Somebody kill me.

I hate my job I hate my job I hate my job I hate my job.

I want one of the following things: either a job where I need a Blackberry or a job where I would NEVER need a Blackberry. Know what I mean?

Occasionally my superiors dangle little, tiny mini meatballs of additional responsibility/creativity before me. Then they ask me to dub yet another fucking tape. And hand me five fuckups from somebody else because I'm the one who will do it in a speedy fashion.

And the silent Asian co-worker continues to not respond to my email. I finally had to attach a "read" receipt to it. So now I know she reads my email. She just CHOOSES not to respond to it. Even ones marked "sent with high importance" and the fucking red exclamation point. And if she sneezes and you say "bless you," she doesn't thank you. And she certainly doesn't bless you when you sneeze. And if you say "hey, Joanne?" . . . she acts like she didn't hear you.

Selective hearing? Selective emailing? It's a mystery.

I hate her.

I hate my job.

I hate people.

My tits are huge.