I Need to Stop Eating Twizzlers. Stat.

This whole being-allergic-to-my-BF shit and doing nothing at work all GD day is getting really effing old. Once again, every time Cody visits or I visit Cody I break out in some ridiculous old-woman rash on my neck and arm. What is that? It's been happening for months. Can't narrow it down to anything specific (other than him). *Sorry Cody, you're still cute :)*
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(Please, I don't look this disgusting. But close.)

Also, how is it that I get paid to sit for hours upon hours to do absolutely nothing alll mother effing day? I'm posting on my blog for christ's sake. That is ridiculous. It is unbelievably beautiful outside and I'm sitting here, in a cube, holding off slashing my wrists when I could be outside doing something somewhat productive. Whatevs.

At least I have a job!

(PS-this is what I found when I googled 'happily employeed.'
Get outta my face Claudia Leens.)
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Moving on--if I have to hear one more thing about Tiger Woods, there will be blood. How dare you wreck your disgusting Buick, have affairs with nasty-o tattooed "ladies," ruin your marriage to hot babe Swede baby's mama, and--this is the worst offense--play golf. Fucking rude, dude.
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Seriously. Get your life in order. And don't tell me about it. That's all for my ranting today. Well, at the moment at least.

Buh.