Monday, April 21, 2014

a morning of rage

This morning was a domino effect of frustration.  Like 10,000-spoons-when-all-you-need-is-a-knife, kick-Dave-Coulier-in-the-face, Alanissy kind of morning.  

Running late for work, I walk out the door for my 15 minute walk to the metro wearing a dress that kept riding up my legs (into Crotchtown) and making me terribly uncomfortable since it was already a short dress.  I was going to work, after all, not to a place where women wear really short skirts and dresses.  What would you call a place like that?  

Walking to work in this dress put me into a slow-building rage.  Rage Level: Subdued Jack Nicholson


I'm so annoyed with my outfit that after I get off the metro, I decide to go to the nearby H&M before I go into work to buy pants or a skirt or something to put over my dress.  They're not open yet, even though they are supposed to be.  So I run over to Whole Foods to buy snacks, spend a stupid amount of money for "natural" reduced fat, low sodium popcorn and unsweetened organic applesauce.  I almost get run over by a 40-something Type A lady with a cart full of dairy products.  Anger rising.  

Rage Level: Lars Ulrich (When he's playing the drums, not whining about Napster)


I finish at Whole Foods and finally make it into H&M and look at my watch and it is LATE O'CLOCK in the morning and I'm like fuuucckkk I need to get to work but I can't go with my dress up my ass.  I search around and grab whatever clothes I can find and try them on.  Now I'm in the dressing room and starting to sweat in my sweater (I know, I hear it)  and coat.  The 1 pair of pants I picked up that actually fit will have to fucking do.  I pay for the pants, go back into the steaming sauna of a dressing room to put them back on before I leave the store.  

Rage Level:  Alec Baldwin yelling at his daughter in a voicemail or beating up a photographer.


As I'm walking toward the office, my ankle is THROBBING.  The shoes I'm wearing today keep rubbing on the bone of my ankle, starting a small fire of agony, causing me to limp.  I haven't even gotten to the office yet.  

Rage Level:  Bill O'Reilly shouting DO IT LIVE



I finally get into work, a basket full of hate sitting at my desk.  Happy Monday, mother fuckers.


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