I’m Only Roosting Here

This was the main attraction of my holiday weekend. A rooster roosting in a pine tree at my camp. Or as we like to say, “chicken in pine tree.” That really has a nicer ring to it.

I’ve had some major aggression in the past few days. I’m frustrated with my job. I’ve been told that it’s going to pick up and things are going to get busy, it’s been 5 months and my workload is nonexistent. As much as I like goofing on the internet all day, there’s only so many blogs I like to read and so many times I can chit chat on the pregnancy discussion board. I’m starting to feel like I’ll never find a job that I’ll like. Granted, this job is much better than my last job, and I’m lucky to be working here now instead of spending all day on my feet and refusing to take TVs to people’s cars, but seriously, I’ve never been so bored in all my life. The people I work with are great for the most part. It’s very quiet and sometime I go all day without talking to a single soul. That can sometimes be weird for me because when I leave for the day I get in my car and just want to scream at the top of my lungs, just to hear my own voice. A lot of the time I feel like a glorified secretary, since I’m the only woman on the team and the writer. I write boring, boring stuff. I haven’t used an eighth of my creative talent. One day I got to do graphics because the designer was on vacation and that was as far as that went. Ack. I don’t know. I do know I have to stick it out at least until next February. As a pregnant woman, I’d never find a new job right now with benefits and stuff.

And I seriously feel the need to be paid more. I don’t want to have to worry about money ever again. And believe me, I AM WORRIED. Not because we don’t make enough, but because the amount of money I owe on school could buy me a brand new pimped out Escalade. And with a kid it’s just going to get harder.

Ok, look back at the rooster now. Doesn’t that make you feel good? It seriously lives in a tree. Really. You didn’t know that chickens in the wild live in trees, did ya? Well, they do. You learned something new today.

And it seems that a lot of women I talked to didn’t actually poop while giving birth. Either that, or they’re just afraid to acknowledge the pooping. I hope I don’t poop either. But I like to say poop. Poop.

Poop.

Ok, I’m done.

How about that Deep Throat guy? What do you think, hero or villain? And why did they think it was a good idea to name him after a pop culture porno? The question of the century, I think.