The dizzying highs! The terrifying lows! I've got to live, Marge, won't you let me LIVE?

Hey kids. Not much new here. Except, did I remember to tell you, we're MOVING?! Yeah, but other than that, everything is just kinda boring.

I've been feeling very incompetent at work lately, I think partly due to the fact that I'm doing a brainless job anyone who breathes could perform with minimal training, so anytime I slip up I get mad at myself for screwing up something my cat could do in her sleep. I feel like yelling to myself, "COME ON, lady! You only have five tasks to do throughout the day, and you screw up ONE of them? What good are you?"

So you can see, I'm not going into the new job-hunt cycle with a lot of confidence. But on the bright side, my utter lack of skills, experience, articulation, and self-esteem should provide for some hilarious blog fodder.

Oy vey. Why am I putting myself through this again? Oh yes, because I hate it here.

In other news, did I mention I went to a black-tie event at the Ritz-Carlton last weekend? It was fun, and not as scary as you would think for a girl who grew up in Boise, Idaho, one generation removed from farmers and loggers. I was a little nervous at the beginning, though, and not because I'm from Boise, but because I was wearing a rather, ahem, low-cut dress and I was afraid that one wrong move would give away all my secrets, if you know what I mean. The dress was cut in a way that made wearing a bra basically impossible, and I didn't want to spend a lot of money buying those boob-cup things, and frankly I don't even know how they're supposed to work anyway. So I thought I would just stick on some double-sided tape J.Lo style and be done with it. But the only problem was that I forgot to buy the double-sided tape. So, in my urgency to find something to prevent slippage in the five seconds I had until the cab came to pick us up, instead I opted for doubling over some regular pieces of Scotch tape. Long story short: not the best idea.

In the end, after much frantic tugging and surreptitious boob-tape checking and hiding under my (transparent) wrap-ing, decided the hell with the tape and just took it off. Which actually worked out okay as long I kept an eye on the girls and made sure to keep my shoulders back and my posture ram-rod straight.

My hair was another story, but then my hair is terminally ill to begin with, so we can't really blaming it for looking like death. I would post a photo of the soiree, but I don't own the photos that were taken at the event, so sadly, you'll just have to leave my low-cut dress and ugly hair to your imaginations.

But yeah, other than the boob-tape debacle, I think the evening went pretty well, except for the fact that none of the BF's coworkers talked to me. I guess I probably forgot to mention that the event was sponsored by BF's work, and I don't know why no one talked to me--they weren't mean, they just weren't very talkative. But I got to dance with the BF and get slightly jiggy with it, so you know. Oh, and also there was free food and a dessert buffet and an open bar, and did I mention it was the Ritz-Carlton? Good times.

And that, my friends, was my week in a nutshell.

Stay tuned for my next post, where I will give a blow-by-blow account of vacuuming the apartment.