Tired man. So Tired, man.

So, unbelievably tired. Wouldn't you know it, staying up hours later than normal for a few nights in a row causes one to be tired. Even when you are staying up to talk to a hot man who adores you. Who would have thought? Yeah, the calls from Xtian have become almost daily. And I now have his Social Security number so I can add him to my lease. And my bitchtastic landlord is raising my rent. Mid-Lease. Because Xtian is moving in. I realize that is her right as a landlord. But come on! How does adding another person add to her costs? It doesn't. Especially since I pay all the utilities. But anyhow, I felt weird asking Xtian for his social security number. We've talked about some embarrassingly personal stuff with no awkwardness at all. But ask for a SS number, and it was weird. I guess it's the mundane-ness of it. The only time we see eachother it's been after long periods of not seeing eachother, so it's all lovey, hot and heavy. It's not, "did you balance the checkbook and make that doctor's appointment like I asked?" kind of stuff. But since he's moving in, I suppose I should get over that.
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Time to Whine: Why can't I find a good job? My standards aren't that high. I have a spectacular education, good experience for someone my age, and can do ANYTHING! And yet, no one wants me. They take one look at my college graduation date and think I'm some sophomoric, green girl who doesn't know how to do anything. BAH! I just want a full time job that allows me to use my communication background in any way shape or form. Aside from selling anything. I'm just not cut out for it. I hate convincing people to buy shit. I worked retail for a while, and I never talked anyone into anything. I happily talked to people, brought them clothes, but would tell them "I would maybe not buy that" if something looked anything short of spectacular on them. I've always hated sales people (it's nothing personal folks, I mean no offense. But I do a good enough job spending more money than I make, I need no help.) and I could never be one.

So Seriously folks. I've got a degree. I'm smart. I work my ass off. I'm fun. Any takers? No? Ok then.

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CB Strikes Again! Yes, we're back for installment number two of the CB Strikes Again section.

1. This actually happened months ago, but I feel the need to share it. Jen called me over to her desk one day to show me something on her computer. While over there, CB walks up and makes several sighing, "whew" kinds of sounds. After a full minute of trying to ignore her, and her continuing the soundtrack, I finally asked "how's it going?" She rolls her eyes (classic) and says "Oh, it's crazy. Be glad you two are like...." while making a motion somewhere down at her knees. Even better, she literally leaned over to get her hand to the lowest point she could reach. This doesn't sound like much, until you realize what she is motioning: We should be glad that we are SO low in this department that we aren't all stressed out. Nice. I love being the underclass. Good Times. Only CB could tell us directly that we are the peons of the company, and not realize we might be offended.
   
2. While this isn't my story, I will share it here anyway, because I find it tremendously funny. Jen was in a meeting with another coworker. They are deep in discussion when CB walks into the office and begins talking to the coworker. Straight walks in and interrupts the meeting. After several minutes of continuing her conversation, CB finally says "Oh, sorry for interrupting." So, does she just have a common sense/manners time delay? It takes her brain 10 minutes to figure out that she is being cursedly rude?
   
3. And this isn't really a CB strikes again, but more CB's boyfriend Strikes for the first time. CB's boyfriend (Once again, I must share my distaste for the word boyfriend applying to anyone over the age of 30. This man was clearly in his 50's, and therefore not a "boy" by any means) stopped in today. I'd never met him, so when he walked in, I stood up, said "Hello, you must be William. (Not his name) " and reached out to shake his hand. He reaches over and hands me a dead fish. Not literally, but an unnervingly warm, smooth, supple handful of fingertips. I hate anyone, outright, who doesn't at least meet a handshake with a full hand. Do not hand anyone fingertips. Ever.
   

That's it for this installment. Tune in again at a random interval for more CB Strikes Again. Also, keep an eye out for a new installment of Vagina Stories: the estrogenical answer to dick jokes.
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As a final thought, I've been making jokes lately about applying for dual citizenship from Canada(Anyone know how I would go about doing this?). My father is Canadian, and in fact still retains his Canadian citizenship. While talking to Xtian, we started discussing the Bush family and how I think they are aiming to get Jeb into the White House next, therfore making the US more of a monarchy. I've pledged to Xtian, and I will pledge to you all, that if Jeb runs/wins in the next election, I am officially moving to Canada. You can quote me.
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Alright kids, Mama needs to go do some work for a little bit. I'll see you later. Or something. What is the proper etiquette for closing a blog entry? Anyone?