Burnt. Out.

The car to my left was still smoking and spewing toxic ash when I passed it on my way in to work this morning. I felt like it looked for most of today. The phone on my desk wouldn't stop ringing and my boss (whose voice I love to hear say mean things about everyone else and then giggle) had laryngitis. The day was so busy and so nerve-racking that I almost didn't get to enjoy the fact that perhaps the stupidest person I've ever worked with quit in a huff when he found out he was going to get a verbal warning. For tardiness. Nothing permanent, just a "Don't be late anymore, Mmmkay?" And he quit. The truth is that management were clearly building a case to fire him, but with that in mind, maybe he should have just started scouring the classifieds before storming off. Anyhow, he won't be missed. Not just because his very presence made everyone else have to work harder to compensate. Not just because he always had food stuck in his braces and bad breath to go along with it. Not because he talked at a frequency only dogs and gay men (yup, like me!) could interpret when he got upset. Actually, wait - for all of those reasons he won't be missed. Also, he occasionally made eyes at me. Eeewwww..... The freaks always do; it's rare that normal guys find reason to. Seriously, it's happened once in the last two years. But I digress: the moron's exit saved me from having to hide a body or confess to a crime I never would have felt guilty about. I shouldn't say that. Morons deserve better than to be compared with him.

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Tonight's American Idol wasn't nearly mean enough for me. I find it hard to believe that Memphis had that many good singers compared to the number of freakazoids. As usual, I'm crying out for more crazy Paula and more costumes! The roommate (some of you might remember him as the blogger formerly known as FB) and I were thinking that we should audition next year as a duo. We were thinking of a guy-on-guy Sonny & Cher act singing "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails. Alas, I will be too old next season - this is after all, the year I bid farewell to my twenties. Is it stuck-up to say I look damn good for almost 30? Oh well. This almost 30 year-old doesn't care.

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The cold finally snapped this week. It's not the drop in temperture that really bothers me. I can manage with an extra layer while exposed to the elements. It's just that when the sun's out, I expect it to be warm. The West Coast weather gods should always keep in mind that L.A. is all about appearances. Actually, warm looking but frigid is a pretty accurate description of much of the city. I think I may have to go create a personal ad just so I can use that as a heading.

And with that, I'm off to my distraction for next hour or so. Yes, like an unwelcome ex or that uncle you thought died years ago, my insomnia is back. At least insomnia can be treated without having to repress memories or take out restraining orders.

'Night!

J.

This post was sponsored by the Insomniac On The Floor Committee.