So many bad pictures of Britney come out everyday that I wonder if the paparazzi are now getting paid more for horrid pictures of that tart than they get paid for good ones.
http://socialitelife.com/2007/07/31/fashion_disaster_britney_spears.php#more
WHY
Is every single f*ckin temp we hire obsessed with her g*dd*mned weight?
If I have to listen to one more temp talk about how she weighs herself everyday, is on Weight Watchers, or her husband's bugging her about her big a$$, I'll slit my wrists! F*CK!!
Oh and I'm soooo talking to supervisor about whom to hire next time. This one sucks. She can't learn a d*mn thing; what's ironic is she used to frickin teach this subject in high school.
My feelings are weighing heavily on me today. Each thing I do feels as though it takes a gargantuan amount of energy to accomplish.
I mentioned to D when I picked her up yesterday that I had reserved the time and space for our adoption party at the YMCA. At dinner, when I reminded D that she ought to be grateful that she has a mom who takes care of her and that I had not really had that, I was promptly schooled that I am not her real mom. And that her real mom folds her laundry. And makes her dinner.
"Oh really? And how does she do that? With magic fairy dust?"
"Yes."
Ok, kid, you got me there. I didn't expect that.
So it was off to family therapy shortly thereafter. It went ok. I was dismayed that D admitted she's not too happy about this adoption and then asked the counselor, not me, for a hug.
Later that night, I talked to my sponsor and she was like, well, yes, that is what we talked about.
So I guess I need to adjust my expectations. I want the happy family, etc., but I want it my way, not the way that God seems intent on providing it to me.
Tomorrow will probably be different...
God I hate temps…we have a perfectly pleasant temp right now, though. Her name is Anne. Anne is an older lady, very pleasant and helpful, and very bored, which is common among the temps that we hire. This may explain their overly-helpful nature.
They always think they can do your job better than you can. You're sitting there at your desk cursing at your computer and they're so damn 'helpful'.
'Damn formula! Why can't you just WORK!?'
Temp chimes in. 'Formulas? You're working on formulas? I thought she just wanted a bar chart.'
Hello! I don't want to f'in explain it. I'm talking to MYSELF. It's my inner monologue gone crazy, UNDERSTAND?
FRICK.
