More like nuclear fallout, but I'm trying not to exaggerate so freaky-damn much.

Attempting to cram too many social obligations into one week has only resulted in bloodshot eyes, muscle aches, a piss-poor attitude, and my throat feels like I've been forcibly facefucked by King Kong and all his pals (Mothra, Godzilla, The Jolly Green Giant, The Abominable Snowman, and Arnold Schwarzenegger.)(Whoops, there goes that exaggeration thing, but yeah, it's not good.)

Someone actually flipped out on me last night because I begged off of going to their gathering which I had never promised to attend, anyway. Pray tell, what's so hard to understand about "I'm sick"?! Fucking obnoxious.

As for the company party, the ever-so-slightly undersized blouse was pretty much totally ineffectual. Not being from fake-assed California, I'm still unaccustomed to this sort of lukewarm male response (except for Julio), and am ready to move to Alaska or somewhere men notice you're a woman even if you aren't semi-falling out of your top. In fact, they'd probably go batshit over a shapely ankle - let alone someone wearing a dainty garment as a shirt.*

Pack your bags, girls.

*Beware of wardrobe malfunction: lace and beaded items do not mix. Some tarted-up bleach blonde got caught in the lacy ties on the back of my blouse with her skankadelic silver-beaded stripper shirt from Clothestime. "Excuse me, I'm caught...in your ass!"**

**Sadly, not the first time someone's said that to me.

One more week, folks. Uno (1) week until my "vacation"*** starts, just in time to avoid a complete mental meltdown in public.

***For fun, I think I'm going to start a rumor that I'm going to Canada to have my vagina removed.