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.
