You need to get your own man...

ill-fitting shoes + ill-fitting underwear = I walk like I was just gang-banged after eating mexican food for 3 days straight.
The shoes, are adorable and everytime I wear them I get compliments. I need to get rid of them. I only wear them about once a month, just long enough to forget how tortured I was the last time they "sheep in wolf's clothing"ed their way out of my closet. The underwear... well they are cute, but I doubt I'll get many compliments on them today seeing as I also decided to wear jeans. The underwear, I knew even before I put them on we would have problems. But since I refused to do laundry last night, and going commando with jeans is just not an option (not wearing jeans was also not an option - it's Friday) - I had made peace with this... it's the hellish combination I can't deal with.

Grrr... supervisor-indulged card-carrying misanthropic flakes make me mad. Why is it that some people can just get away with this crap? It's commonly accepted that they hate their job and are completely unreliable. But they never get in trouble either - they'll mostly finish half a project then spaz out. For whatever reason I always seem to be tasked with finishing the project - which is the real reason I am angry. There is at least one in every office, it's that person who blogs all day without doing a stitch of work (don't be offended, obviously some of us can multitask) and drones on about how they are the tragic Ms. Nelson figure, unappreciated and taken advantage of by their boistrous, ill-mannered 5th grade classroom (substitute "work colleagues"). The truth is, everyone handles this person with kid gloves. Their self-tortured interpretation is so off base... but it doesn't matter, they've complained about it so much it's become their reality!

Yes, I am talking about the DMV (that is Dane Cook's affectionate moniker). I know there are roughly a kajillion drivers in LA - but I applied for a license in SEPTEMBER. I knew it was just too easy. I made an appointment online, got there at 8:10 am with minimal hassle, checked in and got my number with only 2 people in front of me... and then the computers went down... STATEWIDE, "So don't even try to go to another office!" I was told. Oh did I say "easy", if you use the word "easy" to mean more painful than watching a Taradise marathon, then yeah, I guess that would be accurate. To add insult to injury, when I called the DMV this week to follow up, they farmed my call off to the Sacramento office, where I was told this was "typical" and I should have my new ID in 2-3 weeks. Um, I could have Pedro, my favorite street vendor, make me one by Thursday... and he'll throw in a Marlboro carton for $20! Why am I even mad about this? Because I can't get served at The Cheesecake Factory, black-appareled douchebags everywhere are reveling in the chance to deny a youthful looking Irish girl her vodka-given rights.
"As God is my witness, as God is my witness they're not going to lick me. I'm going to live through this and when it's all over, I'll never be thirsty again. No, nor any of my folk. If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill. As God is my witness, I'll never be thirsty again."