I’ve gotten a number of hits from people googling, yahoo-ing, and msn-ing the word ‘ditz’. Usually, the keywords are something along the lines of what’s is ditz or what a ditz is or what is a ditz?, leading me to believe (judging by the wording, the bad grammar, and the fact that they have to search-engine ‘ditz’ when they could simply go to, like, dictionary.com) that most Americans (and probably a handful of kids from Burundi) don’t have the slightest clue what the term ‘ditz’ means.

Okay, that’s enough.

Unfortuately, dictionary.com offers two boring entries on ‘ditz’. Urban Dictionary (which is a website I try to avoid as much as possible, as its contributors are a bunch of idiots) isn’t being very helpful, either, having twelve definitions written in Moronese. And since there isn’t a Moronese-English option over at Babelfish: g’luck.

It’s getting more and more awkward here at work, ever since I was co-erced into being account muse for the upcoming PSOlympics. Also: doesn’t the whole muse-and-escort thing end in, like, grade school? I generally tend to keep to myself whenever I’m in the office, only talking to people from my department (corporate travel). Now, I have people talking about me RIGHTTOMYFACE at the smoking area and people from ATHOUSANDAISLES away pointing me out to other people. Christ. I’m feeling uglier and uglier by the minute and I’m crossing my fingers that…I don’t know, *they* change their minds? I seriously am not looking forward to prancing around a basketball court in a tacky skimpy outfit to be boo-ed, tittered, and hooted at by people. Or worse, be greeted by silence.

(Not me, please. I have the personality of a block of wood. And I’m fat.)

There are just some things I’d rather not deal with. Things like that kind of bullshit, my insecurities, and a chewed out inner right cheek caused by sucking on too much sugared jelly candies.