At 6:37 a.m.
I open one eye blearily and realize that I'd forgotten to set the alarm last night and that I should be standing at the bus stop by now.
At 6:42 a.m.
I'm hopping around, trying to find something to wear. I put my blouse on inside out, stand in front of the mirror, realize I look like some frumpy, middle-aged woman, and decide to change. Again.
As I'm digging through my closet, I decide that I have "no clothes." (Though, one look at my closet and my credit card bill will make you think otherwise.)
I mean, hey, I might be late, but I'm not going to go out looking like I've just rolled out of bed and decided to go to work in my pajamas.
At 7:21 a.m.
I'm sitting on the train, out-of-breath and grumpy. A middle aged guy who smells like he's managed to somehow cull the sweat from a really smelly, really hairy armpit mixed with three day-old urine squeezed from a soaked diaper and then doused himself with it sits next to me.
I want to get up, but, as always, I'm frozen with the thought that maybe I'd hurt his feelings or that it'd just be rude.
At 7:23 a.m.
I curse myself for not giving a shit about what other people think.
At 8:09 a.m.
I get to the office, look around to see if The Snitch is at her desk and then ease in, hurrying to turn the computer on and make it seem like I'd been at my desk since 8 a.m.
But then she walks around the corner, the tell-tale swish swish of her thighs rubbing together giving her away, and she quickly glances at her watch.
First voicemail message delivered at 8:50 a.m.:
Oh my God, why the fuck did you put your phone on 'Do Not Disturb'? Take it off. Pick up, damnit.
Second voicemail message delivered at 8:54 a.m.:
Okay, I guess it's still on 'Do Not Disturb.' Well, anyway, I'm here and I now know what you were talking about. I'm drenched in sweat --- and I'm not even in the fucking job interview yet. Oh my God, I feel sick. Well, uh, anyway, I guess I'll have to talk to you later.
At 8:50 a.m.
I'm sitting there thinking, I wonder what's going on in the Big Brother house.
At 8:51 a.m.
I'm looking at Big Brother Updates and marvelling:
Thank God there are people out there who've got nothing better to do except sit there, watch the live feeds, and transcribe every single last thing that's happening....I think I need a life.
Seriously, I think it's because there's nothing else on TV that makes Big Brother so addictive. If I could get paid to watch TV all day, my life would be sheer bliss.
But, anyway, woke up this morning thinking, "Please God, don't tell me the office won the $37 million lotto." (I didn't chip in this time around 'cause we never win anything and it's like I'm just throwing $2 every couple of days into the garbage can or something. And believe me, if you sit and add up all those toonies you've given away, it makes you really irritated.)
Of course, as soon as I refused to go in on the office pool, I started thinking, "What if they won?"
I was discussing this with my mother last night and she went on her "well, that's just your fate, then" speech and I said, "Yeah, well, if they win the lotto, I'll just stab myself. Maybe that's my fate. I lose out on winning millions and then I go and stab myself with something like a letter opener."
She hates it when I say stuff like that, but you know, if you're going to start in on the whole "fate" business, who's to say it isn't your fate to just kill yourself over losing out on the lotto?
There's this girl in the office who said she started contributing in the office pool 'cause when she was at her last job, the department above her won the $24 million jackpot and she's been paranoid ever since that she could potentially lose out on something like that.
Now that is cause to want to kill yourself.
At 9:28 a.m.
I feel kind of queasy.
Might be the result of having coffee and no breakfast, which makes me feel like I've got a jackhammer blasting away in my rib cage.
I feel like I've got the shakes --- like a heroin addict going through withdrawal.
I wish I was at home, lying in bed.
The other day, I was telling someone that if I was Danielle on Big Brother, I wouldn't have had any problems doing the 24 hour confinement. I would have just slept through it all. The other person said, "Yeah, right" and I insisted, "No, no. It's true. I can sleep through anything. I mean, I wouldn't have slept 24 hours straight. I'd probably sit there for an hour and then out of boredom, I would have dozed off again, but I wouldn't have cried or anything about it."
So. Last night's competition of So You Think You Can Dance?...I think Heidi looks weird whenever she's dancing solo. She just shakes her hips and looks like she's on speed or something. And what's up with the weirdo facial expressions? I'm sorry, but I think Nigel was right when he said she looked like a Cabbage Patch doll.
When he was saying that not all of them deserved to win the competition, I think he was talking about Donyelle. And speaking of Donyelle, a friend speculated, "Do you think something's going on between her and Benji?"
"No way. I think he's gay."
"Really?"
silence.
"Is it somewhat disturbing that we care? And that we're discussing this like it's a matter of national importance?" I asked.
I open one eye blearily and realize that I'd forgotten to set the alarm last night and that I should be standing at the bus stop by now.
At 6:42 a.m.
I'm hopping around, trying to find something to wear. I put my blouse on inside out, stand in front of the mirror, realize I look like some frumpy, middle-aged woman, and decide to change. Again.
As I'm digging through my closet, I decide that I have "no clothes." (Though, one look at my closet and my credit card bill will make you think otherwise.)
I mean, hey, I might be late, but I'm not going to go out looking like I've just rolled out of bed and decided to go to work in my pajamas.
At 7:21 a.m.
I'm sitting on the train, out-of-breath and grumpy. A middle aged guy who smells like he's managed to somehow cull the sweat from a really smelly, really hairy armpit mixed with three day-old urine squeezed from a soaked diaper and then doused himself with it sits next to me.
I want to get up, but, as always, I'm frozen with the thought that maybe I'd hurt his feelings or that it'd just be rude.
At 7:23 a.m.
I curse myself for not giving a shit about what other people think.
At 8:09 a.m.
I get to the office, look around to see if The Snitch is at her desk and then ease in, hurrying to turn the computer on and make it seem like I'd been at my desk since 8 a.m.
But then she walks around the corner, the tell-tale swish swish of her thighs rubbing together giving her away, and she quickly glances at her watch.
First voicemail message delivered at 8:50 a.m.:
Oh my God, why the fuck did you put your phone on 'Do Not Disturb'? Take it off. Pick up, damnit.
Second voicemail message delivered at 8:54 a.m.:
Okay, I guess it's still on 'Do Not Disturb.' Well, anyway, I'm here and I now know what you were talking about. I'm drenched in sweat --- and I'm not even in the fucking job interview yet. Oh my God, I feel sick. Well, uh, anyway, I guess I'll have to talk to you later.
At 8:50 a.m.
I'm sitting there thinking, I wonder what's going on in the Big Brother house.
At 8:51 a.m.
I'm looking at Big Brother Updates and marvelling:
Thank God there are people out there who've got nothing better to do except sit there, watch the live feeds, and transcribe every single last thing that's happening....I think I need a life.
Seriously, I think it's because there's nothing else on TV that makes Big Brother so addictive. If I could get paid to watch TV all day, my life would be sheer bliss.
But, anyway, woke up this morning thinking, "Please God, don't tell me the office won the $37 million lotto." (I didn't chip in this time around 'cause we never win anything and it's like I'm just throwing $2 every couple of days into the garbage can or something. And believe me, if you sit and add up all those toonies you've given away, it makes you really irritated.)
Of course, as soon as I refused to go in on the office pool, I started thinking, "What if they won?"
I was discussing this with my mother last night and she went on her "well, that's just your fate, then" speech and I said, "Yeah, well, if they win the lotto, I'll just stab myself. Maybe that's my fate. I lose out on winning millions and then I go and stab myself with something like a letter opener."
She hates it when I say stuff like that, but you know, if you're going to start in on the whole "fate" business, who's to say it isn't your fate to just kill yourself over losing out on the lotto?
There's this girl in the office who said she started contributing in the office pool 'cause when she was at her last job, the department above her won the $24 million jackpot and she's been paranoid ever since that she could potentially lose out on something like that.
Now that is cause to want to kill yourself.
At 9:28 a.m.
I feel kind of queasy.
Might be the result of having coffee and no breakfast, which makes me feel like I've got a jackhammer blasting away in my rib cage.
I feel like I've got the shakes --- like a heroin addict going through withdrawal.
I wish I was at home, lying in bed.
The other day, I was telling someone that if I was Danielle on Big Brother, I wouldn't have had any problems doing the 24 hour confinement. I would have just slept through it all. The other person said, "Yeah, right" and I insisted, "No, no. It's true. I can sleep through anything. I mean, I wouldn't have slept 24 hours straight. I'd probably sit there for an hour and then out of boredom, I would have dozed off again, but I wouldn't have cried or anything about it."
So. Last night's competition of So You Think You Can Dance?...I think Heidi looks weird whenever she's dancing solo. She just shakes her hips and looks like she's on speed or something. And what's up with the weirdo facial expressions? I'm sorry, but I think Nigel was right when he said she looked like a Cabbage Patch doll.
When he was saying that not all of them deserved to win the competition, I think he was talking about Donyelle. And speaking of Donyelle, a friend speculated, "Do you think something's going on between her and Benji?"
"No way. I think he's gay."
"Really?"
silence.
"Is it somewhat disturbing that we care? And that we're discussing this like it's a matter of national importance?" I asked.
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