I look good... blah blah blah... so do Mary-Anne and Ginger... blah blah blah... I won't bore you. Don't hate me because I'm beautiful. Don't hate me because I'm silly, either. And especially don't hate me because I'm full of malarkey.
Piranha Number One is getting on my heiney to such a degree today, my once dormant but recently awakened temper fuse is threatening to rear it's ugly, flaming head and burn out the first person who gets in it's path. This... icky and silly... over-aged... little... BOY... wants something four minutes ago, and he's demanding that it be given to him regardless of inconvenience or other priorities. And the worst part... this is the very worst part... it's his own fault that the documents were not prepared beforehand. But beyond that, IT'S NOT EVEN IMPORTANT! The stuff he's demanding gets done RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND isn't worth the paper it's printed on. For the love of all that is holy, why can't I stand up to this belligerent little man and tell him to wait his bloody turn?
So why am I writing my entry instead of giving into his demands like the chicken that I am? See, I'm covering reception right now. I'm on my lunch, but I've got an agreement with the receptionist to give her a break to get something to eat... and this is when I usually do my entries. See, now if I was on lunch, and was at my desk, biting into something diet-friendly and tasteless, but I had all the information in front of me, in my files and on my system... yeah, sure. I'd give into the Piranha, and do what he asked for. But it's quite impossible now, isn't it? I'm not even in my bloody office! What the hell does he expect from me? My arms just aren't that long, people!
Right. Positive. Calm, blue ocean. Don't kill the bastard. If I just keep repeating those things to myself, I'll be fine...
By the way, what do you think of my BEAUTIFUL new page? It's just a temporary thing, as the final design isn't complete yet, but moviegrrl is just being brilliant with it, isn't she?
More later, loverlies...
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