2003-12-04

This was Wednesday:

Weight: 175 (It seems doing nothing and eating too much junk is having no positive affect on my weight)

What I ate: weekday breakfast special at Pennys (eggs, bacon, potatoes, toast), some cookies, eggs and toast for dinner, bread pudding (the last piece) for dessert. 2 Diet Cokes, 4 waters

What I did: walked to work and back (good girl), watched TV/played computer solitaire/read, loafed- lots of general loafing to make up for the fact that I moved my ass for a minute or two by walking. I am a slacker.

This was today:

Weight: 175 (and I walked yesterday! What's with that? It's like you can't lose weight overnight! Why didn't anyone tell me?)

What I ate: oatmeal (with milk), a coconut macaroon (is that how you spell it? And don't look at me like that. It was free, okay? I had no choice.), chicken tortilla soup (underwhelming. Where was the chicken?), 2 Diet cokes, 4 waters.

What I've done: worked, ironed, watched TV, talked on the phone (Aunt Colette and Evil Stepmother)-- interviewed at Target for extra seasonal work.

Some FBI men came into my work. I didn't know it at first. I just saw these loser twenty-something Orange County slackers in pastel T-shirts- you know, the average male specimen around here. They work at Best Buy and have no goals in life, but inexplicably won't date a semi-upwardly mobile gal who just happens to have a few (dozen) extra pounds on her because they think they deserve an outwardly perfect woman. I hate men.

But that's not the point. The point is that these guys looked like OC losers, but they were G-men!!!! They were so cool. They flashed their badges at us and asked us if we'd seen some fugitives. Once they got closer, I noticed they were older- which just goes to show that highlights do make you look younger. They pulled some pictures out of their grungy bags and had us look at them. I lingered a little, hoping I'd seem suspicious and one of them (preferably the taller one- cause I loves me a tall man- which is dumb because I'm 5'2) might take me in the back for extensive questioning. I could put my feet up on the desk and look surly and say stuff like "What's it to you?" And he'd bang on the table with his fist a lot and try to break me. And then we'd make out.

Why didn't I become an FBI agent? Or maybe a high-profile criminal. Don't major in theater, folks. All it does is encourage delusions and fantasy in delusional, fantasy-prone idiots.

I have to take a drug test early tomorrow in order to get my dream job at Target. I am not very happy. I hate morning and I hate peeing into tiny cups- if that is indeed what you do when you're tested for drugs. I don't know for sure.