At least I'm not dead or This week in review

My week started off kind of ridiculous. I was late to work Monday - I choose to blame the fact that the time changed as opposed to it took me longer to apply my make-up than usual. WHATEVER. Tuesday, I stayed up until midnight, which is weird because usually I'm sleep before 9pm (oh hai. I have the sleep pattern of a 90 year old woman) AND THEN an earthquake woke me the fuck up at 4 AM. Which pretty much assured I wouldn't be going back to bed.

Wednesday, St. Patrick's Day, I went over to my co-workers office and ran into her boss. She gave me a box of girl scout cookies. Said she bought some extras, so please to enjoy. My co-worker says to her boss, "These were your dad's favorite" Her boss says " Yeah, well, he's not eating anymore, so I have some extras" I should add that her dad passed a few months ago.

I laughed so hard that I cried. Hello, I love inappropriate humor.

Thursday I woke up with a cold, or something. Sore thoat, body aches, chills. I went to work anyways, because

1. I didn't EVEN want my boss to think I called out sick due to St. Paddy's day hangover.
2. I was covering for someone who was on vacation
3. I had a SHITLOAD of work to do that had to get done by Friday.

The MD that I work for made an executive decision that I was going to stay home tomorrow. Blah, blah, blah...something about how he does not play a doctor on TV, he really does have a medical degree. FINE THEN. I'll see you on Monday.

So today, I'm lying in bed. I'm a whiny, congested mess. I'm guzzling Nyquil in the hopes that I will not only stop coughing, I may also get some sleep. I wanna feel sorry for poor pitiful me because I feel horrible and look like crap. But I am comforted by the fact that my MD cares enough about his health   me to tell me to stay home, my husband is home taking care of me and letting me sleep while he makes me breakfast.

Well, that and the fact that I can eat cookies.

I'm your pusher baby...

I often talk about my love for shoes. Because I *do* love shoes. The high heeled kind. Because they make my legs look georgeous (What? It's true. Would you prefer me to be less than honest?) AND ALSO because they make me feel sexy. Which. Hello? Why wouldn't I want to feel sexy?

But I have another love. Make up. I love lamp make up. I do.

For a lot of years I got by on eyeliner and lipstick. Which, I rocked. OBVIOUSLY. And I would save the eyeshadows for fancy occasions, you know... The Marine Corps Ball. Which was maybe the beginning of my addiction. First I needed make up for the Ball. After all, I couldn't go barefaced. So another military wife and I would hit the M.A.C. counter, say, "So, I'm going to this fancy shingdig and I need something on my face. And please. Don't make me look like a drag queen. Not that there's anything wrong with that."

Then, I bought some shadow I could wear everyday. You know, neutral shades and stuff. But the more you wear, the more you want. And after all, look at this pretty GREEN eyeshadow and why wouldn't I want that, but then I needed something to go with it, and I could wear this to work...and I have this friend who enabled my habit because SHE is an addict and...and the next thing you know... hello make up junkie.

So now, I have this friend. She has some basic make up. You know... neutral, wear everyday colors. She says to me, "I wish I had more colors that I could use. But I'm not even sure where to start." Me? "Oh, let me send you a little something." (She lives in another country AND I was already mailing her a box of goodies)

She got one of her boxes the other day:

picture stolen from Coastal Scents.

Too much?

You know what's awesome?

When you start blogging because you have so much to say and nobody to say it to, so you find a really nifty space to say and be whoever you want...And you find an awesome community of bloggers who talk you into signing up for twitter because OH MY GAH!! All the cool kids are doing it and you meet a bunch MORE cool blogger types. AND THEN, you go to the #VegasBirthdayBash where VDog's first impression of  you is you drunk off your ass and shaking it in the Planet Hollywood elevators.

And she invites you to come blog at her place anyways.




I didn't write HERE, because I wrote over there. C'mon over and visit me. Because I *am* the kinda broad who will invite other people to come and kick it at somebody elses house.

$&(#*&@(*@^!! <--That's me trying not to drop an F-bomb at work

This is MY desk.

On my desk, I have a bajillion paperclips, a shit ton of post-its, the Lakers 2009-10 schedule, random pictures (Yes, that is a question mark. I hold it over my head when I want to know WTF you are talking about) and pens. The pens that I don't mind losing because I am a pen freak and hide my favorite ones. And a plant, because my co-worker across the walkway is constantly staring at my computer screen. Gah!

I'll bet you're wondering why I'm here today talking about my desk. It's because the other day a co-worker was digging around in my drawers HE CLAIMS looking for keys. Keys, I might add are always HERE on the side of my desk in that basket thingy.

Another co-worker caught him at my desk while I was out shopping for lunch. To be fair, I thought I had locked my desk, and if I HAD this would have been a non-issue. But uhh...in the years that I've worked here the keys have always been THERE. (see previous picture). NOT here.

When I found out, I went from my shopping induced euphoria to fighting mad in less than six seconds. I hate, hate, HATE people digging around in places where they don't belong (Yes, I hate going to the OB/GYN. Why do you ask?). I went right over to his office to rip him a new asshole, but lucky for the both of us, he was probably wondering the halls looking for another desk to violate or maybe, you know.. working. Whatever. His being gone probably saved my job.

But when I DID run into him, and please believe that I made it a point to do exactly that, I explained that it has been my understanding that the keys have been kept in the hanging thing there on the side of my desk, where I've seen you get them many times over the years...if not forever, for at least for the THREE FUCKING YEARS that I've been here. And you, "sir"...have never, not once found keys in my drawers.

Also? Rifling through my desk without permission is the same thing as digging through my purse. Which... I'm *sure* you would never do, right? Riiight.

So lets make a deal. If you don't see something on my desk, just wait for me to come back and ask me. And I never have almost cuss you out at work again*. KTHXBAI. (jackass)

/rant

*That's me. Keeping it professional while I'm tearing you a new one.