The One Where I'm a Complainer Bitch

I just figured out how to lower my (supposedly) ergonomic chair (after 3 months, yes) and I couldn't be happier. Well, I could maybe possibly be happier if, say, I wasn't at work at this job that I hate with this lady that I despise in the office next to me and if that co-worker didn't make stupid jokes at our staff meeting this morning about email etiquette when he's the one that has been asked to use a more "professsional tone" and maybe if that bitch didn't steal Fiji's seat next to me on the train this morning and if she would've moved her flipping purse so it wasn't digging into my arm or maybe if she would have stopped yawning and exhaling her nasty rank breath in my face and perhaps if she would've maybe stopped staring at Fiji sitting across from us who she probably thought was looking at her, when in fact, he was looking at ME and if maybe, just maybe, I could manage a smile, and if we didn't have a retreat this week wherein we will be enduring "team building" activities and if my life didn't SUCK. BALLS.

But yeah, that stuff plus the chair. I'm in fucking heaven.