tonite was b's 29th birthday, so we had an all girl party over at t's (except for our two main boys who might as well be girls except for the fact that i've been in complete lust with one of them for two years, and i've made out with the other one - but other than that, we pretty much consider them girls).
after my performance last weekend at my own party, i've sworn off the alcohol for at least a month. tonite i only drank water, and couldn't really tell that i wasn't as drunk as everyon else. in fact, i was one of the only people dancing (but really, that goes without saying). i thought it was going to be tempting to drink tonite, but it wasn't. at all. in fact, after the torture i endured last weekend, it sounds like the worst thing on earth to me. i might be done with it. for a while.
i have half a glass of orange juice left, so you're just gonna have to bear with me.
i swear if i get the flu those bastards are going down.
today at work it was confirmed. my boss is an idiot.
he wants a new hang tag for our clothes, so he showed me an "idea" he wants me to "work on". which means, "i like this, and i have no vision - knock it off." but it was hideous. he asked what i thought about it, and i told him it was ass. so he said, "it looks better on stationery. here, look." and handed me a letter he had written to nordstrom's.
i'll get to the letter in a moment - which, by the way folks, really is a gem, but right now let's focus on this "logo" if you will. all he did was copy the picture from wherever he found it on the internet, and slap it at the top of his letter. that isn't even his company's logo. what? plus, i think that's a little illegal. yeah?
now for the letter. i swear it amazes me that this man has his master's degree:
oh, crap. nevermind. i was going to put it in here, but i can't find my purse, and i'm too tired (plus, the o.j.'s almost gone), so i'll just have to sum it up.
he can't spell to save his life, he uses words improperly (while undoubtedly using them to sound sophisticated & well educated, which unbelievably, he is), his grammar is atrocious... i could go on. & on. & on...
they should just hire me to be his editor. no. even better, they should pay me to write all of his correspondence. it'll be like roxanne, except not. that was the movie with steve martin, right? the one based on cyrano de bergerac?
nevermind it. my glass is now empty, and my throat still hurts.
those boys will die.
soon.
and slow.