Welcome to my happily ever after...
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female problems
Have I ever written about my coworker Libby that sits on the other side of the wall from me? She's a trip. Libby is 36 years old, lives with her mom and dad, and weighs at least 300 lbs. She complains all day about how big she is, yet for example today for breakfast she ate a big bag of Doritos and guacamole. She went home "sick" today for about the 20th time so far this year. She told our supervisor that she'd already thrown up twice today....well yeah, when you eat a pound of tortilla chips for breakfast, throwing up is a possibility.
Libby has the whole absentee policy all figured out. If you stay at least until 10 AM, they don't count it as an absence. Seems kinda funny that every time she waits until exactly 10 AM to go home sick. EVERY TIME. Plus I can also tell when she's going home sick because she wears this T-shirt on it with Garfield saying "I HATE MONDAYS", regardless of whichever day of the week it is.
Girls get away with murder. All they have to do is mention the words "female problems" and everyone runs like it's the fucking apocalypse. I'm jealous. Think if I could squeeze some blood out of my man-gina I could get the same treatment? Doubtful.
12:35 p.m. - 2004-07-08
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