Caterwauling

What a week. 

I found that dieting and walking more than usual only makes you gain weight. 

I swear I was down three pounds midweek. But last night I binged on mom’s amazing cauliflower fritters. Because I am a dork and would eat cauliflower over chocolate any old day. 

But I think my most remarkable feat of strength this week wasn’t eating next to nothing. (Ex-cauliflower binge.) 

It was not publishing all the draft blog posts I wrote in fits of omgwtfbbq. 

So the week has been a wash at best. But maintaining gainful employment, even as challenging as it has been, nudges this week into the “win” column. 

Even if only by another newly acquired gray hair. 

My day is as mixed as the market. 

Got to work super early. Redid the project I thought I finished over MLK weekend. It’s better now. 

Computer lost all the boss’ edits on a late day project today. Computer lost all my edits on a 31-page doc last night. That sucked far more. 

All I want is a new computer. Every time I have an urgent project, the thing punks out.  I have urgent projects up to 11x daily. 

Now I have to work on the copy I’ve been avoiding that must go live in the morning.

I’d rather eat the mosquitoes that carry the Zika virus. But they’d probably cost me more SmartPoints than a quarter-cup of pumpkin seeds. 

Other than that it’s a great day. Maybe if I type it, I’ll believe it!

When I leave work late, I’m always the dork walking amongst the rich and famous (and expensively dressed for the nightlife) with my lunchbox. 

It doesn’t bother me. My mommy makes sure I have food. Can they say the same? Of course, they can afford $32 for a cheeseburger. But still. 

Today I took out the peanut M&Ms and Dove peanut butter meltaways before I even left the house. Go, me. 

That was my only victory today. But I’ll take it. Otherwise, I took about 7,000 fewer steps than yesterday and consumed about 10 more points. 

It’s turning into a stupid-busy week and I’m trying to keep to some promises (not resolutions) I made myself this year:

• I deserve evenings off. 

Not sure whether I’m at peace or if I’m dead inside. But would anyone care either way, really?

Maybe I could have been Amy Shumer if I could just have made a career out of being who I really was instead of the boring fuck I’ve forced myself to become. 

I think I’ve been doing a good job of whack-a-moling the “Your friend works directly for Oprah and lives in your favorite city. Where did you go wrong?” that is on repeat in my defeat-addled brain. 

But I know me. One thing will eventually set me off and it’s going to come out at exactly the wrong place and time. 

I’d prefer to channel that outburst into calling an ex-employer I particularly loathe. To gloat. 

When I worked at Two Strikes, the CEO was taking her choir to Chicago. Two weeks before it, she told me to get her booked on the show. 

I was the communications director and the token whipping girl. I was good, yes. But I wasn’t that good. And I did try. 

The staff found it all hilarious. They sided with me (um, impossible task) but told the CEO I must be incompetent if I couldn’t get Oprah to rearrange her vacation to get a bunch of foster-care executives on her show on command. 

And yes I was punished for not making it happen. Public excoriations ahoy. 

Anyway. I wish someone would tell Her Royal Pretentiousness that I have her right-hand person on speed-dial now. 

And I would tell Lady O to never, ever associate her good name with that crazy Mussolini with a weave. 

I typed that line today about my other Tummy-ache Twin. These boys sure do keep things interesting. No wonder I have anxiety.

Nothing else to see here. Carry on. I just lost minutes of my life because of this crap.

Ever have a conversation with someone and wish you were on a reality show so you could look at the camera and say, “Did you hear that?” Or more aptly, “Dude, this is gif-worthy.”

Sometime after I realized I wasn’t winning Powerball (no one did. The jackpot is up to $675 million now), I got the idea to move into a seasonal rental. Something furnished. Even better, something temporary that goes away when the snowbirds return. 

Even if people don’t like my ideas or me, or even if my ideas don’t work out, I’m going to keep having them. Maybe one of them is going to lead to a jackpot of a different kind. 

I was all dressed up and ready to leave the house for work today. And then the train took off and I am still talking and typing from my bed 10-ish hours later. With no end in sight.

It’s all good.

I cracked the whip all over the place today and I think it hit me in the head a few times. Without getting into it too deeply, I’m sick of the “tummy-ache twins.”

If there’s a deadline or a problem or whatever, they get a tummy-ache. One will give you the excuse the second you ask (and you ALWAYS have to ask), and the other will wait four days to say he had a boo-boo but he’s all better now.

I had the metaphorical “doormat” tattoo removed over the holiday. You want mummy to give you Vapo-Rub? Tough titty, said the kitty.

We’ll see how long they last.

I have said this phrase one million times in my life: I will kiss your ass till I have to kick it.

Well, Mummy’s got some new boots and she ain’t afraid to use ’em.

Also, it’s too cold for flip-flops right now. Maybe that’s a good thing. For all of us.

Now how do I cure this shit?

Concealed Anxiety

I could just as easily be offed by one of these Daesh nutjobs. And all I have to show for it is another four weeks’ vacation lost and dealing with another new hire who is probably too lazy to be a suicide bomber but who the hell knows, really.

The office is reeking of stink from one of the downstairs restaurant’s bathrooms. But the Lync connection is fooked so I can work instead of being in a meeting. Given that the AC is behaving today, I’m calling this one a win.