I had a unpleasant stomach bug over the weekend and haven’t quite bounced back to my normal, sweet, sparkly unicorn self (< ha ha, sarcasm) and am crankier than Kardashians denied access to a camera crew and wealthy black men. It’s been really hard not to throw the eff word around like glitter at a strip club. I’m normally pretty good at pretending to be interested in what my coworkers are saying. It’s usually not that hard to say, “oh really? And what did she say to that?” and then follow up the appropriate uh-huh’s and sure’s when internally I’m thinking, “You are dumber than a box of hair and I wish I could kill you with fire.” But even that’s been tough today. The most I can muster is a dead stare that apparently says I want to eat your soul with grape jelly and biscuits judging by the way people have started to avoid speaking to me. I honestly don’t mean to be a soul sucking harpy. Usually I’m such an ADD riddled flake that everything is entertaining in some way but since my surprise colon cleanse I’ve just been a big ole pile of angst and loathing. A human grumpy cat that just wants to shout NO! at everyone and conspicuously close the elevator doors on people trying to catch it and openly pick my nose while other people are trying to eat. I’m sure it will go away in a day or two but until then y’all should probably avoid inviting me to dinner.
In an attempt to fight feeling frumpy I went shopping at one of those chain stores that seems to market to women much younger than me. Because nothing says not frumpy like stuffing yourself into Jr size clothing. Thankfully better sense prevailed (rare for me) and I just bought me a nice new belt. In my rat like fervor for all things shiny I got one with a giant cluster of rhinestones on it. Have been walking around all day basking in my own less frumpy fabulousness till I went to the bathroom and realized my lovely new belt had slid down under my muffin top and was making me look like I had an oddly high beer gut. Like someone’s middle aged dad in drag. Also, my shirt had bunched up under the belt on one side. So I guess it was like a drunken, middle aged dad in drag. That was bad enough but then I went and flopped back down in my office chair, sinking into a slouch because I no longer felt fabulous. While hunched over my dangly necklace caught on my belt. I went to reach for my drink and it suddenly let loose and popped up in my face and startled me into making an odd barking yelp noise. Then I got my skirt wrapped around the wheel of my chair and almost pulled it off when I stood up. My skirt, not the wheel. Thank goodness my coworkers are gone because many expletives were uttered. Many pirate ancestors were made very proud. Also, my giant gaudy belt keeps knocking against my desk every time I move. Thunk, thunk, scrape thunk…. all damn day long. Today is not a bueno day. Sniffle.
My favorite magazine is “Victoria” (yes, I still order paper magazines because OMG how can you not touch and smell things you read for fuck’s sake you barbarians??) which is just as pretentious as it sounds but is full of lovely little old lady fripperies like doily patterns and china advertisements and recipes that include more than three ingredients (none of which come in a box with a packet of “cheese food” so I’ll never make them but still the pictures are glorious!); and instructions for setting your table for an odd number of people and so many more old fashioned stuff and sundries that make my dork heart happy even though I’m far too lazy to ever invite people over to my ghetto hovel anymore. Much less give a rat’s ass where they sit or if they even have a napkin let alone a perfectly folded origami swan linen one with hand stitched edging. (Use your sleeve and then let the dogs gnaw it clean like a real person you finicky fucking princess. Although if I really like you I might break out a ten year old wet wipe from the bottom of my purse. Antibacterial and everything because you totally matter to me and shit. ) It does however strike me as a wee bit bizarre that I have the heart of a sweet little old lady but the sense of humor of a deeply disturbed 12 year old boy (I mean really, who doesn’t enjoy a good holocaust/blonde joke about yo mama now and then) ((No, no I don’t, this is wrong. Please don’t take that seriously, I’m promise I’m just kidding inappropriately)) and the vocabulary of a functionally illiterate prostitute from Jersey. I’m pretty sure with this unique combination of personality traits I’m going to need at least one of you to vouch for me in court before too long. Or walk me on a leash. It’s a toss up.
Unfamiliar soldier (US): Hi Beth! I’m blah blah blah from Charlie Company blah blah blah and I own the students in blah blah blah and I just got here blah blah blah. (If I don’t have to deal with you on a regular basis and you don’t come bearing gifts I’m not going to bother to remember who you are or what you do. It’s not your fault, I’m just that lazy. And kind of an asshole.) I’m just going around getting a feel for the place and learning who everyone is…
Me: (interrupting) Oh you’re a good person then! I rarely leave my cube or care what everyone else does.
US: (Looks startled then laughs like I’m joking) Oh well it’s good to get to know the people you work with. So what do you do?
Me: (deer in headlights: wait, what do I do again? Dipshittery on Facebook isn’t my job! Say something!) ((Babbles incoherently about education and training development)) So feel free to stop by anytime. Especially if you have snacks.
US: Oh do you bring in snacks a lot?
Me: No, I meant you. You bring snacks.
US: (Looking increasingly uncomfortable) ((laughs nervously)) Oh, ha, yes. What kind of snacks do you prefer?
Me: Oh I’ll eat anything but cheese is always a good choice.
US: Ha, good to know. (Bolts like a rabbit)
And that boys and girls is how you use advanced social awkwardness to alienate coworkers and get a reputation as an addlepated nut monkey. You’re welcome!
After my morning walk I always go through Panera for a tea and cookie as a reward because I’m a giant, slobbering toddler that needs bribery and doesn’t understand the irony of processed sugar after walking my ass off. So I drive thru and get my usual but when I get to the window the ladies that work there are arguing. Someone pushed the Lemonade button on my order but I never get lemonade and they were confused. It was a little disturbing to know they know my order by heart and feel strongly enough to argue about it. Like it’s a certainty they can always count on, the sky is blue, the sun comes up in the east and the clown car lady with the dogs always gets tea. The only other person in the world that knows my order by heart is my brother, so I’m spending as much time with the Panera crew as I do my own family. That’s terrifying and completely pops my delusion that I’m even mildly a responsible adult with my shit together. They finally realize they can just ASK me as I’m sitting there blankly staring at them with Zeus dripping drool on my shoulder, also staring at them. Things got mildly better when they decided to just give me my order for free since they made me sit there while they figured it out and also because, “You come here all the time.” Fuck me, I’m an addict. I thanked my dealers for the free hit profusely because even though I’m an awkward disappointment of grown up I can at least pull off gratitude like a normal person. As I pulled away I heard one of them say, “She’s so sweet!” and that made everything ok, obviously they don’t know me at all.
As everyone knows I am more than a little partial to swear words and insults in particular. The wackier and more obscure the better. However, if you’re a squirrel fellating, dried up old, sneering sack of fetid rectal discharge that looks like a geriatric drag queen without make-up application skills that may have fallen off an Arkansas Incest wagon and look old, hard and worn out enough to quite possibly have serviced most of the soldiers on both sides during the civil war, trolling attractive(ish) and docile, young(ish) women on facebook for shits and giggles and the best insult you can come up with is “fat ass” then perhaps it’s time you logged off and go change your Depends. Or burlap flour sack, whatever you ancients are wearing these days.
Bless your heart, stay classy doll.
So I’m in the checkout line buying Chapstick and Twizzlers (don’t ask, it’s been a rough week) and the cashier bags the Twizzlers but hands me the Chapstick and I just stare at the kid like what the… and then I’m all “whoa there young fella” never mind that it was a girl, it was a Twizzler emergency and also I’m a feminist. So then there was an odd moment of terrified staring from the kid and confused staring from me …and possibly the sound of crickets somewhere off in the distance. Then slowly the kid took the Twizzlers from the bag and cautiously handed them to me. I forcibly placed them in my purse with a huff and finish the transaction. Then walked away with the satisfaction of someone who just taught a young child a very valuable lesson about the importance of Twizzlers. And also access to mental health care.