Fakin' It Feels So Riight

Damn, Dude.
This day will not stop.
First of all, while I have been sunbathing and trying to soak up every drop of tan that I can, I decided that I'd help the bronze along with some self-tanner yesterday.
No, this isn't the usual Orangation story.
Girl wants tan.
Girl meets self-tanner.
Girl applies self-tanner sloppily and over-abundantly.
Girl looks like one of the rotting oranges that fell off of the tree by my car-port.
Nope, not this Girl.
Instead, I am so fucking tan that everyone at work is all, "Your tan looks great! "
"Hey! Did you go to Mexico this weekend or something?"
"Wow - you look tan today!"
I feel so guilty when I reply, "Oh, I love the nature, yup, spent the whoooole weekend outside and I'm doin' it again."
Only magically, I'll be "Spending the whole weekend outside" somewhere around Wednesday, so that my artifical tan looks pretty sweet for the actual weekend.
I got two voicemails after a conference call-meeting that interrupted the project that interrupted my entire day by coming up at the last minute and being due two weeks ago. The agony of the pressure - and she writes on a Diaryland webpage? God, Sarah is fucking brilliant.
But I digress.
One of the messages was this creepy message from an adolescent boy. He gave me his name but everything else was provided to me from some nether-voice in the background, like he was a puppet for an extremely poor marrionetist:
"Tell her your name is..."
"My name is..."
"Tell her your name again..."
Dude, I know your name.
"Tell her you'll call back in exactly half an hour."
"I'll have to call you back..."
"Tell her you'll call her back at 2:27 (I swear, not 2:30, not 2:20 - 2:37)."
"I'll call you back at 2:27. 2:38"
He never called back and I kind of wanted him to - maybe there was some kind of, like, situation that I could totally have rushed in to the rescue on.

Message Number Two?
An acquaintance of mine is in dental school and one time I told her, "Sure, yeah man, I can totally be your patient whenever, man."
She only wants me on Mondays or Tuesdays.
Well, Tuesday is The Amazing Race, so don't even go there.
That leaves Monday, i.e. today and "today" is the Monday that and I forgot I agreed to haul my tired ass out to her school so that she can play with my teeth for 2 hours. (It took me like nine variations to avoid saying something that is going to be super-dirty, like "...so she can play with my cavities for 2 hours." I don't like her that way and she has children which...
I have to be there at 6 and I bet that I won't get home until pushing nine.
Have I worked out?
I was going to do a walk with weights after work.
Have I eaten?
Do I want to make small talk with some chick who sat across the table during a riotous game of Quarters one time?
Hell no.
Oh fuck, Sarah - use your fucking brain once in awhile. Do not agree to do things that you know will cause you to want to lose that last screw!
For some reason, that line from John Waters' Female Trouble is eching: "The hetero-sexual lifestyle is a sick and boring life", even though it has nothing to do with the essay forming here.

And now I have to go to another meeting that is going to prevent me from wrapping this day up early, which means I go from the Cubie, where there were no meaningful breaks in the day to the dental chair, where I will be uncomfortably suspended upside-down with my mouth open for 3 hours.

And just like that - the Puppet Boy called me back.
And not surprisingly was a whole lot more disappointing than I had hoped for him to be. He thought he had left a message for someone named Monica at Social Security.
Also, when he called back, I realized with certainty that he is not retarded and existed as part of some master plan to fuck with my day.
It's one, giant Test of Patience up in here, from the get-go with, "Hey, I need these reports for a meeting today but I didn't know about the meeting util today."
You ass.
And also, "Hi, I'm the color printer that is located closest to you and I'm a bitch. I am from Dallas and I want to make this god-aweful ringing noise everytime I am printing something! Hey guess what?
I like to party!
Hey, you know what else?", twisting a strand of sunny blonde hair around a skinny index finger and noticably chewing gum, "I am going to print a great, BIG JOB TODAY!"
Printer, is there anyway that you could wait until tomorrow?
"No, today!!! I wanna print today!!!"
I have a screaming headache and am getting halted at every turn when I try to make progress in my day so I was thinking... "Today!", stamping her big feet and curling a big Dallas fist into a ball.
Well, maybe you could think about...
"I SAID TODAY! TODAY! TODAY! TODAY!" And then she starts spinning manically and I back away from the toner and the spooling and the screeching noise very, very slowly.
Printer, so help me if the job you are printing requires that the person(s) who sent this to you need help with some type of jam...
so help me, you will NEVER see that cowboy Copier again.
So far today*:
Accomplishments: 0
Headaches Gained: 3
Headaches Caused: 2
Eye Strain: Increased
Concern Over Grey Hair: Increased
Tan: Very (hee hee hee)
Itchy Rash: At least one
*Results not indicative of final totals.

When is it going to MY turn to go to the psych ward?

arizonasarah at 2:44 p.m.

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