Hey guys, remind me to kick mr Jason Mraz in the unmentionables, will you?

Out of one of the very few gene pools I wouldn't mind dipping my toes into to the urge to cause serious harm - ow do you switch so quickly?
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Well, it is Monday, and as all Monday's, God is pissed and He lets us know it. The morning begun with an unexpected blackout in the middle of the night, which caused the alarm clock not to ring. See, the batteries that are inserted in the back of it and are supposed to minimize the possibility for a complete oversleeping decided to run out sometime during the night, too.

And no, I don't have spare batteries in the night stand.

So, the alarm didn't go off, but thankfully I've got loud neighbors that woke me up at 6.40am, which is about 40 minutes past my get-out-of-bed-curfew. If I don't get up at 6am, I wont shower, and if I wont shower I'll walk around like a huge, black cloud all day long at the office and stink. I don't know what's worse - the smell or the temper tantrums I keep throwing.

I sprung out of bed and slipped into the bathroom, where the faucet more or less exploded on me. Which means they had cut the water during the night and air had gotten into the pipes. Now, air came out, pushed by dirty water, and the only silver lining to this was I was still in my PJ's and therefor could change.

I showered quickly when the faucet stopped hissing and spitting at me, dressed and turned off the coffee maker, so it wouldn't burn itself out and explode. I did not want to come home in the evening and pick shattered glass out of the walls and cabinets in the kitchen. Again.

Instead of the morning walk of twenty minutes that's designed to wake me up I had to take the car. And, off course, on the road where there's no traffic nor workers, today I encountered both. I was late. Very late. And fuming.

Hot air did in deed come out of my ears, like in cartoons, just a few minutes later, when it became clear that the coworker that had been off work last week had called in sick today.

Okay, I get it, you get sick, but I believe in sick-sicker-dead, and he should have passed that line a long time ago. Nobody catches a cold two days a week, every week!

Shipping trouble. New contracts. Decisions made way above my head that I had no influence what so ever over, but somehow have to explain and get scold over by our customers. That's why I love sales - the client is always right, even if they are so far off centre they aren't even in the suburbs of right.

At three pm, I was completely stressed out, not having been to the bathroom, not having had coffee nor lunch and not lifted my ass since I parked it on the chair behind my desk in the corner office where I see people from other offices actually enjoy their workday through the huge glass wall overlooking the parking lot of the business district.

My ulcers were growing ulcers of their own.

Then it just happens. In the middle of a forty minute long tirade over the phone over an agreement the client had made with the HQ and that I had nothing to do with, and that she's apparently not happy about at all - now, in the retrospect, off course. My head hurts, my jaws are tensed and my tongue is hurting from all the "yes, ma'am" I have to heave out of myself where I in fact would nothing more then love to tell her to go fug herself somewhere she wont bother anybody else...

...and I'm Yours by Jason Mraz came by. That summery, breezy, lovely song I can't help but to enjoy, all the time, constantly, turning the radio up at the max whenever it's on. So what do I do? It's the Man with the Voice and the Hat and the Smile. I just wanna take my pantyhose off, change out of the suit and into a summer dress, put a hat on and go to the beach! I just want to close my eyes and feel the sun kissing my cheeks and the wind ruffling my hair. I just want to...

I hang up the phone. In the middle of a sentence. Then I turn it off, close the door, kick my shoes off, close my eyes, lean back in the chair, hands clasped behind my messy, curly head - and just sit and listen to the song.

He got to the end, Jason that is, completely, before my boss knocked on the door and told me off. And I replied.

No, I haven't been sacked, but I'm not very liked right now. Plus, being yelled at by the boss is never fun.

So remind me to kick Jason in the unmentionables for putting out - the song, that is, the rest I could definitively handle - DEFINITIVELY - and make me feel good and exhale every time it comes on.

I exhaled. To that song. I shouldn't have done it, apparently.

You might argue with me on this, asking "How is it Jason's fault that you're so easy to please?", and I gotta tell you - it's not the issue! It's not about me. It's not even about that song. I just need to sink my teeth into someone today, and it's easier to be angry and threaten the well being if not life of someone you will never meet and therefor actually hurt.

The anger will go away - eventually - and you're left with your own life. But it feels better to know that you have semi-gotten rid off the frustration, you know?

So, remind me to kick Jason Mraz in the unmentionables.

Oh, and yeah, I'm wearing pointy-toe metal spike stilettos. It will hurt.