I'm reading blogs and eating tacos at the moment. I've noticed that as of late I like to read the blogs of other bratty neurotic women with perfect significant others that put up with all the sh*t that comes along with being with a bratty neurotic woman. I'm sure Paul can sympathize.

I really don't want to go back to work. Crazy Toilet Paper Lady called this morning to yell about the crappy elevator. Which is genuinely crappy but what can I do about it? I'm just a lowly assistant manager, and I called the elevator company twice already for goodness sake. Not to mention it's not my fault that our head office can't get its act together and approve a damn elevator service contract until after our previous contract has been CANCELLED. I think my job title should be Person Who Gets Yelled At By Tenants So The Head Office Will Be Insulated From Complaints And Never Get Its Act Together. Cause that's what I really do you know.

My cat has jumped up onto the chair next to me and is propping herself up by placing her paws on my head. Is she trying to pet me? Or maybe she's saying "Hang in there momma." I have the best cat.

Now she is standing on the chair with her chest puffed out and meowing to be petted. Paul says she gets the spoiled brattiness from me. He's probably right.