For all the hype and anticipation Tina was trying to stir in me last week, she never said one word to me last night. That’s not saying she was quiet though. Her shrill voice and strangulated laughter curdled my blood for about 95% of the night. Apparently, she and Eleanore have a little club and I’m not invited. Trust me — I’d be pawing at her high-waisted jeans and crying in her salt-and-pepper mullet, begging for an invitation if I wasn’t so fearful of getting eczema flakes on my clothes.

Things included in the membership kit that I’m missing out on:

• secret emails between the two of them, which they read and immediately laugh out loud, before furiously pecking away replies laden with run-ons and emoticons
• smoke breaks centered around Eleanore’s rants of things that are stupid to her and Tina spreading whine-voiced gossip like wild fire while jutting out her pelvis and shoving her fists in her pockets like a dude
• email forward packed with girl power (Tina hates men), pictures of kitties being cute, and religious bullshit

At least I managed to scrape two good quotes from my pain and agony:

"When I have dry spots on my face, I scratch them."

"I’m just here to do my work, not be bothered by people."

Oh, STFU.

[Edit: WordPress is being a prick, so I apologize to everyone who got fifty billion email notifications for this lame ass post.]