Amid a crappy economy, I somehow managed to finagle a job interview. Yay me! (Or “Yay” my sister’s boyfriend who got me the in.) But, I won’t get too excited because from what I hear there are 100 other applicants. I’m hoping my stunningly awesome personality will set me apart from the most likely much more qualified competition. HA HA!

And it couldn’t come a moment too soon because my job now is sucking the life out of me. For reals. I’ve lost my passion for everything I once enjoyed – knitting, writing, my boyfriend – all I want to do now is sit on the couch and watch crappy reality TV shows like the “Bad Girls Club.” It’s only a matter of time until I’m watching “The Bachelor,” covered in empty Ben & Jerry’s pints while drooling on myself. Yeah, it’s THAT bad.

I know I should be thankful I even have a job, blah blah blah, but this job is on a fast track to killing me. Literally. I’ve grown to hate every aspect of my job and with no vacation days, personal days, sick days, or holi-days to recoup and recover, I’ve become a giant burn-out. I’ve been considering alcoholism as a remedy but I can’t afford the booze, what with cigarettes now $8 per pack.

Yesterday may have been my breaking point when I discovered my paycheck bounced and instead of trying to rectify the situation, by bosses dilly-dallied, BSed, and dragged their feet. Don’t forget, I am the ONLY employee. If they were having trouble with payroll, they could have easily talked to me about it and we could have worked something out instead of doing nothing and leaving my bank account severely overdrawn and wracked with overdraft fees.

I was promised that a new check including overdraft fees would be cut for me today so we’ll see but so help me god, I am one tiny aggravation away from meltdown. Especially since it’s not just my money they’re fucking with now, it’s my boyfriend’s, too, and heaven knows you really don’t want to mess with my boyfriend and his money. He’s one mean mother-effer when it comes to his money. I really don’t want to send him and my dad into my office to shake down my bosses.

But anyway, wish me luck! I’m gonna need it.

I’m not one to complain about snow but yesterday’s “3-5 inches” that turned into a foot of snow is ridiculous. Especially when you find yourself stuck having to drive 20 miles down an unplowed Rt. 128 to pick up the boyfriend’s kid.

Of course, Boyfriend thought it was “so beautiful” while I struggled to keep my shitty Honda from careening off the road. Must’ve been nice to be a passenger because being the driver sucked ass.

Unless you are a Honda sedan driver yourself, you would not believe how awesomely bad Hondas are in snow. It’s like driving a car on skis, not that I’ve ever been on skis myself but I assume that’s how it feels. My dad (the household car expert) tells me that I should put five or six cinder blocks in my trunk to weigh down the car and give it better traction. And here I thought my fat ass would be enough to weigh the car down. Apparently not enough.

My poor Honda. As if narrowly avoiding death 60 times yesterday afternoon wasn’t enough, the after-effects (Pot Holes) are for sure going to do my car in. Even the smallest crack in the road back in September has opened into a gaping (gaping, ha ha) crater. I hit a pot-crater this morning the size of the Grand Canyon and now I think I screwed up something important because now my steering wheel won’t stay still. With my luck, I’m going to be cruising down the highway and the tires are going to pop off.

Anyway, check out the table in my backyard. Does this look like a mere 3-5 inches of snow as was predicted on Saturday? No, it doesn’t.

Boyfriend thinks it looks like a “snow muffin.”

You know you’re at work late when the cops stop in thinking you are burglarizing your office. And that’s what happened last night (technically, early this morning) as I was trying to finish up the newspapers.

The only difference from the normal late Wednesday/early Thursday was that everyone was in the office late, not just me. For some reason, I finished my newspaper early but all my co-workers took forever and since I’m the official newspaper-sender-to-the-printer-girl, I had to wait for everyone to finish. Also, instead of smoking inside my empty office, I had to go outside for a butt which is what the cops noticed, I think.

At around 1 a.m., I went outside for a cigarette while cursing everyone for keeping me there so late. I went back inside and five minutes later a police cruiser pulls up and a cop gets out and comes into my office ready for business.

Sarcastically, he says, “We’re here late tonight.” I could tell, he was totally ready to crack skulls.

“We’re in production,” I said.

I don’t think he believed me and I would have been screwed if he came over to my computer because since I had already finished and was waiting for everyone else, I had solitaire loaded on the monitor.

Luckily, my boss was still there and came out of his office. Low and behold, he knows the dude. The moment he walked out, the officer’s whole demeanor changed and rightfully so.

“Angela’s always here this late,” my boss told him. Yep.

After five minutes of chit chat with my boss, the cop left, and the story is far less exciting then when you first started reading this blog post. My boss was THRILLED that the cops took notice of what was going on inside because that means a real burglar might have a more difficult time stealing our office’s crappy computers. And part of my boss’s’ motto is, “take care of the cops and they will take care of you.” I guess it’s working.

It’s been a long and miserable week for me since you-know-what. I’ve had a difficult time coping with the end of not only the dream of a perfect season but football in general. I’ve had to refocus my life and find something new to do.

You see, that’s the hardest part of all this. It’s not just the agonizing pain of failure, it’s trying to find something to do with myself while avoiding any mention of my beloved boys. I can no longer spend hours on end browsing ESPN.com. I can’t bring myself to listen to WEEI (no offense to the Celtics, but I’m not that interested). And no, I do not care that a truck loaded with baseball equipment just left Fenway Park for Ft. Myers. Perhaps the worst part of it all, I no longer have something to keep myself distracted while at work! Heaven, help me!

But things aren’t all bad. We finally moved into the new office (with heat!) and I’ve had just a barrel of laughs watching my boss spend FIVE HOURS on the phone with Dell tech support trying to figure out why our server was incessantly buzzing. He tried to pawn that task off on me but I’m not idiot. I’ve also finally gotten around to teaching myself to knit. Pink scarfs for everyone!

My dad and I also decided that we are going to drive out to Canton for Andre Tippett’s induction into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in August. Why the heck not? It’s been nearly seven years since we visited the, as we call it, oh hallowed grounds. Anyone wanna come?

Now, how long is it until training camp? Oh yeah… don’t remind me.

They survived Spygate, Run-It-Up-Gate, and 16-0-Gate, but they couldn’t survive the Giants’ pass rush. To say I’m crushed would be an understatement.

The Giants earned this one. They deserve it.