Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003

Picky Picky

All the girls at work loved the new hair cut. This is a double-edged sword, rather like when my mother said she liked it, does it mean that it is really cute? Or does it mean that it is really boring?

God. I am so fucking difficult.


Mad rush at work. Trying to finish everything before Thursday. Though honestly, a three day work week is amazing. We should switch to it nationwide. I do not care what it costs. Because I look so rested, feel so happy and even scrubbed my bathroom this weekend. Seriously ya'll.

But I don't know what to take on my trip. J came in and told me to start thinking about it (HA! Please, I am a woman I have been thinking about this for at least a month) and his only help was "its hot, so no sweaters." Well thanks asshat. God. I knew that part.

Except I will totally take one sweater because it could be cold. Even though I know it won't be.

Again, with the difficult.


Went tanning last night right after work and was reminded why I do not go during "primetime," first, it is fucking busy and you have to wait. And the girls who work there are typical high school self absorbed and SLOW at doing their jobs. So it takes forever and God knows I am not patient.

But also the beds are really hot.

I always end up feeling like I have cooked myself and am too hot for the whole damn night. But I need to go every day this week so that I will not get burned in California. Good health be damned honestly.

Also, it seems to be helping to dry out my skin. And yes, I am that vain.

Because I have this five-headed monster on my chin. It hurts and is hard and really disgusting.

Heh. Read that sentence. Its so dirty.

God, I am such a five year old.


I was thinking yesterday how weird it is how other people's perseptions affect you.

My parents always told me I was a picky eater. I self-identified as a picky eater.

But the truth is, now that I have been out in the world and have seen some picky eaters, I am not a picky eater. There are about five things that I really don't like and won't eat. And those are pretty basic things, like broccoli and liver. And even those are negotiable. If I came to dinner in your house and you made such things (and I cannot understand why you would but it is your house) I would eat them and you would never know that I hate them.

But my parents have just made me feel like I was so damn picky for so long that I have totally bought into it now. But you know what picky is? Picky is when you are the girl in the office that demands that there be "nothing weird" on the group pizza and then tells everyone that "weird" includes mushrooms, sausage and any sort of vegetable. And, no, you cannot possibly just pick things off or suck it up, you will just DIE if there is a MUSHROOM even looking at the pizza. Also, even though the guest of honor loves carrot cake. Would want carrot cake. We cannot order carrot cake. Because "no one likes it." Except EVERYONE does.

Not that I am bothered by this.


She was just brought up by WOLVERINES is all.

6:27 a.m. :: comment ::
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