at Jude's school Friday, since they were coming to our house anyways. So Friday, their mom texted and said nevermind the sock hop, Jude was sick, we should just pick them up at the normal time. Jason asked if she had taken him to the doctor; her response: "No, it's a stomach thing. If it gets worse you can take him to the doctor tomorrow." ("Tomorrow" being a Saturday, FOR FUCKS BLUE EYED SAKES)

Listen, back in the day when they lived with us there were more than one occasion in which their mom would say she was sick, not feeling well, and the kids would just have to stay with us for the weekend instead of going to her house.

Now consider just a couple of factors about this weekend: 1) I was terribly ill, and fairly incapacitated by the meds. 2) Reed was ill as well. 3) Jason is still trying like hell not to catch anything from anybody. 4) I am leaving Monday for a work trip, a trip in which all the arrangements have been made, a trip in which we fly and stay at a hotel, my very first flight ever. 5) Kane is still getting over strep throat and the flu. 6) Jude has a stomach bug.

So I was the bad guy, the mean guy and said, "Listen, I'm sorry, but I'm sick, Reed's sick, Jude's sick, and Kane's sick, and I have to pack and prepare and then manage to GO on a trip on Monday. Kane and Jude need to stay at their mom's this weekend. I can't handle this. That's just the way it's going to have to be."

So of course Jason said that to his crazy ex-wife, and she said, "Oh, I don't think it's a stomach flu or anything. He went to a party Thursday night and had too much cake."

So OF COURSE I was overruled and they came and Jude moped around feeling like shit all weekend.

And today, as I am about to get on a plane for the very first time, Jason is at home with Reed who is squirting poop and throwing up, and I am squirting poop and cramping and having chills and sweats.

FUCK YOU, EX-WIFE. It is on now. I hope you don't think that what you've witnessed to this point was me bringin' it, because NOW I AM GOING TO BRING IT.

P.S. Everybody wish me luck flying. Posting will be light this week as I'll be out of town. Let's hope I make it there and can chug margaritas and regret getting drunk in front of my boss.

"Happiness is when you really feel good with somebody..."

Well, things are changing all the time- feelings, opinions, options, desires, pleasures, pains, illnesses, favorites, irritations- and I can't keep up. I am trying to just breathe and eat Rolaids and pretend our lives are normal and calm.

Tonight I am going to see Al Green- surely all I need is a little love and happiness...

Ah, how quickly the tide turns.

SO THIS HAS BEEN A FUN EVENING.

Kane and Jude's step-dad called Jason at work and ranted erratically about all kinds of random crap, including that Jason blackmailed his ex-wife for money, that we have the kids "livin' three to a room", that Jason is just trying to get child support, that he would never harm Jason's children, and so on and so forth. Jason asked to talk to the kids' mother, and was told "she's in the kitchen cooking with the kids" (it was 9:30 at the time). It only took us about fifteen phone calls to finally get an answer, and it was step-daddy again, who then told me that he had done nothing but help Jason out, and that their mom was in the shower. Turns out that was a lie as well, because when she finally called Jason she told him she was putting the kids to bed. She went on to say that she wasn't prepared to sign anything right now, and that the kids should just go ahead and move back with them and go to school where they live.

In short, they prove at every turn that they are totally unstable, unpredictable, and ABSOLUTELY OBLIVIOUS to the kids' welfare.


I will tell you people what I tell Reed when he acts like a ridiculous ass: Do you want a good fight? Because if you keep on like this, we're going to have a good fight.

Cleaning out my text messages...

- Bottletree. Soul dj. No cover.

- Victoria Beckham has a two million dollar vibrator. It's solid platinum with a diamond-encrusted base and a 16 karat diamond necklace which begs the question- a necklace? Really?

- I just got blatantly and obviously hit on by a middle aged Greek dude who sounded like Balkie and looked like my uncle. FAIL.

- I bought a vest last night. I'm not sure what's become of me but I love it.

- Side bun is our band name.

- Out the side doe, with the other hootchies.

- Watch Fox 6 news to see my ass selling flowers.

- I love seeing rich ladies jogging in Mountain Brook, almost falling over from all the Prozac.

- Oo, yur like the sun, chasin all the rain away.

- Want to come watch me cry, drink, and make cufflinks?

- I just got off work and am driving through a monsoon. I'll call you when I find out if we are going to make it.

*And yes, the idea to post these came from Miss Sara.

Daily doo.

I haven't had the energy to write much here lately, because for the most part, I just keep thinking of negative things to say. I figure you people probably have enough going on and have read my bitching enough that you don't really need any more of it right now.

I am about to miss what will probably be the best and most explosive staff meeting at work ever- we had some pretty big events last weekend, during which one guy quit and several others were inconsolably insulted by things the first guy said and did. As a result, our boss called an EMERGENCY staff meeting and instructed us all to type out every single complaint we have, EVEN ABOUT HER, about anybody in the store, and also anything good we have to say and drop it into this SEALED box to be read and dealt with at the meeting. Unfortunately I didn't eat dinner last night after clinching through a night of fit-throwing from the little dude in my house, plus finding out that Kane has been looking at PORN on the internet, and as a result I spent most of the night lying awake with a burning, cramping gut. IT WAS AWESOME. Anyways, this morning I felt terrible and stayed out of work and now I'm missing the meeting. Seriously, every person I work with has chips on they shoulders and grudges and secrets and they all secretly, or openly, dislike almost everyone else there and I AM MISSING ALL THE ACTION. I didn't ever type my grievances and so now I'll type them here:

I wish my boss didn't throw boxes at me, or clap in my face, or grunt at me and roll her eyes at me. I think these tactics are counterproductive, in that they make me want to steal things and throw bricks through the window.

I wish that all the lip-service my boss gives to equality and how everyone in the workplace should be treated the same had any truth, and effect on the way she treats her employees. One guy can scream about scrotums and putting stuff in his butt and licking butts and show stuffy old clients naked pictures of his boyfriend's ass and IT'S JUST SO GOSH-DARNED CUTE, THOSE GAY BOYS! But I make one loud comment about wanting a beer and I'm chastised in front of the entire staff, singled out as an example of how INAPPROPRIATE we can be at work and how it should stop.

I think that pretty much everyone we work with does a good job and works hard and is good at what they do. HA HA, BITCHES. I may get tired of certain people pouting and throwing fits and refusing to take their phone calls and refusing to talk to customers and getting irritable if I ask them questions and trying to pass as much of their work as possible off on me, but I also respect all of them. Almost. Almost all of them. And that's pretty good, right?