A Tale of Two Chicas

Dear Pittsburgh October 28, 2011

Filed under: Pittsburgh Chica — Sonia @ 11:00 am
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For the love of Jesus Christ and all things holy, stop smoking! I cannot stress this enough! Stop. It. Every client, every client that comes in smells like a god forsaken ashy cigarette. Not cute. And that lung cancer that’s going to pop up in your lungs? Not cute either! Take care of your bodies. Please. Pittsburgh’s pollution issue probably doesn’t even come from the cars but rather the fact that every one and their baby momma is sucking on a cigarette.

On top of that, I get stuck smelling your disgusting self and that nasty cigarette your sucking on. I even start smelling like you! It gets in my hair, clothes and even my hands. You want to know the sad part? It’s a well known fact that people with lung cancer get it from second hand smoke. So thanks a lot, people.

I know what your probably thinking. Who are you to talk you drunk party girl!?! First, I know I joke about it a lot but I only party once and at the most twice a week. And at least I don’t smell! Now get it together.

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Beach Whale April 19, 2011

Filed under: Pittsburgh Chica — Sonia @ 9:00 am
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Before I write anything else, let me say that I hate work clothes. I hate them with my life. Especially work pants. I wish work pants would all just die and burn in bloody hell. Yep, I despise them that much.

This is how it all started. I usually like wearing leggings and a nice long tee to work with nice boots. However, the problem with this is that people probably think I:

A. Never change my leggings.

B. Wear leggings all the time (which is partly true, leggings are bomb).

C. Don’t own a pair of pants.

OR

D. All of the above.

Anyways, I’m getting ready for work this morning and I have no choice but to wear work pants. I wore leggings yesterday. I have to be at work in 10 minutes and I still cannot find a shirt to go with these fugly pants.

I walk into work and one of the many pretty skinny young women is talking to the receptionist looking all nice and pretty while I’m in my fugly pants. I begin to think about how nice all these pretty young women are going to look in the summer. Then I realize it actually isn’t my fugly work pants rather it’s me. As if I needed to add to my misery, I begin thinking about the fugly beach whale I’m going to look like in the summer.

Someone from human resources needs to start printing out my award for the fat fugly beach whale of the office.