Category Archives: you probably don’t want to read this

Things that gross me out: office edition

So by now you know that there are lots of things that I despise and some that even sicken me.  This compendium, of course, includes worms on the sidewalk *shudder* and since my office building is surrounded by sidewalks, my short trek into work often grosses me out.

But let’s take it a step further and go INTO the building.

I know, I know, you’re thinking “Come on, you work in an OFFICE.  How gross can things actually get?”

1. Fluids on file folders.  (alliteration FTW)  Oh yes, when working with file folders all day for TONS of patients (I don’t work in a doctor’s office, JSYK) things can get sticky. Literally.  Some of the grossest office moments come when I’m innocently perusing a file, updating some important document and I see stains.  Often brown, of uncertain origin, but possibly biological (I’m pretty sure I saw an actual booger the other day). Or chocolate.  Either way, keep runny things away from paper!

2. Cubeland nose-blowers.  Oh, yes.  You’d think someone would have the presence of mind to excuse themselves if they need to expel some mucus, but noooooooooooo.  Maybe I’m silly for being bothered by this, but gurgly snot sounds do NOT a pleasant working environment make.  Also of note: do these people not worry about a stray string of snot dangling out there? Go to the bathroom!

3. Speaking of that inner sanctum, let’s talk toilets. More specifically what some of my coworkers often DON’T do after visiting the toilet: WASH THEIR HANDS.  I don’t know how many times I’ve been innocently tinkling, only to hear someone else’s toilet flush, stall door open and then…… nothing.  They walk out of the bathroom without even rinsing!  I’ve nailed down at least two culprits, one of whom is this prissy woman who walks around talking very “essy” (I guess she thinks it makes her sound cultured?) and looking down her nose at people.  Oh, I’m onto you, prisspot.  Those hands are covered in remnants of urine and fecal matter.  That sign I posted on the bathroom door that says “Please wash your hands!” with a sign of germy palms? Totally directed at you. By the way, don’t touch the copier.

4. Also bathroom related and so gross it’s unbelievable: spying blood on various surfaces.  Oh yes, a travesty of this caliber occurred just this week, this time on the toilet roll itself,  and I was appalled.  Ladies, most of us have been dealing with “bloody issues” since we were about 12, so it’s time we got a handle on proper disposal, k?  If you can’t keep it off the floor and the wall (!!), then perhaps you should go back to 4th grade health class.

No wonder I’m always catching something.


things that bother me, list 3

– when I introduce myself to someone, very clearly pronouncing my name  and they reply, “Nice to meet you, [some other wrong pronunciation of my name].”

– the fact that someone in my company had to have a chart similar to this:

– the fact that the above mentioned dumbass took the chart down after being ridiculed by others in her office. i had to create the above pictured diagram in lieu of an actual photo.

– this whole  “being nervous around people” thing i’ve got going on lately. there can be people i’ve known for YEARS and i still get nervous when i see them. what the hell is that?

– stemming from the nervousness, always thinking people won’t remember me.  i don’t see someone for a while, then see them somewhere random, think they don’t remember me, so i don’t speak. then who looks like the asshole? this cracker right here.

– people who don’t reply to text messages. seriously, just common courtesy of saying “i don’t feel like eating dinner out tonight/with you/ever again” will suffice. most of us aren’t comprised entirely of baby girls; we can take it. 

– clicky shoes that women wear in the office. you may remember me mentioning this previously, but this time it’s almost worse because the lady who sits behind me wears them every. single. day. she also doesn’t celebrate birthdays which is weird to me, and i’m still unclear on the “bless you” thing if she sneezes.

Two Girls, No Vomit

 …but almost. 

*A couple of weeks ago, I was at my friend Cool Amanda’s house and, since we had discussed it at work a few times, made her find “2 Girls, 1 Cup” for me.

I’d watched a few videos of reactions to “2 Girls 1 Cup” and HAD to see it for myself.

Amanda told me she’d find it for me and I could watch it, but she just couldn’t.  “If you make it past 15 seconds, you’ve beaten everyone we know,” she told me. 

I made it about 40 seconds in, then experienced something I NEVER experience: spontaneous nausea.

I never get grossed out. I mean, NEVER.  Worms on the sidewalk are gross [see and others] yes, but I don’t have actual rising gorge when I encounter them.

“2 Girls, 1 Cup”: a whole different matter.

What the hell do these people eat that makes them shit like that? A steady diet of indigestible marshmallow fluff? Geez!

Amanda says my face was red the whole time and my reaction was priceless.  I may wait a while, watch it again, and have someone video me.

After I’d calmed down a bit and decided I wasn’t going to puke all over my friend’s living room, we decided to take it to the next step: “4 Girls Fingerpainting”.

How the hell did these girls control their gag reflexes? I mean, they even had to use the fingers down the throat method just to vomit [it was all part of the shtick.]  Plus, the room they were in looked highly suspiciously like a child’s room/nursery.


* WARNING: if you have been living under a rock for the past few months [like me] and don’t know what “2 Girls, 1 Cup” is, or what “4 Girls Fingerpainting” is, you should probably know that it is HIGHLY NSFW.  OR NOT SAFE FOR LIFE, even.

it was almost enough to make me embarassed. almost.

this past weekend was nightwork’s Christmas party.

i wore leggings. LEGGINGS.

for the first time since i was about twelve.

i wore them with this top:


and even though, to some, i probably looked like a circus freak, i felt badass and had an awesome time.

i got kicked in the leg at a show afterward [following the highball glass full of liquor that ricocheted out of a guy’s hand and onto me] so now i have a bruise and a cut.

and i feel even more badass.

I didn’t tell you how I almost died again.

Ok, kinda almost died.

Ok, had a scare that I might have a life-threatening blood clot in my lung.


I’d been having weird breathing issues for about two weeks.  I don’t have asthma, but my dad and sister do.  My mom has had pneumonia like eight times and we both get bronchitis really easily, so I figured at WORST it’d be walking pneumonia.

Boy, was I in for it.

I got to my doctor’s office and he listened to my chest.  It sounded clear, but he decided to take my oxygen level.

It was 94%.


If I were taking a calculus test, I’d be thrilled at a 94, but when your level is supposed to be around 98% and it’s OXYGEN we’re talking about, it’s not so great.

So, my doctor orders a chest x-ray. STAT, even.

It came out clear.  No pneumonia or anything.

He then says to me,  “I want to order a CAT scan for you.  There’s a chance you could have a blood clot in your lung.  If there IS one,  you’ll have to be admitted to the hospital for two days to go on blood thinners.”

Cue my bowels feeling liquidy and me internally yelling, “Ah shit, man! Shit! Shit! Shit!”

Doc W then went on to say that he was just being cautious and nervous and that I “had everything on the good side” meaning I’m under 35, I don’t smoke, etc.

So I got scheduled for a CAT scan at 2pm across town.  I figured I’d go home, get my cell phone, pack a just-in-case bag, and then go back to the office for a bit.

As soon as I walked in my apartment, my cell phone rang: “The Fresh Cracker, this is JP from name of my doctor’s office.  You need to go to name of  hospital across town right now  and they can work you in for your CAT scan.”

That is when this cracker got a little nervous. I mean, everything was “STAT” and “ASAP” so I was like “WTF” and “OMG”.

So I go to the hospital across town and register for my CAT scan.  And they put a hospital bracelet on me.

I go to the waiting room where I sit for about seven minutes before a super nice chick comes to get me.

She explains everything [including the fact that I must remove my necklace and underwire bra] and I hop on the table.

She then explains that I will be given an IV of iodine for tracking and it will make me have an odd taste in the back of my mouth and feel like I’m wetting myself.

Yeah, right. I figured it was one of those “Warning: contents under pressure.  Cap may blow off causing eye damage” type things. Possible, but unlikely to happen.

Boy, am I glad she warned me.

After she sent the iodine through my IV, I immediately got a nasty taste in my mouth. And felt like I was whizzing all over myself.

Seriously, had I not been warned, I would’ve been all “Um, nurse? I…. I had an accident.”

So, it was all over with, and nice radiologist lady and I were laughing about the pee-feeling. 

I went and sat back in the waiting room for a bit, then they called my name, handed me my films, and told me to go back and see my PCP. [No, not THAT kind of PCP]

I get to Dr. W’s office and check BACK in, handing them my films.

Then I wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

A nurse type lady comes out, calls my name, then says, “Miss Cracker.  I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long.  Dr. W is figuring out what he wants to do and we’ll call you back in a few minutes.”

Right then, I get sweaty palm [jsyk, my palms smell like potatoes when I sweat. dunno why] and start thinking “Shit! I can’t go into the hospital! They charge like five bucks for a BAND AID there and yeah, sure, insurance covers 80% but that means I have to pay 20% and since my office is at the hospital, I know what kind of shitbag hospital it really is and I know of people who’ve gotten CRAP care there.”

and other kinds of “Oh NOEEEEZ!” thoughts.

So I finally get called back and they put me in a room.

Dr. W comes in just a few minutes later and says…

“Your films are clear”

Good gah, I swear I almost lost control of my bowels at that point.

The good doctor goes on to tell me that I apparently had bronchitis with an asthmatic reaction.

Oh. So that’s why I’d been wheezing and struggling for breath.

So he put me on an inhaler and told me to call/come right in if the breathing problems continued.

He even had his office call me the next day to see if I was alright.


Since then, I’ve had to use the old lung-sucker a few times. I would say that this sucks, but that would be too obvious.

Why I am probably already an old spinster -or- perpetually single

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to meet a guy who will put up with me.  There are times when I am like “Oooooh! This weekend, I’m totally going to go out and have a great time!” and then, by the time the weekend comes, I’m more like “Wow. Sitting in my apartment and watching a movie then going to bed sounds like a GREAT idea.”

I’m not easily definable, and it seems like all the guys I know want someone that is.  There are too many aspects of my life that almost don’t make sense when put together:
– i love cemeteries, stories about ghosts, dead people, forensics, anything some people might consider “ghoulish” but show me a worm on the sidewalk and i will probably punch you for grossing me out.

– i listen to loud angry music that says things like fuck shit damn hell, but i also listen to sixpence none the richer and stavesacre and beloved aka bands with a “Christian message”.

– along those same lines, I’m totally a believer, but the things that come out of my mouth [especially when I drive] could possibly make a sailor blush.  a lot of people don’t understand that.

– I think toilet humor is hilarious, but I know some dudes that go so far as to believe that girls don’t even fart, so there’s a strange juxtaposition: if they don’t think I even fart, then how can I possibly joke about turds and stuff with them?

– I am just as happy wearing cutoffs, a tank top and flip-flops as I am wearing pointy-toed shoes, crisp jeans, and a “cute top”. I am neither a tomboy nor a girly-girl.

– I think things like this:

and this:
are unbelievably hilarious

– I could sit and play Galaxia, Dig Dug, and Rally-X until my fingers bled.  Old-school video games are awesome to me… and so are computer games.  I won’t tell you how many rounds of Dynomite or Free Cell I’ve played in the last month.

– This was my favorite Halloween costume of all time, from 2005:

Me as Stuart

My brother has warned me never to let any dude I like see this picture, because it will apparently scare him off.  BUT I want a guy who will see this picture and think I’m the coolest chick alive.

– I’m kind of a geek. and I like geeky guys.  But it seems I’m not ENOUGH of a geek to GET the geeky guys.

– I look like this when I laugh:


(ignore the cleav, plz)

Aaaand there are a whole lot of other things, but none come to mind. I’ll let you know.

The REM Sleep Diaries and The Theme Fiasco

Among a lot of other things in my life, one thing I do rather oddly is sleep.  Or, to be more specific, dream.

I first noticed that my dreaming patterns were something weird at age six.  I’d had a fever and ended up dreaming this:

Our family went on a trip to the beach [we’re beach people, in the David Sedaris school of thought] and Grover [from Sesame Street] went with us.  Upon returning home, I discovered that Grover had peed in his bathing suit and I threatened to tell on him.  Immediately, he turned into the Big Bad Wolf and trapped me behind my bed.

I woke up crying and my dad came and gave me baby aspirin and sat with me until I went back to sleep.

If only I’d known then how weird my dreams would get.

I often wake myself up by talking.  Also, by laughing.

I once dreamed that my sister and I were running through some building, when I slipped on a floor mat and started to fall.  Somehow, I slowed myself down and did a funny pose as I fell, with the intent of making her crack up.

It worked. REALLY well, because I started cracking up so loudly that I woke up, laughed a while, sighed, and went back to sleep.

True story.

I also once woke myself and my parents up by yelling for my mom in my sleep.  I was at that “everything is scary and I have to sleep on my parents’ bedroom floor” phase in my life, when I began dreaming that my brother was grabbing the back of my neck and tickling me [did you know tickling is a form of torture?].  In real, awake life when he did this, I used to yell for my mom to make him quit.  In my dream, asleep life, I also did this and woke up to myself saying “Moooooooooooooooooommmmmmmm!”

I immediately slurred, “Mom? Did I just call for you?”

“Uh huh. Yeah”


Then we all went back to sleep.

A lot of times, my dreams have recurring themes or settings.  The most popular dream setting? School.  And it’s usually my high school [vomit] and the dreams, more often than not, involve me either being VERY late to class, skipping class, or going to a class I’ve only attended once or twice and finding out that I have no idea what’s going on.

The second most-common setting is a grocery store.  One of my most memorable “WTF?” dreams involved me in soccer gear running down the aisle to get away from the ghost of the statue of liberty.

I know.

Usually, though, I’m searching for chocolate milk or orange juice. In EVERY grocery store dream.  Maybe this is a sign that I need more calcium and vitamin C?

Sometimes, my dreams completely escape my memory, but they make me wake up with a sense of urgency. 

For example, the other night I awoke with a start, sat upright, turned on my bedside lamp, and realized my heart was racing.

With absolutely no recollection of my dream, I grabbed my golf club [complete with head cut off; better for impaling intruders] and checked every nook and cranny of my apartment.

Even my washer/dryer closet where you’d have to be two-dimensional just to fit.

There was no one in my apartment but me. Thank God.

Since it’s taken me forever to write this entry, I’ve had another theme dream. AND IT SUCKED! (please refer to “Let me Borrow that Top” by Kelly in order to get the feel for that last phrase)

It was a school dream again.  This time, I had a World History exam and had missed the last few classes [par for the course so far] but, then, the dream carried over into real-life and I woke up like four times with a sense of panic thinking “Holy shit! I have to study for that exam!”

Good. Gah.

It’s “those” people. Or is it me?

Why am I a weirdo magnet?

I feel like everywhere I go [ok, mainly everywhere I WORK] there are weirdos just waiting for me.

Just like BTSG.

And just like a girl who works for my dayjob company. Let’s call her “Woodchuck” because, yeah.

I, idiotically, let it slip to her that I had some good news.

Bad move, Cracker. VERY bad move.  In my own defense, though, this girl has done and said so many “OMG please be my friend” things that I was pretty sure she’d keep her lip zipped.

Nothing doing.

Later that afternoon, Woodchuck’s coworker [we’ll call her Amazon] saunters down to talk to my coworker [the one who looks like Gary Coleman] and looks over at me.  This comes out of her mouth, “Woodchuck said you have some exciting news. What is it? We’re wondering if you’re pregnant.”

There are SO many things wrong with what she just said.  First, Woodchuck needs to keep her big woodchuck teeth in her big woodchuck mouth aka not talk about my biz [I know, I know, I spilled it first, but I didn’t tell her to share it!].  Second: do you HONESTLY think that being pregnant would be GOOD news for me? I can barely feed myself, let alone a fetus that will eventually become a needy, needy child!  Third: are you wondering about my possible state of pregnancy because you’re BLIND?!?! I’ve lost weight, Amazon!  I don’t have puffy ankles, I don’t eat NEARLY as much as I used to, and my midsection is not quite so convex as it once was!

After her oh-so-I-could-kill-her questions, I replied, “That girl (meaning Woodchuck) has a BIG mouth.”

The next morning, I got this email:

Hi Freshcracker, 

I wanted to apologize for yesterday… Amazon and I were talking and I just casually mentioned that you had some good news and I was anxious to hear what it was.  I am sorry.  Please forgive me. 


That email has “loser” written all over it.  I won’t even go into the other things Woodchuck has said to me, on the false premise that I actually give a shit.

I think my reply was, “Don’t worry about it.  I just don’t want everyone knowing my business.”

The. End.

What’s even BETTER, though, is the encounter I had with Woodchuck this morning:

I was sitting there, reading some fluff magazine like US or something, and she casually walks over to me and asks, “So what’s your big news?”

WHAT? Woodchuck, you are a damned idiot if you think I’m going to answer that question.

I just looked at her and said, “Um, I’m not telling you.”

Woodchuck: “Awww, but Amazon and I were just talking and I was excited and…”

Me: “Well, I really don’t want people broadcasting what’s going on in my life.”

Woodchuck: “I’m sorry.”

Me: “It’s not a big deal, I just don’t want everyone knowing my business.”

Woodchuck quietly walked away after that.

She probably will go home tonight and throw out the floor pillows she bought because, she told me, “I know how you like to sit on the floor.”


I’ve been to her apartment ONCE, about a year ago, and I’m never going back.  Psycho.

Speaking of psychos, BTSG has done it again.

Last night I walked into work and, after a two day absence, there she was. SITTING AT MY FUCKING DESK.

I went over to CW/S and said “What the fuck, dude? She’s sitting at my desk.”

I go over to my rightful desk and grab some supplies.  BTSG has the audacity to look over and say, “Yeah, they moved me here today.”

According to CW/S, nobody moved shit that day, so BTSG apparently took it upon herself to invade my workspace.

So, hoping that the particle board divider would keep her at bay, I duly ignored her presence, took the desk next to her, and got to work.

But I couldn’t concentrate.  I HAD to tell someone about it.

So naturally I went into another part of the office and called my sister so we could “OMG” together.

“She probably is trying everything she can to be near you, Freshcracker!  Watch out that she doesn’t wait for you after work and try to follow you home!”

Seriously, sis is right.

Later, she wrote me an email that said, “Well, her taking your desk and then lying about being moved could’ve been worse: she could’ve patted the chair and said ‘There’s room for one more!'”

I almost vomited at the thought.

After a few “WTFs” with some coworkers, I really cracked down on my work.  There was one “she’s about to ask me a question” scare that turned out to be her just scanning the room for someone else to complain about, and a period of about 20 minutes where we were blessed with her absence.

Then BTSG went home.

As soon as she was out the door, coworker S rolled her chair over to me.

“Did you just see that?”

“What?” I asked.

BTSG just waved bye to you.”

“Um. What? Are you sure?”

“I’m pretty sure. She was waving in your direction and no one else’s.”

Oh, God. Please don’t let me have another stalker.  Especially a female one who could probably kill me after just a few short minutes of sitting on my head.

And, as my brother would say, “I bet that butt stinks.”

Back up off me, Bible-T-shirt girl!

There is a girl at nightwork who is becoming increasingly irritating. I kind of want to call her “bible t-shirt girl” because she wears those Christian t-shirts, but then it might sound like I’m anti-Bible and I’m totally not.

I just don’t need a t-shirt to tell everyone what I believe, I guess.

Okay, she’s Bible T-shirt Girl.

Anywho, BTSG sometimes sits catty-cornered from me [is that another Southernism?] and she can see every move I make.

And she does. She watches me. I know this because, despite being legally blind without vision correction, I have extremely good peripheral vision when wearing my contacts.

We worked a Saturday shift last weekend, and it was catty-corner time. BTSG stared at me constantly, and tried to engage me in conversation every chance she got. I had my headphones on, but apparently she doesn’t get that hint.

I made a big show of turning off my mp3 player every time she spoke to me, but she only kind of got that hint.

She was running her mouth so much that a guy I barely talk to sent me an email that said the following: “Good luck getting her to stop talking.”

Yeah, it was THAT bad.

BTSG starts asking me about my duties at, like it’s any of her business, and I responded. Then she pried some more and I gave her the “you’re pushing it” look.

It got to the point where she kind of understood the headphone thing, so if I had to get up to use the bathroom [which happened often, small bladder and such] I’d basically race back to my desk to put my earbuds in before she could being speaking.

She kind of caught on, and would start talking before I even sat down.


I started employing the “my music is on so I can’t hear you” technique, and kept my eyes glued to my monitor at all times. This almost didn’t work, because BTSG started “Pssss!”-ing at me [seriously, now] to ask me something about a coworker, but I persevered and she stopped.

She DID, however, start grabbing her shoulder, making that “I’m in pain so I’m drawing in breathe loudly, sounding like a snake, so you’ll look at me” noise and staring at me. I duly ignored her and she eventually quit [apparently she fell off a horse a couple weeks ago].

Eventually, after sitting around on her cell phone after we’d all finished working, she left.

A coworker and I were discussing BTSG’s odd behavior and I said, “S, I feel like the mean girl in High School or something.”

S replied, “Um, no. She’s just THAT GIRL.”

Very true.

Coworker/supervisor also regaled me with a story of BTSG talking on her cell phone constantly one shift [we have a pretty strict “stay off the phone when you’re supposed to be working” policy]. CW/S approached BTSG and said, “How do you feel about leaving around 6:30?” (They were scheduled to get off at 7 but CW/S had all her stuff done). BTSG replied, “Well, I really need the hours.”


It’s thirty freaking minutes!

BTSG then proceeded to stay on her cellphone for the remainder of her shift. Because she REALLY needed to get paid for thirty minutes of talking on the phone.

So, last night, I had the small bit of luck to have a partition between BTSG and myself. This almost had an even worse effect, because she constantly stood up to look at me, knock on the top of the partition [it’s low] and ask me questions about something I don’t even do anymore.

Once, when she actually asked help from someone whose job it is to answer her questions, she had the girl come to her desk and they both stood. BTSG gave me the creepiest “I’m standing here looking at you with a half-grin on my face because I want you to pay attention to me and I’m trying to look seductive” look.

Brrrr. I get the chills just thinking about it.

I mean, if BTSG likes girls, I don’t care; I have plenty of lesbian friends. But THEY don’t give me creepy looks and stalk me at work.

But I digress.

Then, of course, trainer girl called me over to get my opinion. I LIKE trainer girl, so I went. For her sake only, not for BTSG’s.

After a small span of non-question-asking bliss, BTSG stood up and knocked on the partition again. WHILE I was in “furiously typing and doing my thing”-mode.

Again, I made it obvious that I had to stop my music and stop working because of her interruption.

“I have this thing in…”

I cut her off. “Can you please ask L or one of the other XXXXs? I’m not XXXXXing; I’m doing XXXXXX.”

Bitch, please.

So I get this “I’m mad but I’m torn because I think you might go off on me if I argue” look from BTSG and she goes to ask trainer girl because L  had to *gasp* go to the bathroom! Like she couldn’t make a five minute phone call to wait for L  to return?

Anyway, as soon as nice trainer girl finished helping her, BTSG goes over to our comment box and grabs a slip of paper. Veeeerrrrry deliberately.

She brings it back to her desk and, from what I could tell, wrote on it forEVer.

I immediately went to CW/S and told her, “I think there will be a written complaint about me in the comment box.”

She knew exactly who I was talking about, because BTSG was so deliberate.

CW/S immediately went to talk to whomever empties the box and explained it to them, probably with a lot of eyerolling.

BTSG left me alone for the rest of the night [thank God!] but when she got ready to leave, she walked, very purposefully, over to the comment box and slipped her comment in. (I wonder if she wrote “Thefreshcracker won’t be my friend or do my job for me.” At least, I hope that’s how it comes across, because I’m not about getting in trouble because of some lameass who has a weird crush on me.)

She turned around and walked back to her desk, watching me.

I simply sat there with a huge grin on my face, peacefully doing my job.

Things that bother me. v2.0

People who don’t use turn signals.
Now, I’m not being very ridiculous with this one.  I don’t know how many times, in my fits of road rage, I’ve shouted, “Nice signal, jackass!”. Like they can even hear me with my windows [and theirs] rolled up.  This non-use of a very purposeful tool bothers me even more when the heinous act is committed by someone with whom I’m riding.  Sometimes, I even pantomime flicking on a turn signal, just because it bothers me THAT BAD when the person driving doesn’t do it and I feel like I have to make up for their mistake.

Worms on the sidewalk
Oh yes, even the dead ones.  Worms on the sidewalk are also part of a different list than “what bothers me” called “things that make me want to vomit.”  I’ve always thought “ew” when stepping over/around them, but now I shiver a little each time I pass one.  It’s all thanks in part to my parents, who revealed to me that the weird smell after a rain in their part of the state is from worms.  I have no idea if they were completely joking or not, but what they said stuck, and now I breathe through my mouth anytime I’m outside post-rain.

The fact that vending machines don’t take cards.
Except the ones on my local college campus, that is.  I mean, I don’t know how many times I’ve REALLY wanted some of those Elfkin shortbread cookies [or whatever, they’re Keebler] or a pack of skittles, and I just don’t have a dollar bill or 80 cents.  Wait, what’s even WORSE is if I don’t have a dollar bill, but I do have 80 cents, but twenty cents of it is in pennies! Maybe that should bother me, too: vending machines don’t take pennies!  Cards would still be more convenient than if I had a huge supplies of quarters, nickels, and dimes, though.  Does anyone remember that commercial a few years ago that shows a girl go up to a vending machine, punch a few numbers on her cell phone, and VOILA! a drink comes out?  When is THAT going to happen?

My handwriting
Seriously.  It’s not even funny anymore.  For nightwork, I have to sometimes send off handwritten requests.  I wonder if they can even read the names I write.  Do they think nightwork is illegally employing first-graders to do their faxes for them?  My hand cramped up after just a few sentences, and I had to go extra slow in an attempt to make my writing legible.  I think I get it from my dad.

Eyebrow piercings
No explanation necessary.

Um, that’s all for now.