�I love the way you look at me, I love the way you smack my ass, I love the dirty things you do, when I have control of you.� That line from a new song by Puddle in the Mud has been stuck in my head for days now. Cool song, I recommend you listen to ALL of the words. Oh, yeah. Little things are irritating me this morning, all building up and knocking down, like carefully placed dominoes of shit that causes an itchy irritation when it all falls on you. Yeah, I went there. I don�t mean to be so picky. But all I ask for are a few simple things, to have things the way I like it. Trust me, there�s a method to my madness, whether you �get it� or not. Let me explain a bit: I pulled up to the office this morning and there was a guy standing outside. He�s here every Friday to pick up his paycheck.

I�m here early every day, and my coworkers, they stroll in around 8-ish, whatever suits them. So I�m always stuck opening the door for this guy as he hovers (not the most comfortable guy to be around, I might add, some drug/jail recovery case) over me impatiently. Well, they forgot to turn the lights off last night, and I have an office in the back. So he was standing out there (girl at the coffee shop told me this after he left) and banging the fucking doors, thinking that I was in the back and just didn�t feel like opening shop yet. He must have been banging and cursing for about 20 minutes. THAT was my first experience of the morning, this freaky guy looming and fuming, someone I didn�t want to deal with, and it set the tone for the bitch that I became (have become, it�s still fairly early) for the day.

Little example of the bitch here, I went with a coworker to get coffee for everyone (coffee I usually have before I start the day, because why should I wait? Good thing I did, else that guy probably would have chased me down for his check, knocking my coffee all over me and scaring the living shit out of me). I set my change and a card down next to the register that wasn�t being used after I gave our long order. I guess the people in the coffee shop didn�t see me place it there, because there seemed to be concern raised over whose it was. Finally, my coworker asked me, �where did you put your change, do you have it? Because people are wondering whose that is over there.� A simple question, coming from care and concern, but for some reason, I responded in the form of bitch by saying, �well, it�s not theirs, so it�s really none of their fucking business, is it.� Yup, I said bitch. And then I became VERY perturbed over the fact that she put cold butter next to my warm bagel (but I kept that one to myself and my coworker, not EVERYONE has to see how psycho I am about the little things when I have a not-too-pleasant catalyst jettison me into my day before I�m ready). The poor nice girl at the coffee shop just wouldn�t understand how something so petty can mean THAT much to me. So I burdened poor Honey with my bitching instead. Tee hee.

Ah, but better now after coffee and a conference call, now memories of another lovely evening with the ladies come flooding back to me and fill me with a sense of contentment. Pony held a dinner party for us last night. Appetizers consisted of caviar and crackers, blue-cheese pecan dip, tomatoes covered with fresh basil and buffalo mozzarella, all very gourmet, all very tasty. Kitty, Pixie and I were stuffed by the time we sat down to a delicious Greek salad and Linguini with clam sauce or sausage (makes a great mix for us non-vegetarians). The table was set up with place cards, and we had to guess which one was for us, where we were to sit, and then received an eloquent and heartfelt toast from Pony as we read our individually written cards from her. How beautifully creative! Next, it�s my turn. Shit, I�m trying to figure out how to top that now, these dinners just keep getting more and more elaborate. I�m on it.

After dinner, Pixie whipped out 2 rolls of film: one from a party Pony had a while ago, and the other from her cousin�s bachelorette party. You guessed it, strippers and blackmail photos of us girls in precarious positions with the strippers. The pictures came out great, and we looked at them over and over as we laughed, reminisced, and drank wine.

I was a good girl, home by 11:30, stressing out because I knew I had that important conference call this morning (which went very well, thank you). My God, it�s the weekend? I feel like this whole week has been one long weekend with a lot of chores (the chores being work, of course, because God knows it hasn�t been ME cleaning the house). Funny, now that the weekend has come, all I want to do is relax. And I will, during the day at least. Hee hee. What I�d like to do is hang out with my sister, Heather for a bit this weekend. She�s always a kick in the pants. I mean, literally, bitch kicks me. Just kidding. She does toe pinch, though. Who knew that someone could use the power of toe dexterity for evil? If I ever got access to a time machine or any other all-purpose magic device, she is the last person I would give it to. I mean, if she can inflict that much pain with just two toes, imagine what she could do to the world!

But I digress (again). Looking forward to the weekend. Looking forward to life and more of living it. Looking forward to laughing and bonding and moving on. Looking forward to the next phase and to focusing my energy on things and people that improve me. Things and people that make me want to be a better me, a more loving me, a more accepting me, a less neurotic me, a less judgmental me, a more successful me, a happy me. Because, well shit, that�s me. Summer is far from over, baby. And my girls are feeling the heat. I sense many nights on the town and even more exchanging of numbers with the boys (but Kitty and Pony need to share with me and Pixie now, they�ve been collecting for some time). Kitty, pounce! Pony, ride! Ha ha. It�s the espresso, pardon me. Pixie, spread some of that dust around, and we�ll go shopping and find some boys, alright?

I kill me.

-Barbarella

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