Can Someone Please Tell Me What Color My Fucking Parachute Is?

I need to know what the meaning of life is before I fucking off myself. It was seriously one of those days, where you first get mad at your situation, then you break into hysterical laughter, then you get kind of sad and shit, all within the course of 3.5 minutes. I hate my job. I think I've been able to establish this, but today was a whole new level of bullshit:

1. I received an email forward from one of my 15 bosses from our client. There was a small edit to one of our documents...a very small edit. In fact, the edit was to please remove a misplaced period.
So let me get this fucking straight: you need us to remove a period. You typed a 50 word e-mail to describe the location of the period, instead of pressing the delete button. Sigh, okay, the client is always right. But what's my fucking boss' excuse for replying to the client and forwarding a note to me to make the change. That just amounted to 3 fucking e-mails to remove a period.

2. I received an email forward from Pseudo Boss asking me to find out the location and time of a meeting for our client. Seems normal, until you take into account the following facts:
-As an underling, I have no client contact and therefore no contacts to ask these questions
- The fucking meeting in question is at the client's company...in San Francisco. So she probably has to walk down the hall and isn't sure where to go. This is the equivalent of walking into McDonald's and asking them to call Burger King to price out a Whopper. You want me to find out what's going on at your company instead of you, gee using your own admin or e-mailing one of your colleagues, or maybe fucking asking one of them while you're both in the kitchen heating up streudel.

I need to know the fucking color of my parachute and I need to know NOW.