My terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

I had a rotten afternoon yesterday. It was rotten and deplorable by no one’s definition but my own, but it’s my blog and I’ll whine if I want to. 

First of all, I was humiliated at work. Humiliated might be too strong a word (i.e. overly dramatic), but you have to understand how sensitive I am to people thinking I’m dumb. It’s seriously one of my biggest fears. I don’t know how it started (probably right around the time in high school when my friend’s boyfriend was trying to teach me euchre and when I played a bad hand his exact words were, “Well, we would’ve won if Courtney wasn’t so stupid.”), but questioning my intelligence is probably one of the worst ways you can wound me. It’s right up there with thinking I’m mean or that I would ever intentionally hurt someone else’s feelings. 

Anyway, I made a silly mistake and instead of coming to me directly to discuss it, this person went through my boss and involved more people than necessary when it came to pointing out my error. I don’t want to get into specifics because it’s really that much of a non-issue, but I’ll go ahead and explain it anyway just to give the story context:

I am the sole member of the Birthday Brigade and it’s my responsibility to make sure that every employee receives a generic birthday card that was passed down an assembly line of important people to sign. I have a stack of probably a hundred pre-signed cards in my desk drawer because our building has THAT many faculty and staff members. But, we want everyone in our building to feel special and it's actually a nice part of a my job.

Well, one of these important people people had their own birthday last week and I asked my boss if we should get her a nice, thoughtful card rather than pass along one of the perfunctory “Hey! It’s your birthday, whoever you are!” cards stored in my desk. My boss said it wasn’t necessary, so I assumed that was the green light to send her one of the generic cards.

Well, color me embarrassed because the generic card I sent to this person was … signed by this person. She basically received a card from herself.

In retrospect, it’s kind of funny, but the whole situation becomes less than laughable when your boss approaches you with said birthday card in his hand and a note (Yes, a hand-written note) from the birthday girl stating something along the lines of, “You might want to make sure Courtney doesn’t send birthday cards to employees with their own signatures on them.”

 

I think what chapped my buttocks the most about this situation is that she didn’t just throw away the card and send me a cutesy email saying something like, “Why you be trippin’, home skillet?” or something equally playful (if it was even worth mentioning at all. Had it been me, I would have just shrugged my shoulders and been like, “I’m so awesome, I sign my own birthday cards!”). But no, she SAVED THE CARD and then SENT IT TO MY BOSS with A HAND-WRITTEN NOTE CALLING ME OUT.

My skin suddenly felt too tight for my body, like all of my bones and organs were about to rip through my flesh at any moment. Every time my boss left our office, I woefully assumed he was going downstairs to make fun of me with the birthday girl.

And trust me, I know how outrageously illogical that sounds because people really aren't that vicious and this woman is super de-duper nice, but that's just how my brain works. It's not her fault that I'm fragile enough to let a minor faux pas like this crush my self-esteem for the day, but I just can't believe that the whole situation warranted a note to my boss. 

I was also having major first world problems yesterday, like MAJOR. The lettuce on my chef salad was too soggy which bummed me out to no end because all morning I had been craving a delicious pairing of mix greens with bacon crumbles, cheese and eggs (oh my gosh, I am SO into eggs lately). Then, when I decided this mushy salad was slowly ruining both my lunch and my life, I tried to console myself up with an icy cold Diet Dr. Pepper from the vending machine. However, the plastic straw from my reusable plastic water cup was too fat to fit into the Diet Dr. Pepper bottle (I have sensitive teeth), and I could feel the walls beginning to close in around me. 

I decided to find solace in a trip to the post office to retrieve a package that I had been eagerly anticipating since the day after Christmas. With some holiday cash I acquired as a present, I finally (FINALLY!) treated myself to a starter kit of Bare Minerals foundation. I had a Bare Minerals makeover many moons ago at some mall and loved the results so much (it made my skin look darn near perfect), I resolved to buy the makeup when I could afford it. But it’s EXPENSIVE and not something I could ever justify buying for myself on a regular basis, so this year I decided it was my Christmas treat.

After coming back to my car (and after realizing I accidentally parked in a handicap spot and got the stink eye from a crotchety old war veteran), I ripped the package open before I even buckled my seatbelt. I was so excited to see the new goodies that were bound to make me beautiful … until I realized that they didn’t send me any brushes to apply the make-up.

Anyone who knows anything about Bare Minerals knows that a major selling point of the brand is their magical powder brushes that “swirl, tap and buff” women into hotness. And my kit was missing the appropriate hotness tools. 

I mis-dialed their customer service number about 5 times because I was so frustrated. Before the customer rep could spit out the perfunctory introduction (No, I do not mind if the call is recorded for training purposes just so long as your manager doesn’t mind mild swearing), I blurted out, “THERE AREN’T ANY BRUSHES IN ME MAKE-UP KIT!” (Apparently I turn into a pirate when I’m flustered. Just kidding, that was a typo.)

Luckily, the Bare Minerals customer service rep was very understanding (though she never once apologized for the error) and not only is she sending me the brushes, she’s sending me a whole second 60-day kit for free. So yeah, this minor inconvenience totally paid off in the end, but I was REALLY looking forward to trying the make-up. No I have to wait another 7-10 business days to be catapulted into sexiness.

On my way home from work, I stopped by Wal-mart to buy a cheapo powder brush so I could at least TRY the make-up and the stupid thing was so flimsy and weak, it didn’t blend the mineral foundation at all and just left clumps of black bristles on my cheeks. I ended up looking like a mime who desperately needed to fire their make-up artist. 

So, I did what any girl in my position would do: I took a long nap and drank half a bottle of champagne.

Happy Friday!