Free The Brenda Diaries by Margo Candela Page B

with the intention of saying yes (Pad Thai! Tom Yum Goon! My favorite movie!), but when it came down to it he might as well have been a random 310 computer-dialed phone number.
    Jared was super understanding, but I could tell he was a bit blue in the balls. Since boning was off the table, he wanted to talk instead. So I pounced on him and it was almost as good as my second bowl of Tom Yum Goon.
     
    Friday, June17:
    I’m guzzling atrocious vending machine coffee as if there’s an answer to my prayers at the bottom of the paper cup. When it comes to temps and horrible assignments, it seems God has other things to deal with.
     
    Saturday, June 18:
    Even though I’m not in the mood to go to Jared’s ex-girlfriend’s engagement party, at least dressed the part. A very “I don’t care you boned him before me and now you’ve gone on to boning someone who must be better than him because you’re marrying him and not the guy I’m boning who you boned first” dress from, of course, Anthropologie. It might be all the DayQuil I’ve popped for this cold or flu I’ve come down with, but I’m feeling kind of spry about the whole thing.
     
    Sunday, June 19:
    I seem to have made quite an ass of myself at the engagement party. While I can righteously blame an ill advised mixing of DayQuil and fruity alcoholic drinks, I don’t think Jared’s ex Emily, her fiancée Kurt and, yeah, even Jared are going to give me a pass…like the one I made at Emily’s grandpa. 
     
    Monday, June 20:
    As a rule, people who are sick should do the world a favor and stay home until they’re not hacking their lungs up. And, under normal circumstances, I’d be home in bed, nursing my cold/flu/whatever. With everyone mad at me, I’ve subjected myself to all manner of over-the-counter remedies in hopes of masking my most hideous symptoms.
    Unfortunately, I didn’t buy anything for my stomach, which started turning cartwheels when I saw my archrival temp Priss sitting in the conference room where we have to wait to be told what we’ll be doing this week. The only empty seat is a folding chair right behind her fried, highlighted hair.
    “I guess they just put out a blanket call and are taking everybody. They must be desperate,” Priss says with a quick glance over her shoulder in my direction.
    My brain is muddled with an over-the-counter chemical cocktail so by the time I come up with a retort (“It sure does look that way, bitch.”), the office manager, Maureen, walks into the room. I have to swallow my outrage along with a glop of snot from my still runny nose.
     
    Tuesday, June 21:
    I’ve spent the last few days apologizing to people. First to Jared for embarrassing him at his ex-girlfriend’s engagement party. Then to his ex-girlfriend for a DayQuil-fruity alcoholic drink induced flirt fest aimed at her fiancé. (No way in hell am I apologizing for not getting back to her fiancé about the supposed dinner date I agreed to. If he’s dumb enough to complain about that to her, she should thank me for cluing her in to what a tool he is.)
    And then there was my sorry to Maya for encouraging her to drown her Armie sorrows in a bag of Hershey’s Kisses. Now she claims her married boyfriend will never take her back because she’s gained a whole pound. To prove I’m really sorry, I promised to run the Santa Monica steps with her after work even though I’m not over my cold/flu.
    All this sorry saying has made it almost like a bad habit, which is why my sorry of this morning when I bumped into Priss as we passed each other in the copy room was totally not sincere. It was a reflex! If anything, she was at fault. I was going in and she was going out and everyone knows that people going in have priority. She should have stepped aside, but she didn’t and I ended up saying “Sorry!” before I realized it was her.
    I’m done apologizing. From this moment on, everyone is just going to have to suck it. Sorry, but that’s just the way it