Alright. I started this bullshit blog for a reason, and I may as well keep to it. (By the way, blog is a stupid fucking word. Seriously, who invented this word? I digress.)
So let's get down to this blogging (ugh) business. And in the case of this specific blog (Mr. and/or Mrs. I-invented-the-term-blog, I hope someone randomly approaches you in the very near future and slaps you in the face with a 2x4), I use the term "business" very loosely. This is supposed to be my "practice run" for setting up my boss's professional blog. But I'm finding it a bit hard to take this crap seriously with the scenario that took place Wednesday night.
Allow me to paint you a picture: It's 9:00 p.m. I have a house full of people. The TV is blaring so loudly that my windows are rattling. The dining room table is still littered with half eaten food; Subway sandwiches that are drying out, cheese dip that has formed a rubbery film on top, warm, half-consumed sodas. Your typical get-together scenario. Everyone is in good spirits and enjoying themselves, as it should be. But what's this? Where has our lovely hostess disappeared to? Ah, there she is. In the front room getting her ass handed to her over the phone by her boss, who has seemingly gone on some sort of wild bender with mood stabilizers.
See what happens when you answer a work-related phone call off the clock? One moment you're laughing it up with your friends, walking around with this raging hard on for life, and the next your phone rings and the second you hear that authoritative *snort* voice in your ear, BOOM. Instant boner kill. Now, I may have been a little more cooperative about this handing over of my ass, except that its reasoning just didn't make any sense to me.
What was said to me (in a complete over-exaggeration, mind you): "Even though you slaved away all day grocery shopping, going to the dry cleaners, stopping by my accountant's house who couldn't have possibly moved herself any further to the outskirts of town, doing my asinine chores for me and cooking and preparing my weird ass organic food for me, I noticed that you put my ready made and separated food portions into Tupperware containers. Where on earth is your brain? Don't you know that polyurethane is toxic? I absolutely cannot possibly eat this tainted devilment. Now I will have nothing for lunch tomorrow. And you left me a note stating that my dry cleaning would not be ready until tomorrow. What am I supposed to wear? Why did you not take them to the BBB imediately? For that matter, why did you not have the bastards that work there deported and flayed alive? Let's put our thinking caps on now. Is any of this acceptable? Most certainly not, methinks."
What I heard: "You tried to poison me with plastic and I'm going to work naked and hungry tomorrow, even though I have a kitchen stocked full of groceries and plenty of clothes." Just, HUH? You're out of your fucking gourd, methinks.
You know, I've become pretty intuitive in my 27 years on this planet, and I'd like to think that by now I can read people pretty well (you're not as mysterious as you think you are, trust me). But this woman just hit me out of left field with all of this insanity. Most people's bizzareness is right out there in the open where everone can see it (I know mine is), but man, she just let that batshit craziness sneak right up on me.
I took several moments at this point to contemplate the thought of Tupperware causing involuntary manslaughter. If plastic really was poison, how many people would be dead? Pretty much most of, say, THE WORLD. There must be a place in the cosmos where logic like all of this makes sense. I'm just not sitting in that place right now.
It is currently Friday afternoon, and I am now able to look back on all of this lunacy and laugh at it, but in that moment on Wednesday night, I felt like a total fucking tool when my best friend comes in from the other room to check on me and I'm standing there on the verge of tears because I'm being chewed out over some pretty ignorant horse shit. It wasn't even the yelling that I was really bothered by. It was the fact that she was talking to me as if I had a brain malfunction. I can't stand when people talk to me like that.
So here I am, stressing about the whole situation and wondering if this is all going to be worth it. Whateva. For right now, I got 99 problems but a BITCH ain't one! Haha, I'm so witty in all of my delirious glory. But on a higher note, OMG those new beefy double volcano fiery hot burritos from Taco Bell are the fucking shiznit. Quality grub.
I could ramble on in grandiose fashion for another fifty paragraphs, but I shall refrain, for fear I may include the Hippocratic Oath at some point. Time for this slag to get some sleep. Over and out.
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