stuff I write in my diary because I am hobbled by my upbringing
September 21, 2009

I was raised to be considerate, nicely spoken, and polite. This cripples me. I would love nothing more than to be able to scream this at my co-workers:

"I don�t care if it�s broccoli farts or Chanel No.5�
If I can smell you from six feet away, YOU STINK!"

Honest to god�It�s like trying to work next to the perfume counter at Macy�s. Only smellier. If you are compelled to keep re-applying your cheap, alcohol-filled, crap hand lotion, for the LOVE OF MERCY--please get something fragrance free!

When you add in the air �fresheners�, the various cleaners, and (thankyouveryfuckingmuch, H1N1) the sudden explosion in the abuse of disinfectant sprays and hand sanitizers in that office, I don�t draw an easy breath the whole time I�m in the building. By the end of the day, I feel like I�ve been kicked in the chest by a mule. And what do I go home to? My unemployed house-husband has been burning heavily scented candles all day, and I get gassed all over again.