April 5, 2010
Yes. Hello. It's Monday. This is the diary given to me by a coworker at our secret Santa potluck who's obviously unaware of what I write about in these. It was either this one or the gigantic, unwieldy Hello Kitty notebook I purchased at Target in a very unmature manner. Immature? Both.
I'm hoping nobody asks me about my abysmal weekend, least of all, Architect. The weekend consisted solely of lounging about on my couch drifting in and out of consciousness as I watched Last of the Mohicans. There was also a completely unwarranted urinary tract infection I trekked to the local Natomas Med 7 to be cured of. They know me well. At least I was doing a dude the last time I had one. And that had better be the case for all future afflictions. Not that that's looking plausible.
I butt-dialed Foot Fetish from the car this morning while blaring Combichrist, what else. He replied to my apology text with something about how I couldn't stay away when he was getting undressed. Sure buddy. You won't be giving me a urinary tract infection any time soon (ever).
2:30. Had macaroni of despair in the solitude of my car. Architect left his keycard at home and stood outside my door looking at me all sadly. I thought of telling him there was a small kissing fee, but I waived it. ...This time. Sigh. He spends so much less time making conversation when I am surrounded in dbags. Last Friday was so...intimate. If you consider him asking me why the hell I'd come to work intimate. And I do.
Yawn. Other than open several obnoxious pieces of mail, I have not done anything that could be construed as worky. I can not remember how 4 hours elapsed this morning, but I'm sure they were unfathomably soul-destroying. Beth is being cold towards me and I'm not sure why. I wonder if it has to do with telling her that I didn't think I had much (anything) in common with the nearly illiterate, Pam Anderson-enthusiast friend of her boyfriend's that she's trying to hook me up with. I did not use either of those descriptive terms when saying that to her, however. I was quite polite. I don't know what's up her ass, but I'm going to try not to worry about it. Plus I'm more than a little disturbed that her and Madame get along so well. That spells nothing good for me.
But anyway. Positive thinking. Let's see. I just stared into space for about 10 minutes solid trying to think of something positive to say. Why must I be so abysmal? And in thermal underwear while at it? I was told by various accredited resources that it was going to be both freezing balls cold and raining today. Neither is true. So here I am in thermal underwear, probably resembling one of the male cast members from Little House on the Prairie for no reason. It just occurred to me that I'm not being very positive. I suppose somebody in the cast was attractive.
Fuck, Architect left and we didn't make out. Give me something to work with here, God. I can not be positive in the face of such abysmalness. Wire bra digging into the space where there should be a boob is not helping matters.
3:30. One more hour. I'm guessing the ball-freezing rain will commence upon my way out the door. I heard the deafening sound of Boss turning his computer off and expected him to emerge from his office in his Mr. Rogers cardigan with his briefcase and run out the door like Superman, but nothing. I guess I will be sitting here in abysmal silence the full remaining 60 minutes. There it was again. Is he just turning his computer on and off for the pure joy involved? To make me react like one of Pavlov's dogs? Actually, I got here extraordinarily early, so I will be departing at 4:24 regardless.