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Thursday, July 31, 2008 at 7:26pm

Wussies: None of my girl co-workers took my Double Dare today to go smell what I smelled in the second floor bathroom. I grew up with Koleman, he of the rotting festering guts & inability to flush the toilet, so I have smelled some keenly revolting bum fumes in my time, but this was something else. I think there was a dead body made entirely of poo, rotten meat, sardines & 78 used tampons clogging one of the toilets. Literally as I swung open the door, I was surrounded and all consumed by the almost tasteable foulness. I took a Guiness Records Style Pee, dreading somebody else coming in and me having to bust out of my stall, both palms up in the air surrender style, SWEARING ON MY LIFE that the smell was not me.

Classy Lady: At the Doctors Office I had to give a urine sample. Simple, alright here we go. I'm fairly certain I made Mr. Bean look slick in that stall. It took me half an hour to carve my name into the specimen jar with the dull pencil, I dropped every thing I was carrying at least once, including the towelettes meant to clean the labia, my keys, garbage INTO the toilet which I had to then fish out. I had to keep putting new things into the trash can which had an incredibly loud clangy lid that slammed open each time, and I didn't see the wide mouth cups meant to be peed in, than poured into the smaller jar until I was done and my hand was sopping wet with urine. Twenty minutes later I emerged from the bathroom sweating and disheveled, then sat in the waiting room with about twenty people. Ten minutes later I looked down and noticed my belt was undone, hanging wildly open, splayed and very obviously 'heeeyy waiting room, wanna party?!' Basically, all told, the pap smear was the highlight of the appointment.

Olde: My left palm, right arm, and left knee KILL today. I'm making audible 'oofs' as I bend and fold myself into the car or have to get to a standing position from sitting down. I'm pretty much Humpty Dumpty wrapped in a hoodie right now. Snerf.


Wednesday, August 6, 2008 at 7:13pm

The least shocking thing I could tell Nuv today: I fell again. Rip roaring up the stairs at work, two at a time like I still have a nano-milliliter of cardio pumping through these sludgy veins of mine, I nearly made it to the top. Last step, sneaker toe betrays me again and I go down hard, empty coffee cup flies and lands in two perfectly separated pieces, and out of my mouth flies a hard, fast and emphatic 'SHIT.' Now, the office I'm in is typically so quiet the sound of cool air rushing out of the vents can get annoying, so it must have made a thousand heads turn in their cubicles to hear such a kafuffle at 9:02 AM. Of course I was en route to get the terriblest cup of coffee ever consumed (Thanks Canadian Springs! May I suggest kindly to stick to water & back away slowly & carefully from the coffee beans?) and of course, two people saw me and had to ask through stifled laughter if I was ok. Up, ignoring my screaming shins & the small particles of shattered porcelain on the ground, I declared myself 'FINE' and scuttled away to start the best day in the world ever. Good thing I don't show them off, because poor my legs look like rotten apples.

Eat shit Avery: Every week or so, I play a fun game at work called 'Try to not bash my label maker against my skull repeatedly till it it either works consistently or I go the Hospital with a Union Rep riding shotgun'. It's frankly amazing how a little piece of office equipment & its unfounded grudge against me can make me see red so very fast. I have spent at least 70 hours all totaled and wasted at least 6 rolls of blank labels as this piece of devil retard shit merrily spits out blank ones, prints on a couple, prints half of what I want on one and the other half on another rendering them both useless, then stops and does the slow watery blood colored red blink at me. For fun, of course. Just because I load you very carefully, do nothing different each time and treat you like a brother, FEEL FREE TO KEEP FUCKING ME OVER LABEL MAKER. I'm totally fine with that.

It's a takeover: We saw two skunks rumbling and rolling over each other in the bush at dusk just down the street, just off the sidewalk. I was filled with equal measures boiling rage & fear; I wanted to shoot them with a gun I don't have but I also crossed the street with a trotting 'yikes' because I can't get the image of somebody calmly walking up to me, cradling the ass of a skunk, lifting the tail and spraying me clean in the face with the juice. I dream of this often and I need some help.

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