Humpday

I'm fucking exhausted. And the man is talking to me about a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich with crushed cool ranch Doritos? What the fuck? Ok, I'm down. He has led me to great mountains of deliciousness in our two year dance, so I will trust him in this.
This week has been....full, so far. A bunch of interviews- I'm making peace with the uncomfortable button up dress shirts. Yuck. Why do they make them so short? Am I just buying the wrong ones? I suspect the key is high-waisted dress pants, and a belt. And don't forget the cream colored camisole underneath the white shirt. Is it not such a great thing to have your boobs outlined to distract potential employers? Ah, the good ole days when that little detail would make one a shitload of money....
  Meanwhile, my  current employment has a new district manager who's going to be further up our assholes than our respective colons. What joy. I have been mentally checked out for about a month now and while truthfully, I don't give a flying fuck about pleasing him, or the corporate dickwads, but I will continue to perform my job as wanted. 
  Ok, it's time for me to check out. Gnite, peeps. 
 K