(Is the word “flip flop” supposed to be hyphenated? The English language is annoying.)

This whole week has been like stepping on nails and misspelling words. (Note: I just misspelled the word “misspelling”. Exactly.) It’s been the kind of week filled with sadnosity and the quasi-suicidal-ness that only comes with being over dramatic.

Today for instance, I didn’t realize my pants were inside out until someone at the grocery store asked if I was really a size 7. I wanted to ask why they were reading my pants, but I’m nice so I said yes, and then proceeded to discuss the price of chicken for what felt like an hour.

Then yesterday, I had a “First Blood”-esque fight/manhunt with a spider that might literally have been the size of Sylvester Stallone. I hid in a corner for 30 minutes armed with a fly swatter and piece of cardboard that I made into a shield. Eventually, [my boyfriend] just came over and hit it with his shoe and then asked me to clean up the fort I made out of sheets and boxes because it was blocking his office area.

I reluctantly said yes, but Vietnam changes a man. That spider could have pursued me for weeks.

“Nothing is over! Nothing! You just don’t turn it off! It wasn’t my war!”

Then I found out that my ex boyfriend/first love got his girlfriend pregnant and I totally freaked. I realize I have no right to be upset, but we were gonna have a baby too and I lost it. (Pity me and I’ll stab you. Don’t make this blog sad.) Mostly, I’m pissed that everyone I’ve ever loved or been best friends with has replaced me with a fat and less-attractive redhead.

Seriously, even my best friend all through middle school and high school dropped me for another redhead who was just a poop version of me.

(I bet Lindsay Lohan deals with this sort of thing all the time.)

So all in all, the nail-in-the-flip-flop-thing wasn’t so bad. Things could always be worse, like being hunted by a large spider or wearing inside-out pants to church.