Just reading over some of the past few entries and...is it just me or does it sound like I've got a stick up my ass?

I swear to God (why the fuck do I always use that expression when the whole God subject's so damn iffy with me?), when I read that sort of thing in other people's blogs, it takes all of two seconds for my eyes to glaze over and for me to hit, "Next."

Not that I read very many blogs. Not like Sister 2, who has a whole list of blogs she checks on regularly. She once made fun of me 'cause I'm always writing --- in notepads, scraps of paper, and online --- 'cause, really, what the fuck do I have to write about?

Sometimes, I think it's documentation, just in case I wind up like Gran and lose my memory one day, but there are some days where you'd give anything not to remember certain things --- like that reel of embarrassing moments that zip right through your head. And it's at moments like that where you wonder how the hell someone so incredibly moronic managed to stay alive.

You know what's weird? It's when your friends and family think you're a lot smarter than you really are. (Though, the other day, a co-worker joked that I needed to get a life --- a fulfilling one, at that --- and I had this split second where I hated her with my entire being. But, you know, it passed. The older I'm getting, the more exhausting it gets to hate someone. Hatred can be a very consuming, passionate emotion. It's just easier to say, "Fuck you. You're dead to me" and then never speak of the person again.)

Lately, Harlequin Reader's taken to calling me up at work for the dumbest things --- like, would I know why the subway station near her office is closed? She checked the news online and the TTC site, but you know, maybe I know something that the news outlets don't. And today, she wanted to know if the terrorist suspects arrested on Saturday were all Muslim.

WTF???

She reads the newspapers. Why would you need me to confirm something that's been in the fucking news?

In some ways, I regret giving her my work number --- I mean, really, I've got nobody to blame but myself. It's just...she seemed to be struggling lately and there was all this stuff going on in her life and it was like, she needed someone to hear her out --- and in the end, isn't that what we all need to feel somewhat connected and like we're not totally alone?

Now, she's just driving me ape shit.

I don't have the heart to say anything, though, which probably makes me a doormat --- despite the fact that people have always told me I'm extremely diplomatic. And I like that. Diplomacy --- it's nothing more than being able to tell someone to go to hell in such a way that they actually look forward to the journey.

Loaned some money to a friend --- a big no-no. But seriously, when your friend needs money, what are you going to do? Pretend you don't see they're in a bad place? It's like that episode of Sex and the City where Carrie's flat broke and Samantha and Miranda offer to lend her the money and while she thanks them, she glances at Charlotte, who's too busy concentrating on slurping up the last of her drink.

See, the thing is, deep down inside, I'd rather do what Charlotte did. But instead, I'm all like, "How much do you need? Oh, it's okay! What are friends for?"

And then, when you don't get your money back, it's like, "Fuck."

One thing you need to understand about me? I don't like talking about money. I find it vulgar. And even though it's my money that I loaned, I find it vulgar to have to ask for it back...which, when I think about it, is really fucked up.

I'm going to stop carrying cash in my wallet so I can honestly, truthfully say I don't have anything to lend. But then, that'd mean using my friggin' credit card to buy a cup of coffee, which is kind of embarrassing.

Okay. New policy: no more coffee. I'll drink the free stuff they serve in our lunch room instead. Or water.