I was going to talk about how absolutely shitty my day has been, but as I was opening Word to verbally vomit my day, the customer service representative picked up and had a thick British accent. God love 'em. It had more of a distinguished butler sound to it. I pictured an old man with a sagging, fleshy chin overlapping his butler uniform, standing perfectly erect, reaching out to take your coat and managing to make you feel simultaneously sophisticated for being addressed by a butler and classless for not having that gorgeous accent. It relaxed me, and I was upset that this conversation had to be so short. Before that, ugh.

Today, man. I KNEW it would be like this. But I thought it was just going to be bad because I didn't get to sleep until after 3am, but even if I slept for five days straight before today, it STILL would have been miserable because absolutely EVERYTHING went wrong, and is still going wrong. Looking at the weather for this weekend. Looks like rain from Thursday to Monday. Wow. I was sort of kidding in the beginning when I said it would probably rain every weekend this summer because I went for a weather-reliant job, but I didn't know it would actually be the case.

I HAVE GOT TO SELL MY CAR. I AM DOING IT THIS WEEKEND!!! What the fuck is wrong with me? I should have done this four months ago!!! I don't know, I just don't know what I'm doing, and I don't mean to be a brat, but I don't care to learn. I just want this shit done and I want a guy to do it for me. Yes, I'm putting this in the guy-territory. I don't give a shit if women are capable, blah, blah, blah, I want a guy to do it. I feel like having ME sell a car with zero help from anyone is like putting a guy in charge of a tampon-insertion/removal-assistance hotline. He wouldn't even understand what the questions even meant, much less be able to answer them. Nonetheless, I have to fucking do it, and I have to do it now.

So, I'm a bit concerned about my love for Jennifer Aniston. Strike that. Make that Rachel Green, I don't know Jennifer Aniston. I DO know that according to that new E! show, the poor girl got so trapped by paparazzi that she and Brad needed police to help them get from the store to their home. I mean, I'll sit around and envy them until I'm blue in the face, but that is NOT a detail I envy at all. Yeah, also, I thought that show Good To Be would make me feel like shit about myself, but it actually does quite the opposite. I don't even think it should be called Good To Be. It should just be called It's All Relative. So, did you see that part about how if they make $20 million, they really only end up with like $2 in their pockets? Yeah, after giving their percentages to managers, agents, multiple lawyers, assistants, - leaving them at about $10 million, and then half of what's left after that goes to taxes, down to $6 million. Then there is the mortgage on that ridiculous mansion, and then the upkeep of the house and the land around it - (landscapers, gardeners, cleaning services, etc), then the utilities of this place! Think of a/c, think of electricity. Then there's FURNISHING the whole damn thing. Now, you have thinks like hundreds of major appearances, all of which you cannot wear whatever you've worn before. The big events have you dropping tens of thousands on a dress alone...just that ONE dress. Everything they have is on a grander scale, but their costs rise just as much as their gain, and then some. You think it's coincidence that SO many celebrities out there who make more money than we will every see somehow end up bankrupt? I mean, if Brad and Jen were living in a cute apartment, driving Hondas, shopping at Express and Banana Republic, yeah, then they would be millionaires. But if they don't keep working, they won't be able to afford another week in that house. It's just like Monopoly money. It becomes relative to your own life.

Anyway, I'm home now, starting at this paragraph. I rented Office Space to celebrate my shitty day. I worked out with my sister. And now I'm home relaxing, doing my nails, getting ready to go to bed super early for the first time in a million years.

I just wanted to touch base. I gotta run.