Monday, June 12, 2006

A Million Little Pieces... of Ass.

Now that we’ve begun summer hours at my job of death, I have a full 10 hours a day to sit on my ass and mourn the slow decay of my brain.

Nine hours was tough enough, but this is just completely unbearable. I run out of work to do in about an hour, and then I still have nine remaining hours.

Mostly I pray for death, check my e-mail, and try to think of titles for my autobiography. The best one I’ve come up with so far is "A Million Little Pieces of Ass", and I’m fairly sure there would be some copyright issues there.

Obviously, I spend a couple hours a day looking for a new job, other than that though, I’m pretty strapped for ideas.

I can’t read because my boss yells at me... which I kind of enjoy, but still try to avoid.

Sometimes I send my friends inappropriate e-mails at their jobs in hopes of deeply embarrassing them.

Sometimes I take pictures of myself looking bored using the company’s camera. See above.

Sometimes I make up random things to fight with my friends/family/boyfriend about. That’s a good one cause it takes up lots of time. The more obscure the subject matter the better, I’ve found.

Like the day I told Christina I had never forgiven her for going to the movies with Josh Heine and not inviting me in 7th grade. That was a good one.

Or writing my mother a laundry list of ways she had been neglectful in my formative years. Another gem.

It’s kind of like an inverted 12 step program, where you call everyone who never wronged you and force them to apologize for not doing anything to you.

I keep trying to think back to life in the suburbs. I know I was bored out of my mind for, like, 17 straight years. I must have done something to entertain myself...

When I was really little, I liked watching Fraggle Rock and sucking on a pacifier.

Then, when I outgrew the pacifier around age 12, I liked hanging out at IHOP with my little posse of degenerates. We’d go early when it was pretty much just us and some local blue-collar workers eating with their wives. We’d take turns going up to them while they ate and throwing screaming fits; crying that they’d left us and how abandoned we felt and how we thought they loved us.
That was extremely entertaining because no one ever knew what to make of it.
I know it sounds like a game I made up, but it wasn’t, actually. The girl who made it up is at an Ivy League law school now.
Oddly, the IHOP staff never intervened. I guess they were pretty bored at work, too.

Then in the early teens, I distracted myself in a more traditional way; I didn’t eat and I plucked out all my eyebrows.

By seventeen, I was so bored I smoked every single day, and spent a surprising amount of time watching tapes of Fraggle Rock and sucking on a pacifier.

It’s an exquisite little circle of life, but it doesn’t help me much now.

Ooh, looks like I’ve only got an hour left today! Woo hoo! I think I’ll go give Amanda a quick call and discuss why she felt it was necessary to steal my Fruit Roll Up during nap time in 1985.