Welcome, Mississippians!

My sister tells me that I have a cluster of readers in Mississippi. Mississippians, I welcome you!

It's 10 p.m. L.A. time and my binders are still strewn across my floor like someone barfed academia all over my carpet. I have come to the conclusion that comps will not work themselves out. Damn you, comps.

I know that I have been in a rut until today because for the past week, I have come home from work every single day, taken all of my disgusting, hideous work attire off, thrown it all on the floor, and left dirty dishes all over my counter tops. This is the sign of a necessary intervention, coming from the girl who has every bank statement she's ever received in chronological order in her "Bank of America" file. I just haven't felt like dealing with the maintenance. Every once in a while, about twice per year, I look at my systematized, beautifully organized crap, and think, "Why the H am I wasting all of this time being orderly when we all die one day anyhow?" Dramatic. I am so dang dramatic.

Now. Let me tell you how I almost hit a woman in the face today.

I never take a lunch break. Never. I wake up every single day thinking, "If I can get through today without slitting someone's throat at work, then today will be called an ultimate success." and so when I get to work, I bury myself in work oriented projects so I can just power through this worst day of my life and be done with it. Not today.

I woke up this morning and saw about 30 frozen microwavable meals in my freezer and I wanted to barf. I am so effing sick of microwavable meals. I became so overwhelmed at the thought of tearing back the corner of the plastic film and pressing the "4" on the microwave that I left my house, empty handed, with no lunch at all.

I am not a creature of habit, but when it comes to food, I put little thought into it. Food = fuel. I am no snob. I eat disgusting frozen dinners or cereal essentially every day because it's efficient and requires no thought. But today, I just couldn't handle it.

Around 2 o'clock I felt like I was about to faint. Between the stale smell in my office of morning breath and mildew, and with all of the estrogen floating in the air like some sort of Playboy horror movie, I thought that I might die. My head felt light and my stress level was so astronomical that I thought to myself,

IF I DON'T GET OUT OF THIS EFFING 1980'S HIDEOUS OFFICE IN DESPERATE NEED OF FENG SHUI IN FIVE SECONDS, I AM GOING TO BURN THIS PLACE TO THE GROUND!!!!!!!!!!!

So I decided to walk next door to this disgusting sandwich place and eat a grilled cheese.

I used to be real big on cheese. Now I don't even care. I just wanted a very plain, childlike sandwich, and grilled cheese was the only solution that I could think of in the ENTIRE WORLD that would keep me from blowing my effing brains out at work.

So.

I walked next door to the disgusting sandwich place. Irritant numero uno: I see the CASH ONLY sign, in big, red, offensive letters. This automatically made me mad. Who carries cash these days? It's 2009 and people are thieves. Worst idea ever.

So, seeing that grilled cheese was the only thing in the entire world that was saving my office from its ultimate demise, I walked over to the ATM to take out some cash money.

$2 service charge.

Well, of course there's a $2 service charge. What would be the point in just taking out the money you need to buy a grilled cheese sandwich when you can piss $2 to the A-holes who set up ATMs all over town?

I go through all of the trouble of using this disgusting 1940's ATM that has a bacon-grease film all over the buttons (HEART ATTACK), and I approach the counter.

I was in a time warp.

Maybe I was on another planet.

The lady working at the counter spoke approximately 3% of the English language and was wearing some kind of ghetto-fabulous sunglasses that only a Kardashian would wear. She wore eyeliner for lip liner. Not like I'm hating. I do it, too.

"I'd like a grilled cheese, please."

"We no have grill cheese."

"What?"

"We no have grill cheese. Nah now."

"What?"

"We make korean bah-beh-que and grill is bad."

I gave this woman the death stare from hell.

"Well. That's weird."

I said it flatly, like it was the last little lame sentence that could possibly be slapped out of a corpse.

I stood there staring at her like some sort of internal time bomb was going to go off any second, and my body parts and plasma were going to spray all over her nasty sandwich store and filthy vintage ATM, and then her Korean BBQ grill would really be effed up.

I think she felt it.

"Well, one part of grill clean. I cook white bread grill cheese fah you there."

Ah, white bread and all. Nice touch.

Then, she gave me 50 cents off. I don't know why. I think it's because she was afraid of me. I don't blame her. Is this a raging case of PMS? Is this the fear of being a quarter century old? Is it the fact that I sleep by myself every night and am getting desperate enough to buy a cat, because I'm scared I could drop dead and nobody would find my body for weeks? Who knows.

I just glanced at the binders on my floor. They make my stomach churn.

This blog is too long. Alas, I have more to rant and rave about.

My buddy and I got soul food after class last night, and it was fantastic. The night before that, I went to my coworker's house in Bel-Air, and she made all of our coworkers dinner. It felt SO GOOD to be in a real, legitimate house. One that isn't a part of a filing cabinet. It also felt good to be in a house that smelled like a mom. Ug. Being at this age/stage is hard. You're too old for a mom, too young for a spouse, stuck somewhere in the middle without a place. Anyway. It was wonderful.

One of these days I'm going to write about all of the funny stuff my grand parents said when I was in Baton Rouge in September and I might even write a little blurb about Halloween. But for now, it's time to post obscene videos on Anna's Facebook page. Ciao.