Bodybuilder Magee

Yesterday was another banner day for feeling like a total hoss.

You know how everything is just completely worse when you're exhausted? Olivia was up for three hours Wednesday night, just crying and whining and keeping me up for THREE HOURS.

I know what you're thinking, you're thinking that she is probably teething, right? I KNOW, me too! But no, no teeth. Not even a hint of a tooth. This kid is not getting teeth, I swear. We are going to have to purchase a set of hand-crafted baby dentures for her first birthday present.

So. Anyways. I was really tired. And for some reason, I thought it a good idea to wear a skirt with tights on Thursday, even though I was slightly annoyed by the tightness around my tank gut when I left the house. As soon as I got to work, I was cursing my sausage encasing. I'm not very smart, you see that. And then! AND THEN! It's the last couple weeks of the year and so work just totally blows a big fat fattie, and that's all I'm really going to say about that.

I should just stop telling this story, because it requires so much back story that it makes me want to die, and so you are probably already dead and not even reading this. I DO NOT BLAME YOU.

Perhaps you remember my coworker who volunteered to become my punching bag fitness coach? We will call him Bodybuilder Magee, even though he is older than electricity and has flat old man ass, and wears cologne that smells like a hamster cage.

Well, he's a repeat offender in the asshole department. I get up at 5, and I'm usually hungry for all or part of my lunch at around 10:30. And Bodybuilder Magee is always commenting on what I eat and how early it is. Like, "oh, digging into your lunch already?!" Or, "uh oh! Eating cookies!"

OH MY GOD.

I'm not even a nice person. I'm not going to lie. I have to try really hard to not kill people, like, every day. So my ability to leave my machete at home every work day is amazing. Bodybuilder Magee should be glad that he survived Lupron, because Mark barely escaped, and I actually like Mark.

Now. Yesterday. I was "digging into" my salad at 10:30. And don't you know that Bodybuilder Magee comes into my office and - I kid you not - peeks into my bowl. Like, he puts his face near my bowl. Or, more to be more specific, he put his eyeballs near my really sharp fork.

"Oh, good job! Eating salad! Already?"

Really? Are you insulting me for eating early, or congratulating me for eating a salad before my thighs take over the world? BE MORE SPECIFIC, OLD MAN!

"Oh, hahahaha..." Fucktard.

Later in the day, I was eating some delicious candy from the corporate gift basket, and it was all just too much for him to bear:

BM: "Uh oh...you're eating all the candy! Good thing you ate that salad earlier, and that soup...did you plan to eat the salad so that you could eat the candy later?"

JK: "No, I ate what I ate because I wanted to eat it, why do you feel the need to comment on my eating all the time? Do you need something from me?"

This is exactly why I hate people, in general.  I swear to god I'm going to tell him he smells like hamster cage.

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In news that is exciting only to me: I have 1,000 Google Reader subscribers!  Which sounds awesome, except Amalah has like 5,000, so.  That is exciting only to me, obviously.  But I remember not too long ago, being excited about having 100.