A party just isn't a party without your boss

I actually wrote this a couple months ago and am publishing it now. But rather than edit what I originally wrote, I'm just keeping it as is. Timelines n such.


My work is throwing its annual company holiday party.
After all the holidays have passed.
Apparently we're too damn busy during the holidays to have time for a party so they wait til the year end inventory has occured after the New Year and then we all get together to "celebrate the holidays."
How grand.

I'm fixing to move in twenty-one days but I know if I tell my co workers I can't go to the party because I have to clean my room it will incite some hateful glares.
But truth be told I don't wish to spend time with these assholes if I'm not getting paid for it.

Let's see, there's the guy who daily tells me how much he wants to put one of my tits in his mouth and let's not get him confused with the manager who sexually harassed me.
Because it is perfectly normal to call you twelve times when you don't answer your phone.
When they're drunk.

And nothing is sweeter than the jealous caddiness of a girl whose way of winning your approval is to be a bitch.l

I told a co worker once who was wearing a berry colored blouse that all she needed was a berry lip to match and she'd be absolutely fabulous.
The next day the wannabe bitch showed up wearing a similarly colored blouse and though she rarely wore lipstick, she donned a matching berry lip.
I purposely said nothing about it all day just to piss her off.

Of course my caricatures are gross exaggerations.

I've learned my lesson from those cosmetics wenches, anything I write can and will be used against me, so of course, the entirety of this all is PURE FICTION, baby!

Any coincidences with truth are pure happenstance.
Naturally.


There are several fabulous freaks I do enjoy working with it's just, it's not like this is my birthday party and I can create the guest list.
Everyone's invited.
It's like having to pass out Valentines to everyone in class when you're in second grade.
"But I don't want to give one to Brandon! Brandon's GROSS!"

Sigh.
So I have no choice but to decline the invitation with some dulcid ladylike retort of, I just don't wanna.

I will probably spend my evening pretending to pack my messy apartment, repainting my nails or playing Bejeweled on my new Ipad.
That game is really fucking addicting.
It's kind of unnerving.

Of course, I may also ponder the complexity of the awesome new guy I've been seeing.
My ex boyfriend.
But that's another fucking story.