Chicago bitch slapped me.

Today has been rough. Like Giuliana Rancic rough. Like trying to find a size 14 blouse at a Dress Barn rough. So for starters it was raining today, no big deal right? This is Seattle, I'm used to rain. But what I'm not used to is having to use a .99 cent umbrella because I left my fancy cheetah print umbrella in Nebraska. So not only was I getting partially wet, but I was also breaking my work's number one rule of wearing at least one article of animal print at all times. Great. But it gets worse. The moment I was walking across the bridge to the Wrigley, the snatchy Chicago wind grabbed by umbrella from me and threw it into the river. 

"Take that bitch, this will teach you to disgrace me by using a .99 cent umbrella in my city."

And then Chicago bitch slapped me right across the face. It was awful. I had to walk the rest of the way to work in the cold pouring rain without any protection from the bitey morning wind. By the time I got to work I looked like a Katrina rescue dog. I tried to fix myself up in the bathroom, but there is only so much baby powder and a teezing comb can do. And to make matters worse, my brand new Tory Burch rain boots were splattered with mud! They're rain boots, not mud boots! And even then I didn't actually want them to get wet.   

Once I got settled at my desk with a cup of coffee (creamer/Splenda) I tried to calm myself down. If Splenda does cause cancer, sign me up because I love those delightful little packets. And what's a cancer scare vs saving like 50 calories? So anyway, about this time  I accidentally dropped my pen onto my skirt and managed to scribble almost the entire alphabet in one drop. Black pen, all over my new work skirt. I looked like Helen Kellar graffiti. Buying work clothes is like pulling teeth. So when I muck up those work clothes I get real pissed. They're supposed to last me until at least 2015, or until I get way too skinny to fit into them...

What else could go wrong today? How about my dog walker forgot to come, our sidewalk is torn up in the front of our house so the package I was expecting has to be picked up at the actual post office, and, well that's it, but that's kind of a lot for a Wednesday. I loathe the post office. I think it's the worst place on earth, the workers come straight from their other jobs in hell and are obviously very pissed they have to be working more hours on top of what they already do down in damnation. But it's not my problem. I'm sorry Shoniqua is so bitter she has to walk her large bottom to the back to get my package, but it's just how it has to be. I need my Shutterfly calendar. I'd come back there and do it myself, but I don't have the navy vest and white badge on. There's a certain line I have to stay behind, you've made that very clear (and obnoxiously loud) with your bedazzled six inch fingernails giving me the "one moment" gesture. So here's your moment, now go get my package.

I don't mean to be such a little Debbie. But on a day like today, it's hard. I'm being dramatic, you want to talk about real problems? How about the fact I found out my favorite professor died on Saturday.  If any of you were lucky enough to have Gerry Shapiro you know what kind of guy he was. He was great. Might have been one of the bigger influences in my life who pushed me in the direction of choosing writing as an actual career. If only he could see me now. I've got a  (self) published book, two twitter accounts (@workingirlrants, look it up you'll love it, or at least marginally like it) and a very successful and influential pop culture blog with almost 68 followers. I think he'd be proud. So Mr. Shapiro, this ones for you. I hope you're doing well in Jewish heaven. You will be missed, thanks for telling me it's okay to follow my passion.  And I'm not just saying that, you were great.

Now I'm even more depressed. I think I need to watch the Sophia Grace video on Ellen again.