Really Beast…You are Killing Me.

Y’all.  I’ve had it today. It’s Monday, early afternoon, and I’m ready to punch a bitch.  And by bitch, I mean Beast.  Beast, my coworker, has been in rare form today…even for her.  Don’t know Beast?  Read here.

Here’s my morning:

• being told I wasn’t recycling right (I put it in the proper can.  How is the wrong?!)
•  forced to answer three phone lines at once while she filed her nails…literally.
• told I was looking haggard (I think she’s jealous, I have on my Tiffany blue cardigan with diamond looking buttons -  perfectly accented jewelry and shoes. I look freaking adorable.)
• critiqued endlessly on every single thing I did today thus far
• asked to quit typing so loudly (Now I’m doing it just to piss her off.)

Then, she went and pulled this:

Beast: So. What did you think of the National Anthem last night during the big game?

Me: honestly and truly, still attempting to be perky after all the above  Oh I thought she was great! I love her!

Beast: Hmh. Figures you’d think that.

Me: seething, blinking, remembering to breathe, forcing myself not to acknowledge her

Beast: Yea. She hit a couple notes that were wrong.  You know I have perfect pitch hearing.

Me: still ignoring

Beast: Hm. Well…you wouldn’t know anything about that. You don’t have a famous mom.

Me: OH SHUT THE HELL UP YOU STUPID PIECE OF LARD. ok, I just said that part in my mind…..Um, I thought she was great – and I also thought she looked adorable.

Beast: Really?!  HAHAHA. I hated her hair.  What is she, like 12? I guess you’d like that prissy girl.

Me: I do the death turn. This means I slowly turn my head, just my head, in your direction, give you the “shit is about to get real” look, then dare you to speak. 

Beast: Yea, you really do look awful today. What..you didn’t sleep again? Sucks to be you!

Me: Do. Not. Speak. To. Me. The. Rest. Of. The. Day. Understand?

Beast: Whatever prissy pants.

Me: Did I stutter? Lose the attitude….and the “Fear the Turtle” shirt. It’s juvenile and … it accentuates your stomach sweetie. I’m pretty sure I’m going to hell for that one. But…. ya know.

So because of Beast, I’m revising the drinking game I initially created for her. I might need a new liver if I don’t.

One Beverage of your Choice:

• Every time Beast rolls back in her chair and you are unable to avoid speaking to her OR she looms at your desk and you break your vow of silence
• Each time she says, “You’re just wrong!” or heaves a heavy, disapproving sigh.
• Each time Beast cops a fake Southern accent
• Each time Beast leaves for over an hour and doesn’t tell you goodbye or where she’s going

One Shot:

• Every day I’m the first one here, last to leave
• Every time Beast says “Well, that’s not MY problem.”
• Every time Beast attempts to make you feel stupid, inferior or less beautiful than any human should…BEFORE noon.

Here is the tally for the day: 4 beverages and 6 shots.  Hmmm.  Maybe this still isn’t good for my liver….I need a new job y’all.