I think a fairly accurate measure of how boring your life is, is how much of it you spend reading into meaningless details to try to add some sort of excitement. It's like the fanatics of old that played records backwards looking for Satanic messages. Surely, there must be something there!! Since I have once again found myself in the precarious situation of being crushing on someone (God help us all), I have read novels into every little bat of an eyelid he has made in the past month. Every single word he's unwittingly uttered has been dissected back and forth and interpreted in roughly ten million different ways either to my advantage or to my extreme disadvantage depending on my mood. A simple "How you doing, Mia?" can be both "aww, he cares how I'm doing. He loves me. Surely, this will be a union like no other" and "He makes small chit chat because he hates me and wants me to die". Which of the aforementioned is closer to the truth is anyone's guess.

On a sidenote, I have some bad news for my waistline: Easter is upon us. In honor of that, me and Sylvia drove out to the local Piggly Wiggly's to buy ourselves an easter egg. I became spoiled by choice at the selection and spent a good hour choosing an egg. I ended up going with the overall appearence of both the egg itself, but more importantly the little baby chicken doll on top of it. I ended up choosing one who was wearing a crooked tophat and red horn rimmed glasses. I figured he was so nerdy that no one else would buy him, and therefore, he would be very happy and grateful that I bought him and I imagine he's quite proud of himself sitting in my cupboard downstairs. This thought process has now led me to the conclusion that there might be something deeply wrong with me.

So between the torture of having my tooth ripped out through my wallet and what seem like neverending car repairs, I've come to realize that I can scarcely afford to draw my next breath. In light of this, I have broken down and started looking for a job. I've applied for a couple of McJobs here and there, and even some "real" jobs because I'm delusional. Reviewing both my resume and my own personal bank of skills, I've come to realize that there are precious few things that I am qualified or experienced to do. Not that I'm at all above lying on a job application or anything, just between you and me. I think I might attach the following picture to my job applications and start applying at dairy farms. One can never have enough milk, as the good doctor ordered.



*sigh* In the words of a good friend, I've got 257,547 problems but a bitch ain't one.