seething mass of something bad

I'm just tired from work. Loving my job does not make me hate it with a passion any less, and I still have the four hours of mandatory overtime on Saturday. I put in for some seriously random time off over the next five months adn marked it in my calendar. Besides my sister's wedding, I'm taking off for my birthday and again later in the spring, just for the hell of it.

People just--annoy me. And they tend to hit my highest level of annoyance like, *right* before they say, with no sarcasm at all, "Wow, you've been so helpful and friendly. Thank you!"

Someone gave me a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup the other day, which might be technically considered a bribe to a state official or something. Kind of. And she was like, you've been so great, Jennifer, thank you for all your help!

And so I look back, smile blankly, and wonder a little if I had a blackout of some kind. Then want to crawl under my desk for being such a brat.

Anyway, clients mumbling Spanish obscenities (hell-o, idiots, I know what the hell pendeja and puta are, 'kay? Been in Texas my *whole damn life*), throwing papers at us, and generally being complete brats. I realized today, while I was trying to think back to New Year's Day, that it's only been a week.

It feels like so much longer. Like, *weeks*.

And I think--God, the cruelest things, and that's when I get hit on the head with my sheer lack of compassion. It's unacceptable.

( girl in the lobby )

That pretty much kept me ubersweet to the clients for the rest of the day, even the nasty, disgusting, cruel, spoiled ones.

Every day was nightmarish and thirty to forty five minutes overtime.

Tuesday, one of the kids flipped the fire alarm. OPutside in the cold wind for thirty minutes. Filled with maniacal rage.

Today, sister picked me up from work and we ran over a *nail*. We had to change the tire. Okay, watch two very cute guys change the tire. And be asked by the gas station clerk if we needed help changing the tire. My sister is a guy-magnet. She's got that competent-helpless dichotomy going on.

My hair is *pink*. Not red, not red-brown, not brick red, but with a sheen of violet pink like an alien strawberry. I stare at it and think, what the *hell*. It won't wash out, I'm stuck with this for *six weeks*, or so it swears on the cannister. Blond Child's hair rinsed in two washings. I was double washing and my hair hates me, despite triple conditioning treatments, and I can't get this *out*. A friend invited me to a housewarming party and I'm going to be surrounded with professionals and have *pink hair*. *Curly*, *pink* *hair*.

On the surface, this might look very very shallow, and you know, it's not just surface. It's like, right to the bone. I'm just fine with this. I bought a new shirt and new shoes and that didn't appease me.

If this gets any more self-pitying, I am so going to start temper tantruming about everythign else that has gone so very very wrong. The fact that I cut my arm open on teh entertainment thingie in a huge way, so I wear bandaids on my upper arm. Child somehow got crayons in the dryer with my beige dress pants and white shirts. My VCR will not tape from the satellite. I can't find my short brown boots, and even if I did, they are scuffed. I forgot to buy more tea. And also, that show The Simple Life offends my sense of entertainment, and my sister loves it and I dont' *get* it, so I'm adding that to the List of Unfair Things.

I can put everything else in Perspective, even my hair, but no one can put The Simple Life in Perspective. Just. No.

This particular whine is, of course, utterly inexcusable. I shall use my Lana icon to mourn my pancaked sensibilities.

decompression

My hair is still pink, but everyone at work thinks it's cute. I honestly believe they are lying, but that's okay, because I am a whore for compliments. Lie to me.

Anyway, half-day tomorrow, deep breathing tonight, and a thing tomorrow night. And new pants. And possibly boots.

Anyway, days of hating the world. So much missed.

Recs

Some Like It White by ranaeros. It's hot. God, it's hot. And it's *good*. Justin wants to know what the White Party would have been like. Brian obliges. Thoroughly.

*sighs* Yeah....

Risk by josselin. In which Ethan tells Brian a secret. And Brian is odd. Per usual. You know, I promised jainieg, on threat of horrible torture, not to poke fun at Ethan anymore.

This is me, not saying a thing.

Right here.

*whistles*

Places

Remix Redux II, the FPF version, organized by musesfool. For those not familiar with the challenge, all is explained in the rules. Participation is fun. Sure, dead panic and whining to people in AIM, but fun!

julad talks about <A HREF="http://www.livejournal.com/users/julad/54566.html" TARGET='_Top">Brian</A> and makes sense. I'm probably a Brian apologist, by definition. She is not. I like. Yes, this was a totally random and useless post, but dammit, I feel better. During particularly long translations at work, read up on bioterrorism, just to brush up on my paranoia. Now know the symptoms of anthrax, smallpox, botulism, and bubonic plague. Nothing quite makes you look carefully at your skin like the possiblity of deadly lesions. And who knew there were so many *kinds*? Yes, I know, everyone but me. I really have to figure out less gruesome ways to entertain myself.