Once upon a time, there was a frog. And the frog lived in a bin. And the bin was metal and gray. The end.
     Anyway, it's the second day of work in this jolly new year and all ready I'm feeling the heat from the evilness that is my boss, who has shorn his hair so short, he looks even freakier than before. So the freaky evilness, being the freaky evil thing that he is, decided that I must have more than a few feature stories for him to plop into the upcoming issues of our motoring pulloout although he knew very well that I had been on leave for the last nearly two weeks. So I got into this terrible panic yesterday that my tummy hurt, my head hurt and I felt like banging my head onto the wall until it became my best friend.
     Instead, I calmly went back home, cooked myself a cheese ommelette and then read the entire series of <b>Angel Sanctuary</b> before going to bed. This morning I had gotten up late because I had forgotten to set my alarm the night before and although I'm still at a deadend where feature stories are concerned, I am, at least, getting somewhere and to avoid further panic attacks, I have delegated the task of reviewing yet another PDA phone from the same brand name to a colleague - who seems to be enjoying it. He's playing Solitaire on it with a pen in place of a stylus right now.
     Then the whole buyover shit. Our new owner will be dropping by the office tomorrow to give us some kind of pep talk I suppose and at first I thought I'd just dress how I normally would - the jeans with the hole in the thigh and some shirt from my university days because I'm going to visit two workshops tomorrow - but decided against that. I suppose I'll have to look a lot prettier tomorrow and wear makeup because oh, if the new boss saw what a slob he has for an employee, I think he'd rather have me sacked. I must look cute so he would be smitten and keep me in the new company - or that's what I hope would happen anyway. 
     The other day, I tried to break up with <b>Danny Tan</b>. I'd read my favourite book, <b>It's Called a Breakup Because It's Broken</b> - a funny book about dealing with the assholes who've left us and was certain I had gotten all my arguments down to pat. Somehow I had them all countered and now I'm still stuck with the same dude. Huh. Why don't he just tell me that he likes me a lot more than just plain 'like' because I can't say it's because I've been spending a lot of money on him (I haven't been) or that we have the best sex (because the opportunity rarely comes). Maybe he's just insecure and wants someone to hold his hand too. Or maybe he doesn't want to be dumped by the girl - again.
     Whatever. So I'm having dinner with the dude afterwards.
     Why do I want to breakup with <b>Danny Tan</b>. We argue too much it seems, and no small wonder when we've got as much things in common like... how a frog has as much in common with a gray metal bin. He speaks much too loudly, likes to berate me for a lot of things, isn't very supportive, is somewhat of a cheapskate (money, time, effort, affection), and I think having him around just hinders me from really going out there to find myself a proper boyfriend because I'm comfortable where I am even though it's all rather shitty actually. The things people settle for when they're desperate. Sigh.
     Anyway, the dude insists that since it's all a temporary thing anyway and the ultimate goal is to just have a companion till we've found someone better, I'm forced to hang around till somebody better comes my way. What the... and he claims that when the time comes for me to fly away, he'll be really happy for me. Oh-kay. So why can't you let me go now? Freak. So I don't hate him. So we have some nice times together. So it's not really necessary for me to go man-hunting when the love of my life could come to me on his own accord but why do I still have to stick around?
     And why am I still meeting him for dinner when I should be severing all ties with him? Like Goofy says, gawrsh, I must be pretty silly.
     So I'm quite cute, aren't I, when I wear my makeup and wear pretty dresses - screw the pimples, a person can still be cute with pimples as long as I don't have an extra foot protruding out of my forehead - but he's just... the horse. He's not all that funny and he has this serious look like he's mad or constipated or both and he's not in the least bit romantic or generous.
     Yoweeeeeeeeeeeeee........!!!!! And I need to go now because I am supposed to go to dinner with the horse.
     I'm just so messed up aren't I?