UPDATE ON THE DRAMZ!!~

Remember yesterday when my bosses were like, "Hey fuck up! We're coming in this afternoon to have A TALK with you, so start shitting your pants now!"? Welp, THEY DIDN'T SHOW UP! That's right. I sat here all day on pins and needles, stomach dropping to butt every single time the elevator doors opened, for nothing. That being said, I know for a fact that Boss #1 is coming in today because she has a meeting from 3:30-4:30. So I guess THE TALK will come after that? Ugh, I don't know. My stomach is killing me. I feel like I'm a little kid who's done something wrong and I'm waiting for my dad to come home and punish me. I wonder what Boss #1 will think when she comes in and finds me in a onesie holding a belt with hot tears streaming down my face?

So, this TALK can go one of two ways: they're either going to straight-up fire me or they're going to chew me out for what happened yesterday. And the thing is, I'm going to have a very hard time not telling them exactly where they can shove their wood samples if it's the latter. Because what happened yesterday was genuinely not my fault to the point where it's almost comical. Almost. Here's the deal: we have this random old table in our backroom that's on wheels. Boss #2's mom (who shares the same first name as Boss #2, which I think is slightly odd) came in yesterday to pick up the table. She came in, I said ¡hola!, pointed to the table, said ¡gracias! and went back to my desk. Unfortunately, old Boss #2 Senior didn't unlock the wheels before rolling the table out and scuffed up the floor pretty badly as a result. But for the sweet love of Hay-Zeus Christo, I only just found out that we even had that table, nevertheless that it had locked wheels! Shouldn't Boss #2's mom have noticed the wheels weren't moving and, oh I don't know, unlocked them? Or said something to me? In the words of my mother: "Meghan, you've got a mouth; use it." (That's what...she...said? Shudder, shudder. No. Not when it involves my mom and my mouth.) So that's why I'm in trouble. Because "I" ruined the floors. I seriously felt like I was on glue when Boss #2 yelled at me yesterday. All I wanted to do was break down and scream, "BUT YOUR MOM DID IT!" Unfortunately it's way harder than one would think to pass the blame onto your boss' rickity old mom.

What I'm chalking all this mishegoss up to is it's just one more time when I have to shoulder the blame for something that's not my fault because I'm the office's whipping boy. Or girl. And that shit's gettin' old rull fast. Yes I need a paycheck, but I also need to not have an ulcer anymore. So if I don't get fired today, I'm going to quit. That's a lie. Well, I don't know. Maybe. Oh my god. Zantac and Puppy Cam are the only things keeping my shit together at this moment.

OH AND BTDUBBS! This is my Washington Post horoscope for today:

Aries March 21 - April 19

For Thursday, January 21 -Testy? Cranky? Who, you? Just because the planet in charge of your sign just so happens to be Mars, the ancient god of war? No way. It's not that you're irritable. It's just that 'the opponents' -- those of us who happen to inhabit the extra space in your world -- are just so darned uncooperative. Don't take any guff from these intruders. Put 'em right in their place.

OH. SHIT. The Cliffs Notes for that horoscope would simply say: Bitches better ACKRITE. From your mouth to God's ears, Washington Post. However, I sort of want to hold onto this job a liiiiittle bit longer for one reason and one reason only: Russell the Homophobic Co-Worker. Shocking, I know, considering we've been on the outs recently, but we had the most bizarre and intriguing conversation yesterday. I haven't had a non-work related conversation with Russell in a month of Sundays, but suddenly yesterday he walked over to my desk and said, "You know, my birthday is at the end of the month, I accept gift cards." I managed to cough out a courtesy laugh and said that was "exciting" for him. "Yeah, well this birthday is a big one for me. A really, really important one." "Do you mind if I ask how old you're turning?" I asked, thinking it must be 35 or 40. "37," he answered. Huh. 37. I wouldn't really define 37 as a "big" birthday in people's lives. It's not really a milestone. That's actually the most random age I can possibly think of. These thoughts in my head were reflected in the "HUWHHH?!" look on my face. "I made myself a promise a lot time ago that I would do something by the time I'm 37," he explained. "I said, 'I gotta do this. And Imma do it when I'm 37. [Slams fist on table] That's my deadline.' Gotta do it. And I'm ready to do it." He stopped talking. I stared at him with an "—AND??" look on my face but he just looked down and continued organizing his papers. "So.........what are you going to do?" I asked. "Oh I don't think it's appropriate to tell you," he answered and walked away. AND WALKED. AWAY. Are you fucking kidding me?!?!?! How evil is that?? Why would you bring it up if you didn't want to talk about it?! Wouldn't it just be easier to just not say anything at all? It's like when people tell you that somebody told them a secret, and you're like "Oh man! What is it?" and they get a smug look on their face and are like, "Oh I can't tell you." THEN WHY DID YOU BRING IT UP?! Christ. However, the wheels in my head started turning later that afternoon and now I'm wondering...what if, at 37 years young, Russell the Homophobic Co-Worker is going to come out of the closet?? I mean, the man is outrageously homophobic and once said he doesn't eat cream cheese because it "tastes like sperm." I don't think it's that far of a reach. I've always suspected he might be a Down Low Brotha. The thing is, if I get fired today or quit before the end of the month, I'll never know! The curiosity would drive me insane! Is it worth staying in a job I despise just to find out if Russell is indeed a big 'ole homo?

Gah. Boss #1 just walked in. Guess we'll find out...