So, remember that time? Yesterday? When I said I felt dizzy and didn�t know what that was all about? Yeah, I figured it out. I�m allergic to this FUCKING JOB! Okay, not really. It turns out they were using this highly toxic paint out on the docks and I�d been breathing it in for the previous three hours without realizing what the peculiar odor was. I know, I�m a bit obtuse, aren�t I? Also, there�s this stackable storage unit right next to my desk up here, and they put all these supplies in it that they dredged from the bowels of the ancient, musty closet in which they keep all their surplus. So I�d been breathing in mildew and mold spores all day long. Fun.
In brief, I apologize for my somewhat erratic entry from yesterday, but I was high off my ass at the time. The truths I put forth still hold, however. Dolly is still Evil�s Handmaid.
On a completely different subject altogether, one of the janitors around hereabouts has the cutest little cocker spaniel puppy (whom I�ve mentioned before), and every morning I stop to pet him on my way to the office. He�s so, so cute with his little waggley tail and his floppy ears, and I�m such a sucker for dogs. Plus, it�s really nice to have a cute blonde jumping all over me, trying to give me tongue kisses first thing in the morning. I�d much prefer it if he were about six feet tall and not doling out that sloppy affection to anyone willing to rub his abdomen (I�ve met enough of those types, thank you), but it�s still kind of nice.
Oh, except for one thing: see, every morning when I arrive, he flops over onto his back so I can have better access to that most hallowed scratching ground known as Puppy Tummy. This is fine. This is kind of endearing. What�s not so endearing �- and you should cover your eyes here, o ye faint of heart �- is the, er, greenish discharge leaking from his�private area. I�m serious. It�s sick, nasty, and wrong. This dog has, like, fucking gonorrhea or something, and it needs to be looked at by a physician, stat. I�ve met enough of those types, too, thank you.
Well, tonight I�ve got two more birthday parties on the agenda! Carrie is having what promises to be a wildly fun (and affordable) f�te at a local saloon of some sort, and then Mark (who teaches my class) is having his own debauched soir�e later on. I will most indubitably become completely shitfaced by the end of the evening, and I�m kind of looking forward to it. Does that make me bad? Am I a tramp?
The other thing I�m planning on doing tonight, after I�ve knocked a few back, is calling up you-know-who. I think he�s earned a drunk-dial at this point. I�ll dispense with using the cutesy nickname I assigned him a few entries back, because I think he�s effectively forfeited the right to have it. Okay, so it was kind of lame to begin with. Shut up. I just can�t decide what to call him now, you know? I�ll leave it up to you, gentle reader. Which do you prefer: Serial? Or maybe Two Face? Or, in the spirit of Kevin Costner�s Oscar�-winning film, Dances With Wolves, what about Says He�ll Call in a Few Days, But Evidently Doesn�t Really Mean It?
Yeah, that�s right. He said he�d call. He didn�t. I feel like I shouldn�t care at this point, but now it�s a matter of ransoming my dignity, I think. So, drunk-dialing. I promise it won�t be shameful or embarrassing �- well, not too shameful or embarrassing �- but I just want to get to the bottom of this.
Plus which, he�s still got my book. Fucker.