I had a mental list of possible blog topics this morning, ranging from breaking one hundred when I went bowling on Saturday night, buying a record with a gross album cover, my brother's pimpin' track record of going to two junior proms, or how I'll only do the Electric Slide when I'm either very drunk or in fifth-grade gym class. Instead, I've had a rough morning trying to register for classes and reporting my hours to the online payroll system. I also discovered that my phone on my desk has the wrong extension number on it, meaning that when I give people my number they end up calling Gabie instead. I've been so pissed off that wearing a purple shirt (which I bought on Saturday for three dollars) (about which I'm still not sure how I feel) does nothing to lift my spirits.
I think the best part of the morning was what my mother said in response to my poorly-written, frustrated email about how aggravated I was with every other department at DePaul:
"See? Isn't work a bitch?"
Yeah, Mom. It is. Please send me cookies.
And seriously, I never have any compassion for celebrities, but I feel REALLY SORRY for Britney Spears. You know you know people in real life whose lives make you vicariously depressed for them? For example, people who graduate from college who don't find jobs and end up hanging around the library or that grassy knoll outside of the English department building and who I see at parties and say (probably too loudly, because I have no control over the volume of my voice sometimes, especially when drinking), "HIS LIFE MAKES ME SAD." Anyway, that's how I feel about Britney Spears. I mean, just look at this. I thought I didn't know how to be an adult and I get upset when there's no one to help me figure it out, but at least I am not fat, I don't have a kid with a second on the way, I'm not married to a white trash rapper, and I don't go out in public with a pink thong so incredibly visible that it could stop traffic. I've got it EASY compared to Britney Spears.