I keep telling myself I'm going to stop watching Project Runway and yet I click it on every week. I really, really, really don't like this season's cast and the judges -- Michael Kors and Nina Garcia, especially -- are bitches. Heidi Klum is still hot. Skinny and blonde, but hot. Also, Anthony? Possibly the gayest man on Earth? If he refers to himself in the third person ONE MORE TIME, I'm going to put a damn brick through my TV.
My hormones and/or emotions are running high this week and, as a result, I keep having mini-meltdowns about things. Today's freakfest happened as a result of needing to update my resume again. Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but it came at the end of a workday with King V where I absolutely couldn't focus. To make things more stressful, he kept throwing tasks at me, including the need to call AT&T again to sort out the company's phone bill. I called last month and dropped a couple of the office's lines, which resulted in a huge savings for us but also meant I spent about 45 minutes on hold and at least 20 minutes talking to a customer service rep. Luckily he was really nice but it doesn't mean I want to call him again.
I spent the afternoon updating my resume and writing a cover letter for a communications job with my alma mater. It would be pretty keen to work for them again (yay insurance!), especially in a professional position. Last time I was there, I was a secretary. Want people to treat you like you're retarded? Take an admin job. Here's hoping I make it through the gauntlet that is HR and that I'm considered for an interview.
I started having a meltdown on Queen S earlier because she was suggesting all these changes to my resume and I'm just so sick of trying to find a damn job. The whole process is about as enjoyable as getting kicked in the spleen. I fantasize about getting hired by a company and staying there until my body is carted out on a dolly. Point is I left work and spent some time ranting and *sigh* crying, not paying attention to my surroundings. (Helpful while driving, of course.) I reached a moment of silence and realized that the Glee cast was singing "Don't Stop Believin'." I kind of shut up after that, cheesy as the moment might have been. A couple minutes later I was sitting behind a car with a bumper sticker that read, in part, DON'T SWEAT THE SMALL STUFF. The rest of the message was uber-Christian but I still got it. I ignored the HALLUJH license plate, though. Like I said -- maybe cheesy, maybe simplistic, but I believe wholeheartedly in signs from the Universe, so... so there.
30 Rock. I just... I can't get into it. And I like Tina Fey. It must be how Vanessa and King V feel about The Office, which I think is hysterical. King V didn't laugh when he watched it, apparently, but he laughs at story lines I tell him about from the show. Who knows?
I was due to go to St. Louis this weekend, but cancelled my trip due to the impending weather. I'm tired, my car is old, I still haven't fixed the windshield wipers, and nothing about potentially driving on icy roads appeals to me. Shocker, I know. My friends kind of understood but also gave me some grief. I kind of hate to preemptively wuss out but I'd rather cancel in advance than get part of the way and have to come home. Also, I film fested last weekend and have had about three mostly minor-but-still-draining meltdowns this week, so I don't mind staying home and resting. And cleaning my apartment. I totally mean it this time. Seriously. I do. I have a mop... somewhere.
The bad weather is due to start tonight or very early Friday morning. I hope the bad stuff holds off until I'm home from therapy. I think it would be good for me -- and, oh, the entire world -- if I made it to my appointment in the morning. For the safety of others, I kept myself home this afternoon with Facebook and chocolate ice cream.
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