Wednesday, September 2, 2009

I've Gone All Sorts of "Falling Down" On You Today. Now Give Me the Coke For Fifty Cents and Get Out Of My Bat's Way!

While perusing blogs, in general, when I get to the one that is chock full of complaints, ranting, raving and broad scale "the whole world is full of douchebaggery", I tend to skim and then skip.

So what I'm saying to you right now is, if you do that - if you skim and skip the open letters to assholes blog posts - then you might just want to carry on. My feelings won't be hurt. However? Tune in for the next segment of open letters and see if you made the list. Wink.

So let's get this going, because I haven't got all day to whine like a titty baby:

Dear Co-workers,

I ain't yo bitch. It's just not so. So don't act like it is. It's NOT actually my job to load the dishwasher. But I do it. Keeping the office running in general, IS my job. So when you pile six disgusting ass glasses in the sink (seriously, what the heyll ARE you people doing to these glasses, GRODY! I should probably call the authorities on your weirdness.) because the dishwasher is full of other disgusting glasses, I'm a little cranky.

I have to run the dishwasher, unload it and then reload just to even be comfortable in that room. Which isn't even a room because we HAVE NO DOORS IN THIS OFFICE! I can see you drop yo'stuff and run away.

Also? We don't have a garbage disposal. So that smell that you bitch at me about all the time? Yeah, that's because your lazy mug dropped some nasty down in the sink and then left it there. Because evidently your mother works here. And your mother is about to whup your booty.

I totally mean this in the kindest way possible. Y'all is lazy and inconsiderate.


Not Yo Mama

Dear Summer of Discontent,

Now that you are winding down, you HAVE to give me a break. You just kind of have to. Something has got to give. I feel broken and battered. I feel life weary and haggard.

Yeah, I slap a smile on my face and force it until it finally feels right. And yeah, I make this look easy in person, but do you see my knuckles? They are white and really tired. I'm looking at some lethargic knuckles here that would kind of rather take a nap than sit here all clenched up all day long. There are actual little half moon shapes dug into my palms from my finger nails.

What I'm saying is, let the heyll up. I get it, life is tough, expect the unexpected, man up, pull up my diapers, walk it off, rub some dirt on it, carry on, keep on truckin', keep on keepin' on and what not.

But listen to me, I'm done. I'm cooked, I'm fried and I'm toast.

You know how I know? The dishwasher just pissed me off. That? Is totally ridiculous.


Seriously, Back On Up Out Of Here

PS? Expect the unexpected? Don't make me kick you in your lady box, Life. That is just mucked up.

PPS - Just toss a bitch a bone already.


Oh and one more thing:

My lunch with Miss Yvonne was exactly what I expected. I laughed so hard my face hurt afterwards.

As soon as I have some Miss Yvonne Approved - Photoshopped All To Heyll pictures, then I'll share. The bitch is lucky she lives so far away, otherwise? I'd be all stalky, up in her grill and forcing her to let me sing Journey into her karaoke machine.


Gypsy said...

I'd like all my photos to be photoshopped. Like, now.

Also, if Life messes with you again, tell her you will snatch her bald.

BusyDad said...

The co-worker rant is totally legit. I may have even worked there before. Sounds familiar. Please have the camera running the day you flip out and kick their asses.

Miss Yvonne said...

Oh how I wish we lived closer to each other. Because I could really use a cute stalker. One who wears hot pink eye shadow when she's meeting me for the first time and goes along with my stupid clown mask jokes. You would be the best stalker ever.

Tell Life I'm about to f*** her shit up if she keeps messing with you.

P.S. I promise, the pics are coming your way soon. It takes a long time to make me look thin in photoshop.

Anonymous said...

At least once a day I want to write a note and sign it Not Yo Mama