My privacy has been invaded.

So I'm putting a pad in my panties today (Yes, I have my period--freakin' deal with it people) and I notice that Always has printed a little message on the paper backing for the adhesive. Are you ready for this?

"Have a Happy Period
Bonne et heureuse semaine"

I'm sorry, what? A happy period? Does having this little message be also in French make it somehow classier that my panties have been invaded with cheerfulness?

I feel so violated.

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Last week sucked and then it rocked and now I have a headache.

Monday: Stage flat gets dropped on my head. Two hours later after head has swollen and turned blue Dave takes me to the ER. No concussion, hospital sends me home where Amy and Theresa are sorting through the detritus of the Dysfunctional storage closet. They deck me in a Debbie Gibson t-shirt and Dave keeps handing me ice packs:

You can kinda see the lovely shade of green my forehead had gone by that point--and my eye was going black. Pretty sweet.

Friday was my last day at Hotjobs.com There. I've said it--for three years I worked for the almighty Yahoo. Not one of my most favorite things, that job. No sir. Dave however likes his job at the almighty Yahoo so there you go--whatever that counts for. It was my last day with my bitches Liz and Connie—end of an era indeed, Liz, end of an era. My manager threw a pizza party for me and I kinda felt bad for fleeing the place. Kinda.

Huh. You can see the bruised forehead in that one too.

Today is Monday and the left side of my forehead is still greenish and my eyelid is all purple--there is still a lump on my hairline where the damn flat hit. I call it the egg. It still hurts. This pisses me off. HOWEVER I started my new job today and it seems to be a good place. I use the fax machine a lot--which is amusing to me as I avoided the fax machine at Yahoo like the plague. It made me think of the scene in Office Space where they beat they shit out of that fax machine. Anyway--the new job has a nicer fax machine. Better pens too. And Amy is there so that's very good! In fact it is her old job I am taking over. (Thank you, Amy!!!)

PS--it's really difficult to take a picture of your own black eye!

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You so hot!

It's hot. 102 degrees hot. I don't know that I ever really understood hot until I lived through a summer in New York City. Realize now that you are dealing with a woman who grew up in an UN-air conditioned house in North Carolina. That was a piece of cake compared to trying to survive NYC in a heat wave. The subway is like a big ol' stinky sauna and the heat outside has no where to go--it bounces from the streets to the buildings and just swirls around you like it wants to suck the last bit of perspiration from your very soul. Oh and Con-Ed can't handle the power demands again. So every morning we have a little discussion about what level to set the air conditioner on so the cats don't die while we're out at work. Could my one air conditioner be the one that tips the scales and blacks out the whole city? I think I heard too much of that "one person really CAN make a difference" bullshit as a child.

I haven't been able to accomplish a darn thing all week--it's just too damn hot. Well, alright--I did manage to summon up the energy to sign the Chili Cheese Burrito petition. Giving credit where it's due I will say that Dave found this site--I guess listening to me whine for years about the loss of the Chili Cheese Burrito really made an impression on the guy.

In the words of the Culinary Crisis Coalition: "Life, liberty, and the pursuit of a Chili Cheese Burrito is the right of every man, woman, and child. The revolution has begun."

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