Dear Diary,
Morale is at an all-time low at Company V, where I work as a technical writer. Even I, who as you know am eternally cheerful and optimistic, have a case of the "ho-hum"s and the "I'd-rather-stab-myself-in-the-neck-than-work-here-another-day"s. So, to keep my spirits up as I toil away, I like to think of jobs that would be worse than mine. For example:
1. People who have to use the software I write about. Those poor suckers.
2. The guy who stocks the vending machines here, who has to read all the nasty post-it notes about who lost how much money and when. (People, come on. It's 55 cents. Take it as a sign that you didn't need that snickers after all.)
3. J-Lo's trainer.
4. J-Lo's dancer.
5. J-Lo's husband.
6. The technician at the vet. He has to stick things up cats' butts and he probably gets paid minimum wage.
7. Producer on Oprah. Like it was Oprah's idea to give away those cars.
8. Oprah's cook/trainer/stylist. They probably live in fear of her getting fat again. Same with Star Jones.
9. Any of the poor, unsuspecting telemarketers who dare to call my house when I'm feeling drunk and sassy.
10. My boss. If my job sucks, I'm sure her job sucks even more.
See how I keep everything in perspective, Diary? This job is looking pretty good. I think I'll get right back to work! These nails won't file themselves, you know.
Love, Fluffy
12.1.05
All The News
Dear Diary,
Forgive me for my prolonged absence. I've been busy burning my ear off with a straightening iron, searching for the perfect trenchcoat, playing trivial pursuit, and eating mexican food, and listening to covers of Joe Jackson songs in Spanish. (Todo leeeeee da la cáncer, todo leeeeeeee da la cancer...)
Lately I have been obsessed with material things. I stay up at night thinking about things I want to buy. Buying things is all I can think about. If I could, these are the things I would buy:
trench coat (Breakfast at Tiffani's style, not Columbine style)
pale pink sweater
pale yellow sweater
volvo station wagon
lasik surgery
an address book
a featherbed
several belts made out of ties
a lustrous tuscan leather overnight bag
new everything
plane tickets (see below)
Maybe it's all the footage of the tsunamis, but I am dying to go to the beach. I simply must convince the BHE to slap on the 35 and take me to Florida. The sun is avoiding City B like the plague. It's very depressing. I don't wear spf 15 moisurizer on my youthful face for nothing. Humph.
Love, Fluffy
Forgive me for my prolonged absence. I've been busy burning my ear off with a straightening iron, searching for the perfect trenchcoat, playing trivial pursuit, and eating mexican food, and listening to covers of Joe Jackson songs in Spanish. (Todo leeeeee da la cáncer, todo leeeeeeee da la cancer...)
Lately I have been obsessed with material things. I stay up at night thinking about things I want to buy. Buying things is all I can think about. If I could, these are the things I would buy:
trench coat (Breakfast at Tiffani's style, not Columbine style)
pale pink sweater
pale yellow sweater
volvo station wagon
lasik surgery
an address book
a featherbed
several belts made out of ties
a lustrous tuscan leather overnight bag
new everything
plane tickets (see below)
Maybe it's all the footage of the tsunamis, but I am dying to go to the beach. I simply must convince the BHE to slap on the 35 and take me to Florida. The sun is avoiding City B like the plague. It's very depressing. I don't wear spf 15 moisurizer on my youthful face for nothing. Humph.
Love, Fluffy
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