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March 16th, 2013

Old Skool

DISCLAIMER: When I was the office Secretary, I had time to sit and write all day in my gun-covered journal (Not wise, although I swear I can't be arsed to shoot anybody). These days, as an "Analyst," I have precious little time to do anything other than analyze. I can't even cram an egg salad sandwich into my face on my lunch hour without being hassled by a fellow public servant. So lately I've come across those journals, and thought I'd transcribe some of them here so that I will not have suffered alone in vain. Enjoy.

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.

Old Skool 2.

April 6, 2010

Tuesday. Someone threw candy all over my counter. Well, I don't know if "threw" is the correct verb, but they were scattered about. I doubt it was anyone I'm interested in boning, but for positivity's sake, I'll hold on to hope. Architect is lovely in white and he remembered his keycard. Shoot, no kissing fee. I'll have to think of something else, or alternatively, do some sort of work today. Balls. My options are work on The Horrible List, walk to the fridge to put generic fruit punch and water I don't even intend to drink in it, or stare into the sun. I probably have time for all three. Currently I'm looking through the sperm-shaped floater in my eye at Parking Lot Judd Nelson saunter down the parking lot.

At least it's sunny. Maybe I'll walk to Burger King like old times when I could eat Burger King without throwing up. Those times come and go, actually.

Why do all handsome guys in pretty white dress shirts go in other doors? I'm lucky to have Architect. I think he uses this door out of habit from when he worked over here. Or, you know, because he's in love with me. He left at like 10:00, by the way, after staring at Boss's board that has "Lethal Injection" and "Use of Force" (Can you tell what Department I work for?) and other such gems scrawled all over it. Who knows when he shall return.

I was thinking it was nooner and I'd do Starbucks for lunch, but it's not even f'ing 11:00. See how time crawls without Architect.

2:30 something. He left as I was driving back from Starbucks. I'll let you determine whether we made out or not. Oh look, dudes in black suits. For some reason, everyone that comes to meet with The Architects is dressed for a funeral. How grave could discussing architecture be?

I worked on The Horrible List, by the way. It wasn't as horrible as past experiences with it have been. I also stared into the sun until that wasn't an option any longer. What was the other thing? Oh, I never made it to the fridge. The water I don't intend to drink is now warm. That makes it even less desirable. I have 90 minutes to complete that task.