ammogirl

I spent so much time getting the video post to work that it felt like I had posted for ten days straight. Don’t ask me what I did to get it to work finally; all I know is somehow I turned off my WYSIWIG editor and I’m stuck with the non-WYSIWIG one. Probably…until John comes home. So.

Lindsey’s gone this weekend on a trip with a youth group–no, wait, before you laugh at my hypocrisy, the what I think is actually irony for real, of the daughter who sort of enabled the end of me and religion 15 years ago being involved with a youth group, let me explain. She only goes because her friends go, and those friends only go because, well–their friends go. They are using god as a social chaperone, if you will. I know this because I am friends with several of Lindsey’s friends mothers, and they all feel the same way about religion. Also, Lindsey will full-on admit to it, unabashedly. Whatever, she’s a good girl and an four-day trip with her friends in a religious atmosphere is will harm neither her nor I. Also, because she’s gone it’s just me and Taylor this weekend, and we are having fun. She’s the one who’s ‘transitioning’, if you will, between ‘I am the baby’ and ‘I am NOT A BABY, GODDDDDD’ and our dealings have been mostly conducted on eggshells lately. This weekend is good for us.

Anyway, Friday was…ugh. We had a lunch run to Subway, right? And I got my sandwich and was fully invested in it, because it was GOOD, until I happened to SEE THE HAIR that was in it. It was so fucking gross. I grabbed it and pullllllllllled it out, and it was like, eight inches long, and I laid it next to my sandwich, wrapped it up, and put it in the trash. Then I said, “there was a hair in my sandwich” at which point my co-workers started in with the, “oh, the guy that made your sandwich was dirty” and “omg he had such greasy hair” and I tried really hard to not react or anything but my disgust of HAIR IN MY FOOD is documented and I could not stop the gagging and I realized that holy crap, I was going to THROW UP. I ran down the hall, out the vault door, and sped in to the bathroom, where I emptied my stomach into the first available stall. I COULDN’T BELIEVE IT! I have never ACTUALLY thrown up from disgust, although I say that I am all the time.

For a short while after that I had to listen to the “maybe it was YOUR hair” and the, “come on, it couldn’t have been THAT gross” until lo and behold! ANOTHER person in a different office FOUND A HAIR ALSO. However, he just pulled it out and continued eating but at that point, it had become officially disgusting, and the manager was called and money was refunded because HI HAIR IN FOOD IS GROSS.

And then at the end of the day when I was changing out of my uniform, the lock on the freshly painted conference room door got stuck, and I was instantly panicked and pounded on the door and was all, “hey! HEY! Let me out!” while my coworkers stood outside the door and laughed and laughed. Yeah, nice guys, down to the last one. After a bit of pushing and pulling and holding the door handle just so, I was able to turn the key all the way and popped out to even MORE laughter, because of COURSE they wouldn’t believe me when I said the lock was stuck and assumed I had just forgotten I had locked it. Yeah, okayyyy, “oh no, here I am behind a door that I locked that won’t open! What should I do! I am a girl and therefore can’t think of simple things like turning the key! Please rescue me!” I know better than to argue with this bunch of jokers when they are in this mood, though, because it’s the mental version of me swinging away while they hold me just out of range with a hand on my head. You know what I’m talking about? Ugh. MEN.

Now I’ve gotta run–I finally got my hands on Stephen King’s latest and I can only read it during the daytime. Creepy!

Tschuss!!