Loud talking, near my desk, when there is a plethora of other space available in the office is not welcome or appreciated. Nor is excessive phlegm hacking, which scares me to the point of contemplating the purchase of a bio-hazard suit.
PHEW. Now that I got that off my chest.
Trouble has told his last lie to me -- he's officially OUT as my dear Hetero Lifemate would say. Lifemate is so wise, always providing the best advice. BFF does the same, so let's not count her out. How hard is it to tell the truth? Apparently quite hard when you have more money than God and too much time on your hands -- I think Trouble needs that Millionaire Matchmaker bitch to kick his ass once or twice, would do him some good.
Never did go out with Fireman -- he thought it might be appropriate to compare me to his ex, I promptly lost his number. Additionally, anyone that does not realize that they can connect their iPhone to their computer cannot date me. I'm sorry.
Showing posts with label ITS ME BITCH.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ITS ME BITCH.. Show all posts
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
What the hell is a Fruit Salad Champion.
Gratuitous self important titles are without a doubt, the most annoying and yet entertaining concept of the working world.
How many people do you know who fancy themselves some sort of consultant, expert, model/actress/producer/champion sweater knitter. I know quite a few of those. In social media, my career path of choice, all kinds of tool bags with very little qualification are apparently, EXPERT. CAPITAL LETTERS. YOU BETTER RECOGNIZE.
OMGZ, I KNOW HOW TO WORK THE TWITTERZ. IM EXPERTZ.
Please, *eye roll*. There is no such thing as an expert in this business, outside of *pause for dramatic effect and respect for greatness* the most epic rock stars of life at Altimeter Group.
I digress.
So, one very borderline psychotic day at the office -- I decided that if everyone could have a title, I wanted one too. So, I wanted to be the fruit salad champion... because I eat fruit everyday at 11am. So there you go.
Basically, if you have a wondrous sense of humor, and feel like reading about a neurotic 20something going through what appears to be a quarter life crisis, read on.
xoxo
N
How many people do you know who fancy themselves some sort of consultant, expert, model/actress/producer/champion sweater knitter. I know quite a few of those. In social media, my career path of choice, all kinds of tool bags with very little qualification are apparently, EXPERT. CAPITAL LETTERS. YOU BETTER RECOGNIZE.
OMGZ, I KNOW HOW TO WORK THE TWITTERZ. IM EXPERTZ.
Please, *eye roll*. There is no such thing as an expert in this business, outside of *pause for dramatic effect and respect for greatness* the most epic rock stars of life at Altimeter Group.
I digress.
So, one very borderline psychotic day at the office -- I decided that if everyone could have a title, I wanted one too. So, I wanted to be the fruit salad champion... because I eat fruit everyday at 11am. So there you go.
Basically, if you have a wondrous sense of humor, and feel like reading about a neurotic 20something going through what appears to be a quarter life crisis, read on.
xoxo
N
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