Bad days are 90% attitude, which is why most bad days aren’t one long string of horrific accidents and tragedies, but erratic little annoying things that put you in a bad mood.

Today was a bad day. No one died. No limbs were broken. Aliens did not overtake the planet. But, on the “Suck-o-Meter,” today was really up there.

Like I said, sometimes it’s just a bunch of little things.

The day started bright and early when a team of construction workers, armed with latest in high tech noise-making equipment, decided that the street in front of my house needed to be fucked with. I tried my best to cover my head with a pillow, more to suffocate myself than block the noise, but it was no use. They were apparently scraping away the asphalt layer by layer; kind of strip mining for a gas line. It was a real chorus.

I got an e-mail from a certain company whom I was very excited to have an “interview” at last week. Now, when I say “interview” I mean they called me in, and when I got there they said they were too busy to conduct a formal interview, so they quickly scanned through my portfolio, asked no questions and answered no questions, and told me I would have to talk to the creative director, who was also busy and couldn’t see me today. I tried to contact the creative director via the e-mail address they gave me. That was last Tuesday. No one bothered to reply until Thursday night. “Second interviews won’t be for at least a few weeks,” they said. “And going forward, we’re only going to pursue people with 5-10 years of experience. Thanks for coming in.”

“But… I never had a first interview…” I replied.

Today I got a final letter saying, in so many words, “Tough shit.”

So, with that victory under my belt, I began my daily (for the last three months anyway) job hunt. I was running out of design companies to force-feed my resume to, so today I broke down and started applying for administrative assistant jobs. Talk about depressing.

“Anonymous company seeks brainless drone to do menial tasks and try and act pleasant to irate customers and other stupid people.”

And let me just say that they first person who tells me I'm "overqualified" is going to get a boot to the ass.

Next thing I know it’s lunch; so I pile up a baloney sandwich with all the fixings, which included dairy products such as cheese and mayo. “No problem,” I thought. “Just another occasion for these wonderful Lactaid pills!” Of course, after I had eaten the sandwich, I realized I had forgotten the lactose pills. “No problem,” I though. “I’ve had dairy plenty of times without Lactaid pills. Of course, that was quite a while ago. But I don’t think… uh oh… (cue running to bathroom followed by unholy noises).

A few more resumes and trips to the bathroom later it was already dinner time. My, how time flies when you’re fucking miserable. I was feeling much better at this point, and it was suggested that we order pizza. I was OK with this, because I KNEW I’d remember my Lactaid this time. It always works for me as long as I remember it.

As was our usual arrangement, my parents paid for the pizza and I drove pickup. When I got to the pizza place no one was at the counter. I waited. I wandered around the side, into the kitchen, looking for another human being, wondering if there had been a bomb scare or something.

It’s hard to point out the obvious without sounding like a jerk. That’s, do doubt, why the girl I found cleaning the oven gave me a dirty look when I interrupted her task and said, “Shouldn’t someone be at the counter?”

On the ride home I had a pleasant surprise when I came to a screeching halt to avoid hitting an animal sitting in the middle of the road. I had thought it was a dog, but it turned out to be a possum. It had already been hit too. There was blood everywhere. It was still stunned, that’s why it was wobbling around in the middle of the road.

I backed up and went around it, hoping that it would be out of it’s misery soon without being run over again. I had lost my appetite; which was fine because my pan pizza had toppled off the seat onto the floor of the van when I stopped.

It's just the little things. Arg.