I shall start this blog by saying:

I love my job.

Wait… no, no, no. That statement doesn't even remotely begin to accurately describe the ways in which I intensely love my job.

I. Freaking. Love. My. Job.

With every fiber of my being. I am an incredibly lucky lady, and despite my recent negativity, I do feel insanely grateful to have a job that I adore. Let the record reflect that I am a damn lucky woman. And I know that. Now, for the reason that brought this love into the forefront of my mind today…

Just moments ago, a keg of beer was brought in through my office doors, followed by more than a dozen handles of liquor. Leftovers from the company Christmas party that I didn't attend due to a prior commitment with Sheila. Leftovers to be dispersed to those in our building for consumption, I. Love. This. Place. For this reason, and many, many others.

Every morning, when I hit my alarm in a fit of frustration, I try to remind myself that I love my job and I that I could be getting up early to go to a place I despise. Like the job from hell I had two years ago. I was an office manager for a cabinet company that installed their product in new homes. Part of the job required me, the 22 year old, skinnier, blonder version of my female self, to schedule all of our installations and manage 12 men. I am a take charge kind of woman and I don't take crap from anybody. Let's just say that there was not a day that went by in which I didn't hear various, vulgar comments about what I must be like in the sack. Lots of vulgar comments.

Having a great job is one of the best feelings in the world. So is drinking free booze.