  This day blows. I have a terrible hangover. And I'm getting nothing done. holy shit, ha- roommate/deskmate just now discovered that I changed the radio station to some slow, smooth jams station- being the card-carrying racist he is, he was appalled; me, I will sing along to "Everybody Plays the Fool" and daydream about what that Neville brother's giant birthmark tastes like.
Anyway, I just ate a box of those veggie chips that a coworker of mine claims she doesnt like. Pretty sick. Girls are so weird. I have a feeling she only said she didnt want them and gave them to me so I'd eat them and bear the brunt of their caloric quantity- not a big fan of girls.
"My Girl" was playing on the radio before roommate and I went to go get cokes from the breakroom and as I shoveled ice in my cup I made up a little ditty to the "My Girl" tune: me: "Quake hole (quake hole, quake hole! ) Talkin' bout... quake ho-ho-ole... quake hole! I dont need no quake hole... I got tha month of may..." roommate: Actually you do need a quake hole, or you'd probably die. me: Holy... hell. We'd all die if we couldn't shit. roommate: My grandmother was once in the hospital cause she couldnt crap.
She was literally, 'full of shit. ' me: High five for granny when she finally pinched off that heat stick, eh? So last night at Gilroy's, 5 vodka cranberry cocktails deep, I was pretty sober but drunk enough to make a terrible scene about pseudo staring at this tall, statuesque blond - with one eye- using the other one in conversation with me.
Oh, and he was trying to get me to eat the pizza (remember: 'we need to feed these. ') So, in sticking with my ever-present fatal flaw of wicked insecurity in the face of something that actually is a mutual source of love and adoration for me (translate: he loves me how I am, I adore him- so I conjur up said blonde in order to pick a fight, get more reassurance to my own outward appearance, whine and in the end, attempt to destroy something I really want, just for the sake of destroying it- hmm, FEAR.?
), I bitched and cried and woke up today to realize the absurdity of my actions. Can I just say, on a serious note- in a perfect world, no one would be sickeningly beautiful, hugely wealthy, name dropping designers or breathing on the spot on the hood of their car then wiping it away with an elbow. Actually, the only thing that would matter to anyone would be finding that one person you're meant to be with, at least the one you can stand, laugh with and who keeps you on your toes- no matter what the inside label of your shoe says.
THAT would be the source of happiness. That being said, when I was lying in pseudo's bed this morning, he leaned over to look at me, smiled, put one finger up to his mouth to say "sssh," paused, then farted. If I didnt already know it, I knew then, I've got the one for me. 
