I would like to take this opportunity to talk about how freakin' awesome I'm doing at NaNoWriMo. Seriously, I don't think I've ever been happier about a decision I've made regarding my career choice of "professional novelist" and I just wanna brag all over about my work count. But I am all about the class so I won't brag too much, which won't turn out to be true cause I'm a dirty liar.
In work related news, my CSM just went on maternity leave. Her last day was yesterday and she is taking a grand total of three months off after having the baby. Said baby isn't actually due until the 20th so she won't be back in our store's loving environment until next year, some time around Valentine's Day. Just in time to give everyone a nice bag of conversation hearts that say things like "Ur fired" and "My Way".
**Side note, the second one is a real conversation heart saying, and I know this because I perused the website of the people who make them to find a phrase that fits. And what says "I love you all and now that this baby is out of me I'm gonna fuck everyone up" better than "My Way"? The answer is nothing. Nothing at all.
Now I have four months of the albino ACSM to look forward to. Having a talk with him is like playing Where's Waldo: Albino Eyelashes edition. His body hair is so light that finding his eyelashes is damn near impossible. And if the sun is a-shinin' then someone owes me five dollars. I like to make it into a betting game.
Apparently this guy thinks it's an excellent idea to give me one closing shift and four mid shifts in one week. I work between 10:30 and 8:30 four days this week and if that doesn't fuck up my writing and sleep patterns worse than a budding cocaine addiction then I don't know what will. I like being able to open or close because it gives me opportunity to write before or after work. When I work until 8:30 and I have to be back at 10:30 the next day it doesn't leave much time for eating dinner, relaxing, watching TV, reading blogs, checking NaNoWriMo stuff, having sex, twittering, and writing before I have to go back to bed again. It's ridic.
The silver lining to all of this is that I'm going to the beach in a week so at least I'm getting some time off for my labors. Of course, I have to work four ten hour days when I get back to get my hours in, but I do it in the name of love, friendship, and tequila.
My Halloween candy count is up to the following:
1 bag of Milky Ways
1 bag of Baby Ruths (which are apparently like Snickers, only not)
2 bags of Hershey's Miniatures (there's something for everyone and I like the krackels)
1 bag of Twizzlers (individually wrapped so no one gets the swine)
6 thingies of Starburst GummiBursts, which is the meth of the future
2 thingies of peanut M&M's
1 thingy of Reese's peanut butter pumpkins
So if I don't end up even more fat and happy after NaNoWriMo is over then something is wrong with Halloween candy. Just talking about GummiBursts makes me want a bag.
After I eat the bag I'm going to Taco Bell with Mike cause I just finished my writing for today and it's still off the hook. I had Olive Garden last night to celebrate my awesome word count, and cause Mike owed me money so he paid me back with food, but now I want genuine Mexican food. Unfortunately Mexico is far away and I hear the water gives you the clap so Taco Bell it is!
Mmmmmmmm...meth.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
I also can't find my copy of a particularly juicy novel by Emma Holly and it's fucking my whole day up. I'm lost without passionate fictional sex.
The last two years I attempted NaNoWriMo and failed miserably within the first few days because I was in school and marching band and I worked so there was quite literally no time for writing a novel. As much as I wanted to believe that I could make a miracle happen and get it done anyway it was just too much to add to my plate.
But this year I have no school assignments and no marching band practice and football games I must attend, but I do still have a job that requires 40 hours a week from my life. But you know what? I can handle adding a novel to that particular plate this year.
I've been spending the past few days printing out worksheets from different websites to help me with character development and plot and such. And I even got most of them from a legit romance author who's published a book on the topic so don't worry, I'm not printing random shit someone made up to look professional. Although I might take my own stab at writing my own worksheets to look professional once I've sold a book or two myself.
Anyway, the point is that it's officially November, the weather is beautiful in Florida because we got a cold front (which roughly translated means it's about 65 degrees outside, but I'll take that over the 95 it was three days ago), and I've been on my computer for days getting prepared and now I've finally realized what everyone else who's doing this probably realized at about midnight-oh-one this morning: I don't know what I'm going to write about.
I bought the book that Chris Baty wrote, I've been working my way through the book I bought about writing romance, and I've been texting my sister all morning about baby names. She told me she found her old list of what she wanted her kids names to be when she was cleaning out the playroom and I made her text them to me so I could get inspiration. I think I've finally settled on my character's names but I still don't have a clue about setting, conflict, or what makes my characters tick.
What I do know is that my novel is going to be much more erotic fiction than romance. I'm thinking Emma Holly meets Lora Leigh in a dark alleyway and they get it on, metaphorically speaking of course. I'm pretty sure both those authors are married and not lezzies.
There's gonna be lots of sexin' and that's just about the only part I feel comfortable with, which is strange. So many people on the NaNoWriMo forums are in the erotic fiction genre talking about how sex scenes make them blush and I'm all "Really? Cause I feel most at home when I'm in the middle of a good romp." But I suppose that's the difference between them and me. I'm just a nasty bitch.
The library is open for a few hours today and I was thinking of dragging my ass down there to get some shit done, where it's quiet and nothing can distract me. Except all the homeless people who like to wonder around and the occasional child who made their way up to the second floor where the big people books are just to piss me off. They are out to get me, I see proof every day in my store.
The only downside is that I'm fairly certain I can't bring Mountain Dew and twix into the library so I might just die of starvation on day one. Sure, I'll have my 1667 words, but is it worth a trip to the other side?
But this year I have no school assignments and no marching band practice and football games I must attend, but I do still have a job that requires 40 hours a week from my life. But you know what? I can handle adding a novel to that particular plate this year.
I've been spending the past few days printing out worksheets from different websites to help me with character development and plot and such. And I even got most of them from a legit romance author who's published a book on the topic so don't worry, I'm not printing random shit someone made up to look professional. Although I might take my own stab at writing my own worksheets to look professional once I've sold a book or two myself.
Anyway, the point is that it's officially November, the weather is beautiful in Florida because we got a cold front (which roughly translated means it's about 65 degrees outside, but I'll take that over the 95 it was three days ago), and I've been on my computer for days getting prepared and now I've finally realized what everyone else who's doing this probably realized at about midnight-oh-one this morning: I don't know what I'm going to write about.
I bought the book that Chris Baty wrote, I've been working my way through the book I bought about writing romance, and I've been texting my sister all morning about baby names. She told me she found her old list of what she wanted her kids names to be when she was cleaning out the playroom and I made her text them to me so I could get inspiration. I think I've finally settled on my character's names but I still don't have a clue about setting, conflict, or what makes my characters tick.
What I do know is that my novel is going to be much more erotic fiction than romance. I'm thinking Emma Holly meets Lora Leigh in a dark alleyway and they get it on, metaphorically speaking of course. I'm pretty sure both those authors are married and not lezzies.
There's gonna be lots of sexin' and that's just about the only part I feel comfortable with, which is strange. So many people on the NaNoWriMo forums are in the erotic fiction genre talking about how sex scenes make them blush and I'm all "Really? Cause I feel most at home when I'm in the middle of a good romp." But I suppose that's the difference between them and me. I'm just a nasty bitch.
The library is open for a few hours today and I was thinking of dragging my ass down there to get some shit done, where it's quiet and nothing can distract me. Except all the homeless people who like to wonder around and the occasional child who made their way up to the second floor where the big people books are just to piss me off. They are out to get me, I see proof every day in my store.
The only downside is that I'm fairly certain I can't bring Mountain Dew and twix into the library so I might just die of starvation on day one. Sure, I'll have my 1667 words, but is it worth a trip to the other side?
Friday, October 16, 2009
It's like the seven dirty words you can't say on television or radio only less interesting and with a lot more side notes.
While I'm sitting here ripping music to my computer so I can then rip it to my micro SD card so I can put it in my phone and have bitchin' tunes to listen to tomorrow while I work my first shift as an official full-time employee I've also decided to check on some blogs I have been neglecting lately and low and behold, I just got my ass handed to me.
Well...that's a gross exaggeration to say the least. I just popped by Prosy's blog and discovered that she tagged me in this little thingy about personality traits that I'm supposed to put on my blog then tag seven more people.
I'm gonna fill it out but I'm not gonna tag anyone because I've been shamefully (insert another word for neglectful here) about reading other blogs lately and I feel I'd be a fraud so I'd rather just be real and say "I suck, everyone, please forgive me while I try to amend this horrific situation and also my job is sucking my soul out bit by bit so I can't be 100% to blame anymore."
Here goes:
1) Bitchy
2) Cynical
3) Pessimistic
Wow, the first three were soooo easy.
4) Loyal (I kinda feel like I'm copying Prosy here but I have to agree with what she said. I am right there on the front line for the people I care about. It's the ones I hate who can suck my ballsack.)
5) Procrastinator (I always put school stuff off until the last minute for, like, my whole life and I usually did better work that way. Now that I don't have school anymore I'm procrastinating on starting my life as a famous writer/comedian/actress. If I could be a triple threat like George Carlin I think I'd jump through things someone else set fire to.)
6) Defensive (I actually consider myself pretty even keeled most of the time b/c even when I'm feeling defensive about something I can understand the other person's POV. However there are times when I get irrational because I simply can't understand the other person's POV no matter how hard I try and then nothing can be said to me without me cracking skulls.)
7) Unstable (I have bouts of emotional fucked-up-ed-ness where I'm depressed out of nowhere and it lasts for days and I have a hard time functioning without feeling like I failed at my life and I'll be stuck in a grocery store forever. Those times are hard and they happen a few times a year. Unlike my period, which makes me extra bitchy every month! Note the play on words. It's like extra crispy, only for my emotions.)
And that's all I came here to do. Prove I'm not a complete waste of life and berate myself. Good thing I don't pay a shrink to tell me how sorry I am. I already waste enough money on romance novels and Olive Garden. I mean..."research" and "totally necessary sustenance."
Well...that's a gross exaggeration to say the least. I just popped by Prosy's blog and discovered that she tagged me in this little thingy about personality traits that I'm supposed to put on my blog then tag seven more people.
I'm gonna fill it out but I'm not gonna tag anyone because I've been shamefully (insert another word for neglectful here) about reading other blogs lately and I feel I'd be a fraud so I'd rather just be real and say "I suck, everyone, please forgive me while I try to amend this horrific situation and also my job is sucking my soul out bit by bit so I can't be 100% to blame anymore."
Here goes:
1) Bitchy
2) Cynical
3) Pessimistic
Wow, the first three were soooo easy.
4) Loyal (I kinda feel like I'm copying Prosy here but I have to agree with what she said. I am right there on the front line for the people I care about. It's the ones I hate who can suck my ballsack.)
5) Procrastinator (I always put school stuff off until the last minute for, like, my whole life and I usually did better work that way. Now that I don't have school anymore I'm procrastinating on starting my life as a famous writer/comedian/actress. If I could be a triple threat like George Carlin I think I'd jump through things someone else set fire to.)
6) Defensive (I actually consider myself pretty even keeled most of the time b/c even when I'm feeling defensive about something I can understand the other person's POV. However there are times when I get irrational because I simply can't understand the other person's POV no matter how hard I try and then nothing can be said to me without me cracking skulls.)
7) Unstable (I have bouts of emotional fucked-up-ed-ness where I'm depressed out of nowhere and it lasts for days and I have a hard time functioning without feeling like I failed at my life and I'll be stuck in a grocery store forever. Those times are hard and they happen a few times a year. Unlike my period, which makes me extra bitchy every month! Note the play on words. It's like extra crispy, only for my emotions.)
And that's all I came here to do. Prove I'm not a complete waste of life and berate myself. Good thing I don't pay a shrink to tell me how sorry I am. I already waste enough money on romance novels and Olive Garden. I mean..."research" and "totally necessary sustenance."
If I were a tree I'd be proud to be cut down if someone awesome got printed on me. Someone like Jenna Jameson. She invented blow job commandments.
So even though I'm a huge underachiever due to my previous disinterest in the Beatles I will defend myself by saying that I never hated the Beatles and I always respected them for the impact they've had on music, even if the only songs I knew were from movies or commercials.
That being said, I got a new kitten last week (who is currently bitching in the bathroom because I keep him/her in there until he/she can be in the living room and shit in the big cat box like our other three cats and not shit behind the TV) and I named him/her Freddie Mercury because of my unconditional love for Queen. I know Queen is not the Beatles but Queen still rocks my socks and my panties right off. Big pile of clothing on the floor even though Freddie Mercury was a homo.
Excuse me while I go pummel Mr. Mercury.
GOD. And she was so cute when I got her. Now I remember why kittens are the devil. She's so sweet and loving and chill until she's locked in the bathroom because she can't SHIT IN A BOX when she's outside of said bathroom and then I have to throw her around like a baseball. And no one wants that aside from my anger management problem.
The women I got the kitten from told me it was a girl so I was all like "Fuck it, I'm still naming her Freddie Mercury" and now Michelle is telling me it's got nads and might be a boy but it's too soon to tell so either way I have a rockstar kitten who's gonna die if she keeps beating my bathroom door down.
BTW...how does a kitten even beat a bathroom door down? Cause the little wench is certainly trying.
Matter of fact, I just woke up Mike because Freddie Mercury escaped the bathroom twice and I sort of lost my shit on her. Now she's being very quiet. How bad would it suck if I get up tomorrow and there's dead kitten on my bathroom floor? Good thing I didn't stab her. No one stabs Freddie Mercury. Although I am breaking her spirit bit by bit every time she pisses me off.
I'll open the door and Bohemian Rhapsody will be playing as her suicide song as she hangs from my hair dryer cord. Oh shit, I need to stop because this is depressing and hilarious all at once. Suicide is not funny, people. Every time you masturbate God kills a kitten. And somewhere in the background, the ghost of Freddy Mercury is singing Bohemian Rhapsody in memoriam.
The hell? I think this entry got away from me. Now I'm rather concerned anyone who reads this will think I'm a kitten killer, which is not true. I don't kill kittens, I just toss around this particular one because it's not living up to my lofty expectations. I also don't advocate masturbating as a means of killing kittens, just as a means of getting through those lonely nights.
Let me stop before something bad happens to one of the stray cats outside. I could be jinxing all cats everywhere with this suicide and masturbation talk. I'll go to work tomorrow and find my sidewalk littered with dead kittens. It'll be like that one movie where everyone killed themselves because the trees had a vendetta. But I guess I'd be pissed off too if everyone on earth was stealing my oxygen and then cutting me down to print shitty books like Paris Hilton's memoir or another celebrity vagina picture.
That being said, I got a new kitten last week (who is currently bitching in the bathroom because I keep him/her in there until he/she can be in the living room and shit in the big cat box like our other three cats and not shit behind the TV) and I named him/her Freddie Mercury because of my unconditional love for Queen. I know Queen is not the Beatles but Queen still rocks my socks and my panties right off. Big pile of clothing on the floor even though Freddie Mercury was a homo.
Excuse me while I go pummel Mr. Mercury.
GOD. And she was so cute when I got her. Now I remember why kittens are the devil. She's so sweet and loving and chill until she's locked in the bathroom because she can't SHIT IN A BOX when she's outside of said bathroom and then I have to throw her around like a baseball. And no one wants that aside from my anger management problem.
The women I got the kitten from told me it was a girl so I was all like "Fuck it, I'm still naming her Freddie Mercury" and now Michelle is telling me it's got nads and might be a boy but it's too soon to tell so either way I have a rockstar kitten who's gonna die if she keeps beating my bathroom door down.
BTW...how does a kitten even beat a bathroom door down? Cause the little wench is certainly trying.
Matter of fact, I just woke up Mike because Freddie Mercury escaped the bathroom twice and I sort of lost my shit on her. Now she's being very quiet. How bad would it suck if I get up tomorrow and there's dead kitten on my bathroom floor? Good thing I didn't stab her. No one stabs Freddie Mercury. Although I am breaking her spirit bit by bit every time she pisses me off.
I'll open the door and Bohemian Rhapsody will be playing as her suicide song as she hangs from my hair dryer cord. Oh shit, I need to stop because this is depressing and hilarious all at once. Suicide is not funny, people. Every time you masturbate God kills a kitten. And somewhere in the background, the ghost of Freddy Mercury is singing Bohemian Rhapsody in memoriam.
The hell? I think this entry got away from me. Now I'm rather concerned anyone who reads this will think I'm a kitten killer, which is not true. I don't kill kittens, I just toss around this particular one because it's not living up to my lofty expectations. I also don't advocate masturbating as a means of killing kittens, just as a means of getting through those lonely nights.
Let me stop before something bad happens to one of the stray cats outside. I could be jinxing all cats everywhere with this suicide and masturbation talk. I'll go to work tomorrow and find my sidewalk littered with dead kittens. It'll be like that one movie where everyone killed themselves because the trees had a vendetta. But I guess I'd be pissed off too if everyone on earth was stealing my oxygen and then cutting me down to print shitty books like Paris Hilton's memoir or another celebrity vagina picture.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
It was time for a motivational post to get my adrenaline pumping and my expectations a little higher. I'll try reaching for the ceiling first.
I found out two days ago that I've finally been approved for full-time at my job. I've been congratulated by other full-timers and their congrats have always been immediately followed by some version of "Welcome to selling your soul and never getting the days you want off again."
When I got pulled aside to be told I got approved I was told that my time off requests now come second to everyone who is not full-time, basically because I'm expected to be there all the fucking time now. Our store closes for three holidays out of the year: Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, but that means that the days before those three holidays are ri-goddamn-diculous. And now I'm expected to be there to work all of those days.
Honestly, I'm fine with that part because I don't do anything anyway. I was planning on staying here for Thanksgiving and going to Mike's parent's house and most likely getting extremely depressed/angry when his sister starts talking about her ex-fiance who dumped her a few weeks back via phone. I have so little sympathy for her that the only way a discussion between her and I could go would be something like this:
Me: You were stupid to accept his proposal of marriage when you'd just had a fight over WoW and he didn't even have a ring.
Her: But I loved him.
Me: He is a child molester. (True story, although it's more like he had sex with a 16 year old girl when he was over 18 and she claimed statutory later.)
Her: But it was only that one time.
Me: He can't find a job where he pays big people taxes. (Another true story. They moved a few hours away to start their lives anew, she missed home and came back, and all the while they were away the only work he found was being a maid in their friend's house, where they also lived. They didn't even have their own place to stay. They slept on the couch. Who can have boisterous sex on someone else's couch?! The answer is clearly not Mike's sister.)
Her: But I made enough to cover both of us.
Me: And you covered him while he hoarded the money he made by working as a maid. I'm sure he swiffered that entryway real nice, though.
Her: Um...
Me: You're a dumb shit. Goodnight. Can I get some mashed potatoes to take home?
I'm speculating here but the long and short of it is that I have no patience for her and we're not even what I would consider friends. I actually work not to be her friend because I know I'd end up in the middle of the drama that she creates and I'd be the recipient of all her midnight phone calls and texts to Mike and Michelle. I already know I'm a mean horrible cunt of a person. I don't feel like being weighted down by someone else's dumb problems. But at least I can admit it like a man.
Now back to the topic at hand: I came to a realization last night that I'm very happy with and I tried to put it into practice today but it ended up being an epic fail. I've decided to give National Novel Writing Month another shot this year and I'm really excited because I think I'll finally stick to it and win since I don't have school or marching band to worry about. So last night I was thinking about writing my novel and finally getting off my ass and doing what I've dreamed of doing since I was eight and I was all stoked about it. Then I realized that even though I'm full-time at my job now and I have to be there 40 hours a week and I should give 100% because it's my job and I should respect it because it's my job and blah blah blah that I still have dreams.
It's taken me a long time to go after my dreams of being a writer. I've let a lot of insecurities and worries get in my way and stop me before I even begin. And now I'm in a position in my job where I can turn myself over to the corporate robot world or I can remember what I've wanted since the fourth grade. So I decided something. I decided I would work my 40 hours, I would go to work and do exactly what's expected of me, give 100% and maybe even a little more than that when necessary, and I would try to respect my job because it's how I'm getting my money. I may not like or love my job and I may want to shoot EVERYONE in the foot at some point but it's money.
But here's the clincher: at the end of the day I'm not a corporate drone and I'm not some grocery store's bitch. I'm a writer and I'm through letting anything stand in my way.
My ACSM came up to me today and asked me if I'd filled out the paperwork to be management yet, even though I told him I have very little interest in management. That just made me realize how much me going full-time means to my managers. But I refuse to take on management jobs. They work 50 hours a week and have to come in on their off days when shit goes awry. I don't fucking think so.
I'm a writer goddammit, and it's about time I started acting like one.
**Side note, just started listening to the Beatles for the first time and I'm totally digging this shit! Abbey Road is awesome!**
When I got pulled aside to be told I got approved I was told that my time off requests now come second to everyone who is not full-time, basically because I'm expected to be there all the fucking time now. Our store closes for three holidays out of the year: Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, but that means that the days before those three holidays are ri-goddamn-diculous. And now I'm expected to be there to work all of those days.
Honestly, I'm fine with that part because I don't do anything anyway. I was planning on staying here for Thanksgiving and going to Mike's parent's house and most likely getting extremely depressed/angry when his sister starts talking about her ex-fiance who dumped her a few weeks back via phone. I have so little sympathy for her that the only way a discussion between her and I could go would be something like this:
Me: You were stupid to accept his proposal of marriage when you'd just had a fight over WoW and he didn't even have a ring.
Her: But I loved him.
Me: He is a child molester. (True story, although it's more like he had sex with a 16 year old girl when he was over 18 and she claimed statutory later.)
Her: But it was only that one time.
Me: He can't find a job where he pays big people taxes. (Another true story. They moved a few hours away to start their lives anew, she missed home and came back, and all the while they were away the only work he found was being a maid in their friend's house, where they also lived. They didn't even have their own place to stay. They slept on the couch. Who can have boisterous sex on someone else's couch?! The answer is clearly not Mike's sister.)
Her: But I made enough to cover both of us.
Me: And you covered him while he hoarded the money he made by working as a maid. I'm sure he swiffered that entryway real nice, though.
Her: Um...
Me: You're a dumb shit. Goodnight. Can I get some mashed potatoes to take home?
I'm speculating here but the long and short of it is that I have no patience for her and we're not even what I would consider friends. I actually work not to be her friend because I know I'd end up in the middle of the drama that she creates and I'd be the recipient of all her midnight phone calls and texts to Mike and Michelle. I already know I'm a mean horrible cunt of a person. I don't feel like being weighted down by someone else's dumb problems. But at least I can admit it like a man.
Now back to the topic at hand: I came to a realization last night that I'm very happy with and I tried to put it into practice today but it ended up being an epic fail. I've decided to give National Novel Writing Month another shot this year and I'm really excited because I think I'll finally stick to it and win since I don't have school or marching band to worry about. So last night I was thinking about writing my novel and finally getting off my ass and doing what I've dreamed of doing since I was eight and I was all stoked about it. Then I realized that even though I'm full-time at my job now and I have to be there 40 hours a week and I should give 100% because it's my job and I should respect it because it's my job and blah blah blah that I still have dreams.
It's taken me a long time to go after my dreams of being a writer. I've let a lot of insecurities and worries get in my way and stop me before I even begin. And now I'm in a position in my job where I can turn myself over to the corporate robot world or I can remember what I've wanted since the fourth grade. So I decided something. I decided I would work my 40 hours, I would go to work and do exactly what's expected of me, give 100% and maybe even a little more than that when necessary, and I would try to respect my job because it's how I'm getting my money. I may not like or love my job and I may want to shoot EVERYONE in the foot at some point but it's money.
But here's the clincher: at the end of the day I'm not a corporate drone and I'm not some grocery store's bitch. I'm a writer and I'm through letting anything stand in my way.
My ACSM came up to me today and asked me if I'd filled out the paperwork to be management yet, even though I told him I have very little interest in management. That just made me realize how much me going full-time means to my managers. But I refuse to take on management jobs. They work 50 hours a week and have to come in on their off days when shit goes awry. I don't fucking think so.
I'm a writer goddammit, and it's about time I started acting like one.
**Side note, just started listening to the Beatles for the first time and I'm totally digging this shit! Abbey Road is awesome!**
Monday, October 5, 2009
Free tubal ligations for all douchebag and prick managers who would probably work with popped collars if they could. Any takers?
Something must be wrong with me. I haven't been updating this thing nearly often enough. Every time I think about updating my mind goes "And just what kind of interesting things do you have to say? Yep, that's what I thought" because the answer is always "I have nothing good to say, fuck my life."
I would think that putting in these fucking 40 hour plus overtime weeks at work would actually give me more to complain about, and that's true, but I'm always too tired to muster the energy. I've been spending an appalling amount of time on the New Moon website because I'm more excited than any grown woman should be about the movie. I also have started checking Twitter like it's Facebook, trying to see if I have any new followers or if anyone has given me a snarky @.
The one thing I can say about work is that I'm about to throw a hissy fit of Biblical proportions if my full-time doesn't get approved soon. It's already been a few weeks since they sent in the paperwork and I've worked two overtime weeks and several 40 hour weeks since I got off my demotion. I'm doing the work and proving how dependable I am and shit but I'm getting none of the benefits. Where's my accrued vacation time? Where's my insurance? I haven't been to a dentist in about seven years and God help these people if I need glasses.
We've gotten a new assistant CSM. I don't know if I've mentioned him yet since I've been wildly absent but he's a prick. He used to work at our store before he got promoted to manager and now he's back, spreading his albino "I'm God's gift to Publix and don't you forget it" vibe all over the store and it's getting on my nerves, just like when he worked there before. He spends half his time talking about how great he is and the other half telling everyone how much better we could be doing our jobs simply by following his carefully laid out guidelines.
Add to that the fact that just the other night, when I say staying late (and getting overtime, BTW), he decided to say "You're working full-time hours with none of the benefits! Huh! Overtime even! Wow!"
I want to stab him in his fallopian tubes.
I would think that putting in these fucking 40 hour plus overtime weeks at work would actually give me more to complain about, and that's true, but I'm always too tired to muster the energy. I've been spending an appalling amount of time on the New Moon website because I'm more excited than any grown woman should be about the movie. I also have started checking Twitter like it's Facebook, trying to see if I have any new followers or if anyone has given me a snarky @.
The one thing I can say about work is that I'm about to throw a hissy fit of Biblical proportions if my full-time doesn't get approved soon. It's already been a few weeks since they sent in the paperwork and I've worked two overtime weeks and several 40 hour weeks since I got off my demotion. I'm doing the work and proving how dependable I am and shit but I'm getting none of the benefits. Where's my accrued vacation time? Where's my insurance? I haven't been to a dentist in about seven years and God help these people if I need glasses.
We've gotten a new assistant CSM. I don't know if I've mentioned him yet since I've been wildly absent but he's a prick. He used to work at our store before he got promoted to manager and now he's back, spreading his albino "I'm God's gift to Publix and don't you forget it" vibe all over the store and it's getting on my nerves, just like when he worked there before. He spends half his time talking about how great he is and the other half telling everyone how much better we could be doing our jobs simply by following his carefully laid out guidelines.
Add to that the fact that just the other night, when I say staying late (and getting overtime, BTW), he decided to say "You're working full-time hours with none of the benefits! Huh! Overtime even! Wow!"
I want to stab him in his fallopian tubes.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
I'm almost positive that if I got Brad Pitt in on this action, the fleas would flee on their own. No one wants anything but a loving caress from Brad.
A few fun facts to get you through the night and day while I'm sleeping off this swine flu and having to work at 10am despite having worked until 11:30 tonight:
1. I have a possible case of the fucking swine flu, or at the very least, a rather irritating cold that's centered in my nose area. It's also making me all pale and causing me to look like shit in cute pictures I try to send to my sister of me wearing a badass fedora I bought a few weeks ago and it's also making my jag-off of a boss tell me I look awful and that he doesn't have faith that I'll last through this 43 hour week they've given me.
2. The irony of my 43 hour week is that I originally had 35 hours. My managers had to give shifts to people, thus making them go overtime, because the people who had those shifts to begin with got the fucking swine flu.
3. I am an incubus of viral goddamn plague.
4. I'm gonna be all up on my rag this week while I work 43 hours. Along with my original 35 hours I also had 4 days off IN A ROW. We're talking Thursday-Sunday, all free and clear. Then I had to work Saturday. And now I have 5 days in a row while Aunt Flow surfs the wild blue yonder in mah vag. Shit can't get any better than that.
5. Except shit CAN get better because we've also had an outbreak of fleas in our apartment! I finally reached my limit and bombed the place today while Mike and I went to Olive Garden for the never ending pasta bowl and I totally shamed myself by not finishing even one bowl of pasta. Some kind of FREAKY ASS FLU must be in the air when this chubby bitch can't eat more than one bowl of delicious pasta.
6. I've decided to become a huge nerd and make an ongoing list of books I want to read in my life and work my way through that list. And since I'm Gilmore Girls obsessed I'm taking my lead from the list of books that Rory has supposedly read throughout the entire series. I've already read some of them for school so that means I can move on to the more interesting shit, like Atonement. Who doesn't love a sappy love story where everyone but the girl who started all the bullshit dies in the end?
I can't think of any funny way to end this. I'm sitting here yawning like a yawning thing, trying to figure out something hilarious to say as a parting quip, and I'm falling spectacularly short. Like a midget from a diving board. See, even that is highly offensive to little people and probably makes sense to no one but me. HOLY FUCKING HELL, I think a flea is biting me. I thought I killed them all in the holocaust. Now I have to go be like the Inglourious Basterds and start killin' Nazis. This holocaust is a reverse of the last one. In this one, the bad ones die. So I've just rewritten history in the best possible way. But not for the Nazis. They were still assholes.
GOD I need sleep.
1. I have a possible case of the fucking swine flu, or at the very least, a rather irritating cold that's centered in my nose area. It's also making me all pale and causing me to look like shit in cute pictures I try to send to my sister of me wearing a badass fedora I bought a few weeks ago and it's also making my jag-off of a boss tell me I look awful and that he doesn't have faith that I'll last through this 43 hour week they've given me.
2. The irony of my 43 hour week is that I originally had 35 hours. My managers had to give shifts to people, thus making them go overtime, because the people who had those shifts to begin with got the fucking swine flu.
3. I am an incubus of viral goddamn plague.
4. I'm gonna be all up on my rag this week while I work 43 hours. Along with my original 35 hours I also had 4 days off IN A ROW. We're talking Thursday-Sunday, all free and clear. Then I had to work Saturday. And now I have 5 days in a row while Aunt Flow surfs the wild blue yonder in mah vag. Shit can't get any better than that.
5. Except shit CAN get better because we've also had an outbreak of fleas in our apartment! I finally reached my limit and bombed the place today while Mike and I went to Olive Garden for the never ending pasta bowl and I totally shamed myself by not finishing even one bowl of pasta. Some kind of FREAKY ASS FLU must be in the air when this chubby bitch can't eat more than one bowl of delicious pasta.
6. I've decided to become a huge nerd and make an ongoing list of books I want to read in my life and work my way through that list. And since I'm Gilmore Girls obsessed I'm taking my lead from the list of books that Rory has supposedly read throughout the entire series. I've already read some of them for school so that means I can move on to the more interesting shit, like Atonement. Who doesn't love a sappy love story where everyone but the girl who started all the bullshit dies in the end?
I can't think of any funny way to end this. I'm sitting here yawning like a yawning thing, trying to figure out something hilarious to say as a parting quip, and I'm falling spectacularly short. Like a midget from a diving board. See, even that is highly offensive to little people and probably makes sense to no one but me. HOLY FUCKING HELL, I think a flea is biting me. I thought I killed them all in the holocaust. Now I have to go be like the Inglourious Basterds and start killin' Nazis. This holocaust is a reverse of the last one. In this one, the bad ones die. So I've just rewritten history in the best possible way. But not for the Nazis. They were still assholes.
GOD I need sleep.
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