2009-02-20 - 11:09 p.m.

I'M THE DOUCHE

Sheesh. I'm a jerk.

Of course, as soon as I post something here about "Douche", he goes and does something nice for me and makes me feel like an ass. It's as if he KNOWS I've railed against him on this anonymous-yet-public forum, and now he's heaping misery on me by turning out to be a very engaging, friendly person. Oh, lord...I'M THE DOUCHE!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

He gave me a quarter today. I know, easy to impress, aren't I? I was at the drink machine, poking #33 over and over, wondering why, why, WHY the damn thing wouldn't spit out my Powerade Zero like it had so many times before. I should have known the bad-hair-having, Steve-Buscemi-looking bastard who owns the gym had hiked up the price another 25 cents...but it took me a while to figure it out. I just pushed the buttons over and over like a tard until finally it came to me that the drink was now a ridiculous $1.50, and upon that realization I kvetched out loud. Who was within hearing range? Douche. Who cheerily bounded off to his cubby to retrieve a quarter for me so I could have my drink? Douche. He was very sweet in doing that and although it was just a quarter, it made me realize that I've been a royal bitch. If it's any consolation I *am* hormonal. I'm glad he doesn't know what I said about him. Poor Douche. So he yells when he lifts. So what? He gave me a quarter. I forgive all.

NOTE: To those who have already done bad things to me, and those who may contemplate doing bad things to me in the future: Giving me a quarter does not guarantee a clean slate. Douche is an exception, because he never really consciously wronged me in the first place. He just committed the crime of yelling like a moron when lifting weights, which would rub me the wrong way on my best day as I am a touchy heifer who despises displays of all sorts. If it's contrived, I hate it. If it SEEMS contrived, I hate it. To sum up: A quarter only rights wrongs committed by those who didn't MEAN to be douches.

...p.s...Fancy getaways and jewelry *will* work in place of quarters, though. I mean, ya know, if you're planning to really gouge me.

I was going to drone on about how hard I worked out this week, but how lame is that? Suffice to say, I worked out so hard that I ate fried fish and steak fries tonight with tartar sauce and a mayonnaise-y cole slaw and I STILL haven't overstepped my caloric bounds for the week. That's why I'm drinking red wine right now, and that's why ice cream may be in my immediate future.

It is kind of cool to not feel like a slovenly loser. Now I'm just a douche...but that's much easier on the psyche.

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