1. Having a musky smell.
Food diary, entry #84
I’m really congested after eating a bread sample at Whole Foods that was mismarked as gluten-free. The new office manager girl told me bitchface Michelle has been telling people I’m probably breathing deeply around Derek’s desk to create some sort of scent memory. Thanks, bitch, but I’m actually just trying to clear my sinuses! The fact that I am doing this while also getting whiffs of his moschate body odor is just an added bonus.
1. A fit of hysterical excitement or anger.
Food diary, entry #71
Today I ate: peeled grapes I pretended were bitchface Michelle’s eyeballs, nothing else. My stomach has been acting up all day. I’m afraid I ate something weird, though I think I’m just having ice cold diarrhea every time I think about the conniption fit I threw at work when I saw Derek and Michelle exchange a private look over the fax machine. The new office manager girl felt sorry for me and bought me a cookie at lunch that I couldn’t eat. I’ve run out of grapes, so I think I’m going to go rub my butt on Michelle’s keyboard while she’s in a meeting and then call it a day.
1. Of or pertaining to spring.
2. Appearing or occurring in spring.
3. Appropriate to or suggesting spring; springlike.
4. Belonging to or characteristic of youth.
Food diary, entry #60
Welp, Derek stood me up tonight. I’m spite eating flour-dusted French fries with a sullen rage that usually only comes around during my vernal menstrual cycle.
1. To find fault or complain querulously or unreasonably.
1. A peevish complaint.
Food diary, entry #39
Derek, the love of my life, has started calling me GF at work. I know it’s in reference to my gluten allergy, but I’m pretending like it’s something more. It was my birthday last week and stupid bitchface Michelle ordered pizza for the office with wheat crust, knowing full well this would give me explosive diarrhea in the co-ed bathroom. I think she’s trying to sabotage me and Derek, but I guess I shouldn’t carp about this particular instance, since everyone knows you can’t eat in front of a guy until you’re six months into your relationship. Point: me. Nice try, bitchface!