Well, I'm a real asshole.

Yeah. So today is my boss’s birthday and NO ONE BOTHERED TO TELL ME THIS. I’m one of three direct reports she has and I didn’t even give her a flipping card. There goes my raise this year.

Speaking of work, most days I have a snack of some kind while I’m here because I’m not very good at eating a “real” lunch during the work week. And also because sometimes I’m just hungry for one. Usually this involves fruit or popcorn because I only eat like 10 different foods total. Yes. I’m aware that this is not normal. ANYWAY, if I’m eating popcorn, someone has to comment on it EVERY FUCKING TIME. As though the concept of microwave popcorn is so foreign, or so unattainable, that every one of my effing co-workers has to live vicariously through my consumption of it rather than just buying some of their own.

I’ve been unusually tolerant of this bullshit but today I cracked. The same fat woman who always says shit to me about being skinny, blah, blah, blah, (in that fake nice way that’s meant to make me feel bad because she has to wear stretch pants all week) said something again about the popcorn and how she’s surprised I’m not fat because I eat it three times a week. HUH? This makes no sense but whatever. She’s standing there, telling me this, with a package of King Sized Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups in her hands, so I told her we should compare nutrition information on our snacks. Because in my estimation, hers has more fat in it than I probably eat in a day.

I think I might’ve “nipped that in the bud.”

In other news, I’m finally tired of country music. Minus Keith Urban, Brad Paisley, Sawyer Brown, and… shit. Nevermind.

I am not very insightful.

Well dudes, I’m going to be 31 in exactly two months from today. Yeah. I know. I can’t believe it either. HAVE YOU SEEN MY LEGS.

Anyway, this morning I was getting ready for work and I suddenly realized I was using a fucking anti-aging eye cream. I mean, I bought this shit myself so it’s not like I didn’t know what it was. But all the same. It didn’t fully hit me until today. Then I started peering into the mirror closely and identified some very small wrinkles in the corner of my eyes. One in between my eyebrows too. And fucking A. I could have grey hair and not even know it, since I can’t even remember what my natural hair color is anymore. I almost had a melt in the bathroom. I could barely get my mascara on. It was serious.

I guess a part of me is starting to feel my age. Mostly in a good way. I look pretty good for my age, I act like a total moron most of the time, and 24 year-old guys with really great bodies, etc. seem interested enough in me, so I should be thinking this is the best time of my life, right? And I do. But somewhere inside, I hear this little voice shouting shit like, “YOUR METABOLISM IS GOING TO START SLOWING DOWN”, “THAT OCCASIONAL KNEE PAIN IS GOING TO BE A REAL ISSUE SOMEDAY”, and, “YOUR HAIR ISN’T ALWAYS GOING TO LOOK THAT GOOD.” At this point, I easily ignore this voice with booze and cigarettes. But at some point, this voice will win! Because it’ll be true. And I’ll be left with fuzzy hair and a knee brace.

There really isn’t any point in all of this so don’t go looking for some closure or deep meaning here. I’m not Mitch Albom or Dave Barry for chrissakes. I’d just like to keep living but always look like I do now. Without having to marry a plastic surgeon. How can this be arranged?

In other news, I am no longer eating microwave popcorn at work. Everytime I make it, someone is like, “OH MY GOD. YOUR POPCORN SMELLS SO GOOD. I WANT SOME.” Yeah. I bought it at the store. You can get some too. Crazy shit, I know. That's what I said to my co-worker yesterday and she just said, "You're so funnnnny!"

Uh huh.

Well, this is what’s annoying the shit out of me today.

Whenever I take time off to run a race, my boss always asks me, “How was your marathon?” Dude. Get real. Not every damn race I run is a marathon. And also, judging by the fact that I’m limping around like I’ve got a peg leg, I’m guessing my “marathon” DIDN’T GO SO GREAT. This would also be evidenced by the fact that I already told her WHAT HAPPENED DURING THE “MARATHON.” Which solidifies my suspicion that she tunes out whatever I’m saying. How nice.

Which leads me to myself. I am annoying the shit out of myself today. It takes me for-fucking-ever to get anywhere and I make these wincing faces whenever I stand up, which is sorta knee-jerk and unavoidable, and very much something that would get on my nerves if I saw someone else doing it all the time. So, the lady who sends me forwards every day must really hate me right now and I don’t blame her. I guess we’re even.

I somehow got a run in my tights (NOT LEGGINGS) and everyone is pointing it out to me. Yes. I know. And what the fuck do you want me to do about it anyway? Go buy new ones right now, so I can stop answering your dumb questions? I’d happily do this if I could escape this place long enough to get in my car and never come back. As it stands, each time I get up, someone is coming towards me and needs me for “just a minute.” Yeah. Right.

I suppose I should be all happy tree people here to balance out this “negativity” since the New Year just started and whatever. My hair looks good today. And I just realized that the sweater dress I’m wearing is see-through. So there you go.