The GirlAlive Blog

Originally on diaryland 9:42 a.m. - 2005-03-03

Okay, so my dad was driving me to work this morning in the usual way. Well, usual except for the duck in the back seat that wouldn't shut up. (But that's another story. And he was mostly muffled by the jacket and tote bag my dad packed on top of him.) Anyway, we went by the gas station across the street from where I work, and the sign in front said, "Denver Omelets $1.49". Why is the gas station selling omelets? I very much doubt that they have a French omelet chef in the back making them. And any thought about what a gas station omelet might be like beyond that is just plain horrifying. It just sounds like an invitation to salmonella.

So then I got to work, and there's an email from my boss saying that they're going to be hiring more people for our department and asking if any of us had any referrals to give. Did she really think I'd inflict this job on any of my friends? I tried to think of anyone I hate enough to recommend. But my boss already works here.

Last night I was talking to my friend (let's come up with a nickname for him on the fly so I don't have to use his real name) who we will call Poopsmith. We were discussing excuses I could give to my boss for my lack of productivity since the overtime was initiated. (The real reason is that the compressed nerves in arm can only handle 8 hours of work per day before the pain becomes so excruciating all I can do is stare at the wall.) But the best excuses I came up with when discussing the issue with Poopsmith were:
1. I have gone crazy from the syphillis.
2. I have the leprosy and if I type any faster my fingers will come clean off.

Last night I was pondering the possibility of getting revenge on my boss by poisoning her coffee (just enough to give her the runs). Maybe the gas station omelet is the answer. "Look boss lady! I have bought you some breakfast!"

Alana
www.girlalive.com