I don't always enjoy being a girl.

Today I cried at work.

Cue the chorus of groans, you've all witnessed a girl cry at work. I'm groaning along with you, really I am. That girl sucks. I hate her too. She can't just separate work and real life. She can't not take everything too personally. She can't stand up for herself, she gets overwhelmed, blah blah blah.

I read ya. Loud and clear. I received a "I'm worried about you" AND a pity coffee today.

A PITY COFFEE.

In a time of layoffs, by the way. Again. Now with more beer money and less patience in waiting for my F-ing severance already!

The hot tears sprung to my eyes for the first place because my job is like working for The Terrible Trivium.

Like this:



So, after moving piles of sand with tweezers, drilling through mountains with needles, and emptying wells with an eyedropper, I had about had it.

So I cried.

Too pooped to pop.

I've been "on" for almost 2 week and I am exhausted.

I've been on 4 job interviews since not this past Friday, but the Friday before.

I also spent some time with the DK's lovely family, and even though they are lovely, it's still time to be ON! SHINY! NEW! PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE, THOUGH LACKING JEWISHNESS. PRETTY?

I've had to sell myself left and right.

You want creative problem solving? it's called TAKING AMTRAK, not GREYHOUND ever AGAIN!

Communications skills? I have carried on conversations with children onto grandmothers, and written about 45 thank you notes.

Experience? I'll give YOU experience!

Dry cleaning? Check.

Emergency pedicure at the dirtiest salon EVER (bebe nails on Penn ave, SE. NEVER Go. Let's just say "dirty, used toe dividers" and "wet, used flip flops". Oh and the lady killed a bug by smacking it on my friend's leg, but I digress.)

Check.

I haven't sworn, eaten something garlicky, not sat straight up with my legs crossed or smiled encouragingly in ages. I am out of nice clothes to wear, inoffensive stories that would make anyone giggle, and looking around the room for conversation starters. Like you in a frame with Bill Clinton. I am perpetually ready to impress someone. Anyone.

You there, with the umbrella on the street, I HAVE PLANNED SOME SPECIAL EVENTS.

Madam who kindly took my Chinese take-out order, may I go on and on at length about my killer communications skills? You know, by ordering the amount and THEN the type of fried rice?

Oh sir who held the door for me, I could creative problem solve your life, if you'd just let me.

Kindly CVS check-out person, I know that you are a non-Catholic, and I am a lapsed Catholic, but let me prove to you how awesome I am so that you don't worry about that so much. Extra Care!

Please like me, anyone out there. I am a laid-off, lapsed Catholic desperately seeking a job I can wear jeans to, have funny co-workers, occasionally read the internets, and get paid better. Skills include: gets along well with grandmas of all faiths, ability to eat large amounts of ethnic delights, ably timing my arrival with public transportation. Basset hounds a plus.

boring, boring, depressed, boring.

General glum-i-tude has taken over from crying and swearing repeatedly.

Since my poor mom heard me say the F-word while sobbing, she's had to have been held back to not drive down here, slap some people around, fetch me and bring me home to eat her Italian mama diet of comfort food to pad the ego and the ass.

I almost wanted her to. I almost wanted to give the world the finger and go be taken care of immediately, but I suppose that's adulthood. Adulthood minus the fact that you might have to borrow money from your parents if your sorry depressed ass can't (or won't) find a job.

In all seriousness, if I could sit on the couch in ill-fitting sweatpants until October, I would.

Which is pathetic and stupid, because I have a pretty good shot at getting a new job at my workplace I think, and I have heard people say nice things about me. I have people high and low sending me jobs, being encouraging, and generally helping me land on my feet. There are jobs for me I could find.

Everyone is hugging, emailing, texting, calling and preventing me from being a slug in ill-fitting sweat pants.

And I'm grateful for them.

But a small, nagging part of me just wants to see me fail.

Part of me wants to get hit by a bus, so I had an excuse to just lay in a bed somewhere. You know, I don't have a woe-is-me-death wish or anything, I just sort of morbidly daydream about some minor broken bones and my jaw wired shut so in 3 months I could emerge shiny and new. Skinny. Ready.

Not this.

So that small, nagging, bullshit part of me is fleeing to the beach to crash my parent's vacation for a few days. To clear my dramatic bullshit head and have it patted by my mom and dad because I can't handle things here myself.

And get a little tanner, since my OWN vacation lo these TWO WEEKS AGO.

I just need to get away from the drama that keeps us glued to coming to work and talking with each other like we were prisoners of war. So I stop beating down on my nice boyfriend because he won't give me enough pity (every hour on the hour, if you please, and louder, with more head patting). So I stop putting off working on my resume. So I stop ruining my own fun.

So my mother can fix me a plate and lie and say I look skinny and good. And my dad can just be adorably geeky and I'll feel like he needs me to survive a bit better because I am the oldest kid and he finally sees me as something of an adult so don't whine, and moan and be dramatic when you could be, you know, DOING SOMETHING?

Because if it were up to me, sitting here right now, I might not.

Since I've become a whiney asshole

Here is a list of day dreams I play out in my head when I am upset.

1. Arriving home to find a wicker basket wrought with pink ribbon full of soft, wriggling, white puppies on my doorstep (for me to keep and be nice to, don't get any awful ideas).
   
2. Singing karaoke (current song idea: "Rehab" by Amy Winehouse, past songs include "Stolen Car" by Beth Orton) only to be discovered by record company and brought to fame, fortune, and total skinniness.
3. Turning my knitting habit into some sort of arts and crafts themed bar/bookstore on H street with a greeny-blue decor, hodge-podge tables and hilarious drinks.
   
4. Meeting a celebrity while riding public transportation (movie star/ musician preferred) and having them be instantly charmed by me, but sweetly decline because i have a "boyfriend".
5. Starring in MTV faux-reality show about being self indulgent, the trials and tribulations of living in a warm place, being thin, and surviving.
   
6. Like Marge Simpson, I close my eyes and think of items I'd like to purchase.
7. Dream up situations where the offender finds me walking down the street with a single perfect tear rolling down my cheek and suddenly realizes how awful it is to wrong someone so attractive, and then something dramatic happens (catch up with me with a "Breakfast at Tiffany's" style kiss in the rain, apologize profusely and hands me a large check, tells me I won the lottery, has pizza, etc.)