There must be a sign on my back I'm not aware of.

So, I was at the grocery store and the lady bagging my stuff asks me the whole, “Is your hair naturally curly?” thing. I tell her it is. This is generally the part where the other person goes on and on about it and I just stand there listening and not knowing what to say in response without sounding like a self-absorbed asshole.

Well clearly this was not going to be an issue. She said back to me, “Oh you must get SO sick of having that.” WHAT?! Dudes. Who in the hell says shit like this outloud? I just said to her, “Not, not really.” And she said, “Wow. I would.” AND THIS WOMAN HAD AN EFFING PERM. THIS MAKES NO SENSE TO ME.

Anyway, in related news, I’m thinking I might grow my hair out. I initially was going to do this in an effort to save money on my expensive hair-styling services. However, I still have to get it “trimmed” when I’m in there for the dye job, and I get charged the same price for a trim vs. a regular haircut. WTF is that about. I’d like to ask but the power of the scissors is mighty.

In unrelated news, I just got off the phone with my mom, who told me, “When you were two years old, I told your father you’d be a terrible flirt that gets married 5-6 times.” THANKS MOM. And for the record, that would never happen. I absolutely hate planning weddings.

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.

UPDATE:

I figured I’d use my broken travel mug today, just to be nice about it all. I took the lid off and was just sipping coffee out of it when the bottom fell out. I was in a meeting with my boss, which just made this the best Christmas gift ever.

Yeah. It's Not Rocket Science.

Well, don’t tell anyone this but sometimes I’m nicer than I let on. I actually gave three people at work legitimately nice Christmas presents. In return, I got one bottle of Bath and Body Works hand soap, a box of Fiber One bars, and a travel mug with a lid that’s broken. That seems about right.

Anyway, what I gave these people (2 of which I legitimately like and 1 of which is my boss) is a Philosophy “3-in-1” bath product. Magically, it can be used as body wash, shampoo, OR bubble bath. Apparently this concept is foreign to people working in health insurance. When my boss opened this up, she was like, “Wow! How does this work? A 3-in-1? I’ve never seen something like this before!” Then she opened the cap, smelled it (even though there was a little cover over the top and you can’t smell anything until you take it off), and said, “It smells so good!” The ladies I legitimately like said the same thing. Seriously? This isn’t a tough concept. I’m guessing they were just pretending to like my gift. That’s cool. Next time I’ll just buy the shitty stuff from Shopko or Kohl’s.

My mom just called and asked me what she said she was making for Christmas dinner. Which is actually going to be lunch and not dinner. WTF is up with people in the Midwest doing that? Lunch is called “dinner” and dinner is called “supper”. Well I have no clue what she’s making but I made some suggestions. I guess cigarettes and booze will not be on the menu. No worries. Arbor Mist will be making another appearance. I guess Gordy’s had some clearance. This tells me something about Arbor Mist, but I guess my mom wasn’t reading between the bar codes.

Shit. The year is almost over. You know what this means? Someone needs to buy me a new Chuck Norris calendar before I go all nunchuck on their ass.

Are you there Santa? It's me, Jodie.

Well, Christmas is in just a few days and this is what I want.

1. I’d like to be the only person using the bathroom at work. JUST ONCE. I’m not saying I spent a huge amount of time in there because clearly I have issues with public restrooms. But all the same. Every fucking time I walk in there, someone follows right behind me and goes into the other stall. Then they proceed to clear their throat, thinking this will cover up the noises they’re making. Or they don’t clear their throat and instead talk to me while they’re going. I don’t want to talk to someone while I’m going to the bathroom. CRAZY. I KNOW.

2. I would like for everyone in grocery stores to just stay the fuck out of my way. I do not want people to stop in the middle of the aisle with their big dumb carts, looking on the shelf for their Doritos, while I’m trying to get past them. Then when I say, “Excuse me,” they get all pissy with ME.

3. I would like for all the food sample stations at Sam’s Club to be in one central location. The location I will then avoid like the plague.

4. I’d also like for Sam’s Club to get an Express Lane so I don’t have to wait in line for 25 minutes with my box of lettuce and Boca Burgers while some person ahead of me with a flatbed filled with tubs of salsa and hamburger buns decides to open a damn Sam’s line of credit.

5. I want co-workers to stop coming to my desk 2 minutes after they send an email to make sure I got the email. Silly me. I thought the whole point of sending email was to avoid human interaction. Maybe that’s just my social anxiety talking.

6. I want vampire shit to go away.

7. I want Bradley Cooper to promise me he will never again do a movie with Sandra Bullock and/or Jennifer Aniston.

I think that’s it. Clearly this is not asking for much. So yeah. I'd better wake up on Christmas morning, try doing a Google search for "Edward and Vampire" and find NOTHING.