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1:52 p.m. - 2006-08-04
I'll Just Blame the Cat.
I am really not a superstitious person. I don’t freak if I step on cracks, spill salt, break mirrors, walk under ladders, have to leave the house on Friday the 13th, or a black cat crosses my path (which is probably a good thing, since I have a constantly-underfoot black cat).

However, I do have some little quirks.

For instance, if I wear an outfit to work and have a bad day, I will not ever wear that outfit to work again. (Case in point: outfit I wore the day I laid off was something of a staple, but I’ve never worn it together since.) And I have this fear that, if I talk about good things happening or even good things that might happen…the Universe will immediately commence fucking with me. I’ll lose my job, my cats will get sick, my car will have some expensive problem, my man will dump me, I’ll have some kind of klutzy episode that involves the emergency room, my computer will crash, I’ll gain 40 pounds, and I will end up a drooling idiot who has to move in with my mother just as the plague of locusts is descending.

Seriously.

I suppose that my rational mind knows that this fear is stupid…but it’s having a very hard time convincing the rest of me. I have this sinking sensation that if I post something along the lines of “relationship = good; job = good, life = good,” something will immediately happen to refute those statements.

Examples:

1. This.

2. About a month before we got laid off, an email circulated concerning possible settlement of some of the cases in the class action. We had a meeting saying “no, we have PLENTY of work, those aren’t our files, no one’s going anywhere, we’ll have enough to do to last till at least July.” As of February, we had no jobs.

3. In high school, I was very involved in theater, and our theater department was ultra-competitive. Getting a major role in a school play was a big deal. I get cast for my first major one, and proceed to slip and fall at work, pull a muscle, and limp/walk with crutches almost until opening night.

4. In college, I made the colossal mistake of moving in with a couple. We had this whole TALK about how it would be fine, they didn’t want to live by themselves, it was cool, we needed to save money, etc. About two weeks later, they announce that they’re breaking the lease and moving out.

I suppose, in some roundabout way, this is supposed to be my apology for not updating more frequently. Since I finally managed to mostly wipe off the residue from the last time the Universe decided to give me a Cleveland Steamer, I don’t want to give the Universe any reason to start up with that shit (snicker) again.

Therefore, in an effort to convince the Fates that my life is really not perfect, I will offer the following:

1. My stupid folliculitis problem came back, and $200 worth of prescriptions later, it’s not completely gone. Plus, my face is breaking out.

2. While I do mostly like my job, there are a few annoyances. Number one is an attorney we shall call “Mr. Snorty.” This is because he has this really gross habit of snorting snot and sucking it down his throat. He also wears stinky cologne and scratches his nuts a lot. Plus, he is a giant condescending asshole. However, I won Round 1. We’ve had a couple of people quit, and the powers that be (of which Mr. Snorty really is not one) want the remaining paralegals to be happy. So, in response to your basic docket reminder e-mail, Mr. Snorty sends some snarky response to me implying that I don’t know anything. This was not the first such response, but it was more hateful than the previous ones. I forwarded it to the supervising paralegal, who forwarded it to the boss. The boss told Mr. Snorty to quit being a fucktard and not to piss me off. SCORE: Loopy-1; Snorty-0.

3. Then there’s Mr. Meeting. He’s not an asshole, but he is certainly neurotic. He has decided I’m his favoritest person and now has me confused with someone with a law degree. Flattering, yes. But he gained the nickname by the fact that he cannot just tell you what he wants via e-mail. No, no. It’s all “can you come by my office?” (Hence the nickname.) His office is on the opposite side of the damn building, and then I usually have to walk back to my office, type something, go to the copy room (again, nowhere near my office, and the printer in between the offices is broken all the time), and then back to his office, then back to the copy room. Additionally, he is the King of the Wild Goose Chase, and usually comes up with a bunch of subpoenas he wants to issue a week before hearing that involve making phone calls to various bureaucrats who don’t have a clue.

4. Finally, we have Ms. Whiny, who will ignore cases for months and then decide that everything is a huge emergency even though the hearing is four months away and it will probably settle anyway.

5. I haven’t been sleeping so well lately. I don’t know what my problem is. Insomnia galore.

6. I tore a hole in my favorite skirt today when I ran over it with the chair, and now it’s stapled together.

7. It’s blazing ass hot outside, and it only rains enough to make it hot and humid…and enough to make water spots on my windshield when I’m out of wiper fluid.

8. Several of my friends are having various not-happy things going on, which is not cool at all.

9. My apartment has not, despite all my pleas and prayers, become self-cleaning. They make self-cleaning OVENS. Why can they not extend this principle? My apartment isn’t much bigger than an oven….

10. Lando’s boss, while mostly complying with the “weekends off” policy, has made him work even later during the week.

11. Lando’s cat has suddenly decided that he doesn’t like me any more…or at least sometimes. He’s being all weird. (The cat, not Lando.) He meows a lot and tries to bite me. Then two minutes later, he’s sitting next to me purring.

12. I have yet to win the lottery.


So see, Universe? My life isn’t flawless enough to be screwing with. Go fuck with Mel Gibson some more. He still has quite a bit coming for the Jesus movie. And then try some more fun with Tom Cruise, and perhaps then you can start on G.W. Bush. (I would prefer that you stop with the war type things, because clearly, he doesn’t think those are so much of a problem. I was thinking more along the lines of him caught in bed with a male prostitute up his ass and a straw up his nose.) And when you’re done with him, I’m sure I can come up with some more names for you…

 

 

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