Okay, I�m done being a grown-up now. I abdicate, I secede, I forfeit all grown-up rights and privileges! I don�t need the vote, I don�t need to be able to drive (legally, anyway), or drink or smoke or rent a car, or buy dirty magazines, or any of the rest of it. I also don�t need to get any more screaming five-alarm fire e-mails that are going to bite me in the ass like a military-grade bear trap. I can do without all of that, thank you very much, and I�d just as soon go back to being a rebellious teenager, trying to get my parents to recognize my independence, all the while secretly kind of hoping that they don�t.
A few things blew up in my face but good today, and a large part of the afternoon was spent tap-dancing on a downhill flow of molten malediction that not even the cupcake buffet downstairs (in honor of Corinne�s last day) could make up for. I won�t go into all the boring details, but suffice it to say that due to myriad minor blunders (some my fault and some not) one of my clients has gone What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? on me. I don�t need this in my life.
Now, it�s not that I�m denying her grievances are legitimate, but her reaction to them is so completely out of proportion that Ren� Magritte wouldn�t even be able to make sense out of it. I mean, again, I�m not saying that we (note the �we�, it wasn�t all my fault) didn�t generate a complication or two that she (the client) could have easily lived without�but it�s also not like we assassinated Archduke Ferdinand either, y�all!
Anyway, she�s one of these people who, when you�re on the phone with them, is always southern hospitality and mint juleps and, "Can I bake you a tray of brownies?" and whatever, and then over e-mail she�s all, "You whores are dead to me, DEAD!" And then you�re like, "Uh�I don�t think I want any brownies anymore." But seriously, this lady doesn�t know from disaster yet, and my feeling is that she should just put a cork in it. I mean, if the shit really hits the fan, we�ll deal with it, but she�s running for the bomb shelter every time the phone rings, you know?
Whatever. My comparisons maybe got a little confused up in there, but I think you get the drift. The other pressing matter that is weighing rather heavily on my mind is the fact that, as I mentioned above, Corinne�s last day is today. She, of course, is happy as a death row inmate just granted clemency by the most merciful of governors, while I look to the future with dread caught in my eye. Caught just like one of those little bugs. Already I have new clients referring to me as Corinne�s "replacement", which gives me arrhythmia.
Perhaps I ought to look at the bright side. Thanks to this latest foofaraw, I�m probably looking a little less like the Extraneous Responsibility Dumping Ground that I was before. That feels better.
Someone Got Here By Searching For: kidnapped fucked island I�m Watching: The Amazing Race, which is still the best reality TV show that isn�t America�s Next Top Model. And: ANTM, which is still the best reality show, despite actually being a rerun of the first season.