Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003

Sorry About This

I just spent my lunch hour buying a giant pot of moisturizer (hoping against all evidence that this will stop my skin's new habit of sporting white scales on my chin) and a bowl of jambalaya the size of my head.

The jambalaya is excellent. So spicy that my eyes are watering and my nose running and I have had approx 84,000 bottles of water with it. But I am totally working the nose running thing. Because I believe that running noses at work = PROMOTION. And if that were true, you would not be casting your ballot for Bush or for Kerry but for Anyabeth. That is how much my nose is running.

The boy who dished up my soup was very cute and told me my hair was hot. He may have told me this on a dare or because my hair is so hot he could not help himself. I am sure you can all guess which version I am choosing to believe.

Guess what? Telling me that my hair is hot makes me love you. Enough to marry you. If I were not already married. Sadly, Soup Boy and I were not meant to be (nasty bigamy laws) and he knows not how narrowly he escaped a life with a hot-haired wife on anti-depressants who will keep an online journal that will possibly embarrass you daily. Email me if you want to know what shop he works for so you can hook up.

Note to the overly-priced accessories department at the hoity-toity department store near me:

Covering a scrunchie in velvet does not make it anything but a scrunchie. And what are scrunchies my pets? Crimes against nature, country and whatever diety you believe in.

Down with the scrunchie. Wear a damn rubberband you freak.

This morning I spent two hours looking online for Celine pumps. And it was WORK RELATED. And maybe, just maybe, I read articles about how to get salon perfect highlights at home. That is between me and my IT department.

But ya'll are envious aren't you? I am sticking it to the man! Or actually, the man is just asking me to get paid for something I had fun doing. YAY THE MAN!

Can ya'll tell I spent the morning freebasing mini-Snickers from the office Halloween candy bowl? Or to I mean baselining? I am so whitebread I cannot think of what damn drug term I am trying to use. DAMN IT.

I am deeply sorry for this entry.

But I am still going to hit SUBMITT.

12:16 p.m. :: comment ::
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