Appendix Food

Sitting at work is kind of boring. Granted, I am being paid to be here. Well, they TELL me I am being paid to be here although I have yet to see any money. I feel as though I have somehow managed to sell my soul to the Dark Prince without realizing it. It is not so much that I'd even mind it if my soul is, in fact, sold. However, I feel like I need to be getting something out of the deal. Actually, I take that back I am rather fond of my soul. Not that I have ever seen it. At least, I did not realize it if I saw it.

I have decided that man's soul is his appendix. It serves no known purpose, and if it goes bad, you die. I read an article somewhere that said that the appendix was developed way back in the day to help digest all of the salt that was used to keep meat from spoiling. Now that we have refrigeration, it serves no purpose. I still say that the soul of man is his appendix. The soul of woman is her hips. I have no reason for believing this other than I want too. I mean, why not?

So Elloise is obviously Buddha reincarnate. I went to the Wal-Mark and bought sixteen more glue mousetraps. She is still not stuck on one. Obviously, she is put in my room to serve some higher purpose. What that purpose is, I do not know. I think she has taken up residence in my computer desk as I usually see her running around back there. She doesn't chew on the wires or anything, and she has not crawled in bed with me again. She stopped after I mentioned that she should not get in bed with someone unless invited. She is such a little whore. Everyone says so. Damn her! I think I am in love.

So I have decided to not call Sweet Boy until he calls me. Why? Well, I decided that I call too much. Not call too much...more like I am always the one placing the phone calls. Does that make sense. No, I think not. Okay let me try again. I am not calling him too often (I'm not calling him 40 times a day or anything.), but I am the one who has to make the phone call too often (He does not call me enough). Basically, he text messages me saying, "Call me," then I call. There. I think that made more sense. So it is not that I am obsessively calling his ass, it is just that I am the one who must always make the phone calls. Actually, it really does not bother me. I am just ranting. Why do I rant? I do not know. Why do you breathe? I do not know that either. Your breathing and my ranting are just two more of life's little annoyances. Get off my back!!

Damn you, The Man!!