40 Words per Minute.

Maybe if I didn't feel like I had to crap my pants the entire time the stupid typing test was going on, or the girl next to me wasn't typing a million words a minute I would have gotten to the 45wpm mark. It was not helping me listening to her graceful graze over the keyboard. And I know this may come off as an excuse, but their keyboards were PREHISTORIC. I only type on a Mac, dumbfucks. Read: flat keyboards. Also at the risk of sounding like a total snob (I don't care) their monitors were huge BUBBLES.  Maybe someone needs to welcome them to the 21st century. Hopefully since they want to see me tomorrow typing is not something they are looking for me to be an expert in. The whole time I was thinking about my last typing test which was in high school, with a creepy curly haired 70+ teacher who ate lunch that smelled like vomit. Crap and vomit. So appetizing.

Speaking of appetizing, I have been dating out of pure boredom. The thing is though, I don't feel the least bit bad about it. These men know that I don't want anything serious. They may not know that I love someone else (another story, another time). So it isn't like I'm fucking with them. I'm just seeing what's out there. No harm, no foul. They do it all the time, and since my life is anything but super splendiferous right now, why not? Something else to think about. It is still surprising to me, however, how many men actually want to date me. Sometimes I throw that "yeah, I'm between jobs" their way just to see if they care. And they don't. Lucky me.

Anyway, this job thingy is a pain in my ass still, but I will get an effing job.  I have to. And it will be great. I will be great. This sure beats the attitude where I try to OD on NyQuil. Has anyone ever done that, anyway?

Time for my chicken burger. Toodies.