I really need to snap out of this stupid depressed state of mind I've been in for the past several days, weeks, whatever. Maybe I should self-prescribe something like an hour of Wham! and a six pack of Rolling Rock to fix myself or something. You can never go wrong with vaguely homoerotic pop and beer.

Since I've been feeling like a stupid piece of crap, I decided to forgo any type of attempt to make myself look better. I went into work tonight with unbrushed hair, no eyeliner, and wearing my Stupid Pants. I looked like such shit, in fact, that I was counting on LBC showing up for the first time since mid-January. He didn't and I was disappointed. No, I don't understand, either.

Anyway, I've decided that I'm giving up sex for Lent. HA HA HA HA HA HA.

I realized tonight that I witness many living embodiments of stereotypes. It's odd. Do people not even realize that they're living up to society's assumptions or is it just adaptation to better fit in? We may never know.

There's this guy I call Mr. Moustache, even though he is lacking in facial hair, who comes to the video room every Monday while I am there. He falls perfectly into the American Tough Guy stereotype. In fact, I know exactly what he will say every time he comes in. What's weird is he talks to me just like you would assume he would talk to one of his drinking and sporting buddies. It's like he thinks I have a penis and the lack of an Adam's apple is just a trick of the lighting.

Anyway, he came in today while I was in the video room. I had decided not to bandage my hand since the bandage aggravates the bruises which aggravates me, so the injury was working it in the open for all to see. He takes one look at the damage and says, "That shit looks bad." I said something like it looks worse than it actually is and he starts telling me about all his hockey injuries, sparing no gross detail. This went on for a while and then he left, telling me over his shoulder to stay out of trouble.

That was a dumb story. I can't even remember where I was going with it.

Tonight, I also saw the biggest boobs ever. And they were contained in a hot pink tube top. Not only were these the biggest boobs ever, but the woman who grew them was seriously seven feet tall, so when I looked up to talk to her, I saw nothing but BOOBS. Oh, and she had a cell phone tucked into her cleavage with nothing but the antenna sticking out like a lone hand reaching out of the barren depths of the ocean for help. I know it was a cell phone because it rang while I was helping her and I got to watch her fish it out of there. Fun times, man. I wish I could carry electronics around in my cleavage.

OK, I'm going to go now and write sad words in my notebook. And then I'm going to draw lots of little frowny faces. Maybe wallowing a bit will cause me to become so disgusted with myself that I say fuck feeling like shit, life rules!

Yeah. Yay, life.

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