Snark & Sarcasm: A Life of Bitchiness

I don't know if these GummiBursts are as addictive as meth cause I've never had meth. But I've had a lot of candy and this shit is bad for you.

2009-11-07T18:32:00.003-05:00

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.

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.

2009-11-01T12:10:00.003-05:00

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?

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.

2009-10-16T23:04:00.005-04:00

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."

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.

2009-10-16T00:02:00.004-04:00

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.

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.

2009-10-14T20:23:00.006-04:00

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!**

Free tubal ligations for all douchebag and prick managers who would probably work with popped collars if they could. Any takers?

2009-10-05T00:41:00.005-04:00

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'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.

2009-09-15T00:06:00.006-04:00

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.

There's a good reason I don't read anything but novels and blogs and you're about to find out what it is. (It's cause I'm ignorant)

2009-08-21T20:12:00.003-04:00

Little bit of 411 about myself: I am interested in a lot of things, but those interests all tend to center around whichever side of the brain does the creative shit. I've never enjoyed math, science, or history and I've always gotten shitty grades in those classes, mostly because my interest could never be sparked enough to try very hard. Sooooo...I like reading, writing, French, and playing and listening to music. I'm of that side of the brain, whichever side it is.

On that note, Mike gets mad at me often for being uninformed about basic things. Something else I hate is politics and I refuse to get involved in that shit. I won't talk about it with people, especially people who don't share my opinions, because it only ends in bloodshed. I'm not close-minded, I'll hear what others have to say, it's just that I feel a certain way about things too, and I think we've all seen or heard about the presidential debates enough to know how childish it can all get at the end of the day. I'd rather just have my opinions, keep them to myself, and not start shit.

I don't watch the news, I rarely read the newspaper, and I don't follow politics. I can honestly say it holds very little interest for me, and if that makes me ignorant, then I guess I'm just ignorant. As much as I realize that being more aware of what's happening in the world could really only benefit me, if it's not what I'm interested in, then why worry? I spend my time thinking about what I truly love and I'm happy because of it. Why add the war to my list of things to cry about when I'm on the rag?

Incidentally, I've been on the rag for the past few days, and I've been in a better mood than usual. Like, I don't even know how that happened, but it did, so now Mike isn't constantly concerned about my depressed state of being. Which is probably why he got mad at me yesterday for now knowing what the crusades were.

Now, to get off the topic of politics and safely back into my realm of reading romance novels instead of the New York Times, that whole explanation was meant to get me back to this point: I don't care about history. I know what they say about being doomed to repeat it but if I don't care about politics and don't plan to run for president, then I doubt I'll get the country into a bad situation anytime soon.

So Mike and I are driving yesterday and somehow he mentions history and I say I don't care about history and he mentions the crusades for a reason I'm still unaware of. I just asked him and he thinks I said something like "Christianity isn't dangerous and it doesn't have an effect on anything" which is totally a lie. I may not follow religion, much the same way I don't follow politics, but I'm not that dumb. Back in The Day, religion was very dangerous because people killed in the name of it, and it's had an effect on every culture practically since the dawn of time. I'm only a little ignorant, you see.

Long story shortened just a bit, Mike's all like "How can you now know what the crusades are?!" (should crusades be capitalized?) and I'm like "Cause I don't really give a shit about history or religion so I never bothered learning" and he's like "But how did you not learn it in school?" and I told him that it probably never got taught and/or I fell asleep that day. Both are pretty plausible, I think. I was educated in BFE.

So now the point of that story was to get to this charming anecdote: Mike and I are in the living room a little while ago and a commercial for State Farm insurance comes on. They're using "I'll Be There" by the Jackson 5 as the background music while a montage of videos play. So I say "I can't believe they're monopolizing on his death like that" and he says "Who?" and I say "State Farm" and he says, "No, who died?" and I kind of fell off the couch in shock before I said "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" and then he got that defensive tone I always get when I don't know what the stupid crusades are and said "What? Who died?"

So then I had to explain to him that it was the Jackson fucking 5 and that "I'll Be There" is one of the most famous songs in the WORLD. He was playing his computer game while all this happened so I got in his face and said "Now we're even for me not knowing what the crusades are" and went into the kitchen to make my pizza because I pretty much won that argument, which wasn't really an argument to begin with.

But seriously...as played up as his death has become, HOW does a person not know "I'll Be There"?! It's on the Now & Then soundtrack, for Christ's sake!

Weed isn't a drug. Bob Saget used to suck dick for coke.

2009-08-11T01:02:00.007-04:00

This was supposed to be story time from last night but my computer got all wonky and wouldn't let me post this, so pretend this is last night and read away!

Tonight at work a customer left a bag of weed on a register. Not my register, but the woman whose register it was gave it to our team leader, Sarah. Sarah took it from her and said "Why are you giving this to me?" and the cashier was like "Well what am I gonna do with it, smoke it?" and I started giving her shit because she's an older lady who works nights and weekends for extra income because she's a single mother with an asshole ex-husband and a while after it happened she was standing there looking vacant so I said "Are you on it now, Jeanee? You look vacant" and she goes "No, it's all those other drugs I'm on" with a wink because she's cool enough to make jokes like that. She's like my dad in that way, except he just smokes his weed right in front of me.

So Sarah brings it to the assistant store manager (I forget what I nicknamed her months ago), who is usually a bitch and kind of a nark and is like "What should I do with this marijuana that some customer left?" and the ASM tells her to put it in the back office in an envelope with her name on it and she'd deal with it later. Sarah's all "You sure you want your NAME on it?" and the ASM is like "No one will think it's mine."

Ahem. *cough*

Had to clear my throat for that one. Sarah then brings it to the back office, where there are no witnesses because the back office guy was on break, and puts it in an envelope with the ASM's name on it, all the while holding it up so the camera can see she just found it and it doesn't actually belong to her. I was trying to get her to smoke it with me but it was a small bag. You know those bags that replacement buttons come it when you buy a button down shirt? Yeah man, that's how big this little bag was. And it was stuffed full of weed that I was told probably only cost two dollars. I was like "Sarah, can you even roll a joint with that?" and she's like "It'd be a really skinny one" so I feel comforted knowing that I work with people who know more about weed than I do. It's like public education: free and only partly worthless, because with a job like mine, you need tequila or illegal substances to get you through the week. I mean day. To get you through the day.

I wanted Sarah to take a picture of it on her Blackberry and e-mail to me so I could post it here alongside a dollar bill or a quarter or something so everyone could see how small this freaking bag was. But when I told Sarah I wanted it for my blog she was like "Yeah, you're just kidding, right?" and when I told her I wasn't she just sort of stared at me, so maybe the people I work with aren't so awesome after all. Or just that one person, anyway.

So right now the store is all closed up nice and tidy and there is an envelope with contraband inside of it locked in the back office safe (much safer than on register four, I might add) with my ASM's name on it. And she decided this would be a good idea after the district manager (the same guy who demoted me for three months) had already come and perused our store for half an hour looking for problems. At least that's what I assume he did because that's what he always does. Then I start wondering if he recognizes me and thinks "That's the bitch who fucked my district up" when he sees me. But I doubt it. He seems like a Christian man.

I think it was a smart move on her part. Nothing like explaining why there's weed with your name on it in a drug-free work environment like Publix. I'm sure everyone will understand.

Something else that made me giggle was when I imagined the guy who dropped it coming back in and being like "Um...I think I left something...looks like oregano cause it totally isn't weed..." and I'd interject with something like "Did you drop your contraband, sir?! I believe that's what the police call it...CONTRABAND? Is that right? MARIJUANA? THE CHRONIC? HAPPY GRASS? Oh yes sir, we threw that shit out days ago. Good game, noob."

True story, kids.

This is why I need anger management and a house in the middle of BFE.

2009-08-09T01:02:00.006-04:00

I should be asleep right now because I'm working the devil's shift from 9am to 7pm tomorrow when a normal shift doesn't exceed 8 hours so I am going to fall over and die by mid-afternoon. But I'm awake and brooding and watching Little Women on demand because SOMEONE who is one of my neighbors decided to be an asshat tonight and post a note on the banister that we know was meant for us even though it was placed in a communal area. And I have the note but it's hung up on the fridge so Michelle can read it tomorrow and it says something like "Please enter and exit quiet after 10 pm and be courteous to your neighbors." And the fucking neighbor who posted it signed it pretending they're the management of the property.

But you know how I know it wasn't the management that wrote it? It's written in marker for one, when everything that comes from the office is always typed with a little clip art tossed in, and for another, it was posted sometime after 10 pm when the leasing office closes at 2 pm on Saturdays. Michelle's brother is visiting this weekend again and he went outside sometime around 10, before I got home from work, and there was no note. When I got home close to 11:30 there was a note.

WHAT THE FUCK, WHORES?! I so totally moved away from a passive aggressive cuntwhore because of her passive aggressive notes and methods. And ever since we got the po-po called on us for having a chat on our porch I've been walking on eggshells AGAIN hoping that I don't piss the neighbors off again and get arrested this time. Because once again, people talking on a porch and shutting their doors after 10 pm is more important than cocaine dealers and women getting raped in bar bathrooms. Far be it from me to stand in the way of law enforcement in this great state.

When I lived with my ex-roommate Katie I totally always watched my ass so she wouldn't have anything passive aggressive to say about me on the marker board, and I got sick of that shit, which is why I moved out and ended our friendship. So now I find myself in a situation where complete strangers are harassing me with calls to the police and strongly worded notes with no punctuation on the banister. These are people I should be getting along with because we got along just fine with our old neighbors and never had issues.

Upon retrospect, I could see that when they called the cops on us, it was late at night and our voices probably carried and blah blah crappity blah, but this? This is harassment and forgery and my instincts are telling me to post a note in the same place saying something along the lines of "If you have a problem with our door you can come fix it your fucking self" or "We'd be happy to keep it down as soon as we all have jobs that don't require us to work until 11 pm or later, so unless you have a job offer for us, you can shove it up your ass and knock on the door next time" but I know that might only make things worse.

All I do know for sure is that I'm taking the note down to the office on Monday when they open and having a talk with the woman in charge about how their residents are forging notes on the complex's behalf and harassing us and making us feel like we can't even go about our daily lives without getting a complaint. Because really, the neighbor that called the cops went to the leasing office and complained there, too, and they had to give us a paper saying we got a complaint as a formality. And the idiot woman I talked to yesterday was like "We don't have hours for when you can be on your porch, that would violate your civil liberties. You just have to be aware that you do have neighbors."

So I think I get it. We can do whatever we want to do around here, because they can't tell us not to, but if the neighbors complain, even if it's about something as small as how loud the door is when we open and shut it (which isn't 100% our fault because the door does stick and you kind of have to slam it to shut it), then our civil liberties go right out the window because the neighbors got miffed. Where is the gray area? We have been trying to be quieter when we go outside, but apparently the neighbors have sticks up their collective asses and you can't enter or exit your apartment without it becoming a federal case. If we try to be quieter as a compromise, then where is the compromise from the neighbors?

Maybe I'm only this angry because I moved away from passive aggressiveness for a reason: it was KILLING MY SPIRIT and now I'm getting it from people I've never even seen face to face? The part of this that's the most bullshit is that it doesn't matter how big or small the complaint. If we get enough complaints that violate our lease then we can get fucking evicted. FOR COMING HOME AT THE END OF THE DAY. Let me just go quit my job to make the hermit people upstairs happier.

(I just assume their hermits cause I've never seen them, I don't actually know. I also assume their the ones who called the cops because they're right above our porch and on the same side as us, thereby getting the brunt of our door shutting.)

I'll post a picture of the note when I get a chance. But if I never update this blog again then everyone should know that I probably got hauled down to the joint for going to work tomorrow.

List of things You Tube gives you when you're trying to find a video about dry blow jobs.

2009-08-06T14:40:00.006-04:00

A few days ago on Twitter The Bloggess posted this link to a video that's so fucking hilarious I just about pissed my pants telling this chick I work with about it the other night. So now I'm trying to find it and send it to her but Twitter is being an asshole and won't let me go to The Bloggess' earlier tweets so I go to You Tube hoping I can guess at the title and find it. Here is what I get when searching for "dry blow job":

dry blowjob and handjob and hot girl dancing for you onlien

Japanese Asians Passionately Kiss With Tongues

Adam's Dry Blow Job Story

Dorm Blow Job

Bubba Chubs Blow Dry Job (side note: everyone loves a good blow dry job, am I right?!)

Then we get to things that aren't even related to blow jobs:

Sexy college girls kissing and having dry sex

Dominatrix Ties Up Man in Black Rubber

Sexy Cute Japanese Asian Cosplay Girl in Strange Situation

Asian Nerd is Seduced by 3 Porn Stars in Shop

Honestly, Internet, what the fuck? I thought porn like this was the reason Red Tube was invented, or am I searching the wrong site for my kinky pleasures? And while we're on the topic of strange sex, what the hell JAPAN?! Why is all the nasty shit coming from YOU? Are you guys the fucking authority on dry blow jobs? Seriously, the first like 4 results are all the same Asian chick making a circle with her hands and smiling through the circle like she knows she's about to make your head explode with her blow job giving prowess.

I may have to be off sex for a while because of this. Wait until Mike comes home and discovers my vagina has become barren due to the sexual preferences of Japan. I guess we won't be going to the Japanese steakhouse anymore.

On a lighter note, here's the video I wanted to find. Finding it was made more difficult by the fact that I don't think I got it from The Bloggess to begin with. In the end it was Google that came through with the name and then You Tube was kind enough to give me the link after that. Here's Blowjob Girl, enjoy!

And try to tell me you didn't pee yourself a little after that. If not, try retelling it to a coworker. Worked for me.

Why old people shouldn't be allowed to have credit or debit cards. (It's because I have to deal with them at the end of the day.)

2009-07-30T17:18:00.003-04:00

This old woman came through my line yesterday after she went into the bathroom with her entire cart of shit and probably stole something while she was in there and I about kicked her sweet granny ass.

It started when she was like "You're going to have to help me with my card, I'm not sure what to do" and I rolled my eyes because I don't think it's that complicated but I guess I was just born in the right generation for pin pads and electronic banking. Unlike this decrepit looking woman with too big pants and a voluminous sweater. So then I look at my bagger, who is useless and doesn't know how the pin pad works, and I realize I'm going to have to help her once I finish ringing up her shit.

I get through with her crap, and she's holding the card the wrong way to start with (so we all know how this story is going to end), so once I had it positioned the right way, she was like "Do I push it in?" and I was like "No, you slide it down" and then in my head I was like "The fuck? Is this like a new-fangled hotel door to her?" and then she finally swiped her card.

After that I asked her if it was debit or credit and she just fucking stared at me like I dropped in on her stealing in the bathroom. So I asked again and she goes "I don't understand what you're saying" and so I was like "Is your card a debit card or a credit card?" and she keeps staring at me like I'm a retard and finally says "It goes through to my bank electronically and takes the money out of my credit union" like she just solved the Da Vinci code and was explaining it to her much slower sister.

So I was like, "Yes ma'am, I know that, but what I'm asking is if you have a PIN number or not" and she's like "It has a number that goes with it, yes" and is still giving me that look that you only give shady people who are offering to clean your windows in the ghetto. So I hit the debit option and told her to put in her PIN. "With these numbers down here?" Fucking YES with those numbers down there! What other numbers did you plan on using? You don't also have a cell phone, do you? Because I might have to call the cops on you if you did.

She gets her PIN entered and then the screen is asking for cash back, yes or no. She goes, "Do I want cash back?" and I finally got to give her the retard look and said "I don't know. Do you want cash back?" and she goes "No!" like she finally trumped the technology or something. I hit the button next to the option that said no and she goes "F4. What's that? F4 doesn't mean anything to me" and I contemplated explaining to her that it's just a button next to the option, that the number on the button doesn't mean anything, but instead I just said "It's just the button you hit" and hoped she'd STFU.

You know those commercials that show everything slowing down when someone wants to pay with cash or a check? Well, they may have some truth to them, but perhaps I should send those people a strongly worded letter because I think they forgot to take 80 year old people into account when forging their advertising campaign.

Once it was all done and I was handing her the receipt she was like "I'm sorry, this is all new to me. I've never have a card before, I always wrote checks, but my credit union told me I needed a card." If I'd thought ahead I would have read the card while I had it to see which credit union she has so I could send them a nice flower arrangement full of pipe bombs.

I'm only complaining about this two days later because I'm hoping it will get it out of my head permanently. Good for laughs,too.

2009-07-26T22:26:00.004-04:00

So Friday afternoon, Michelle's brother gets into town for a visit for the weekend before he drives back with Michelle so she can see her family for a week. Which is way more information than you needed to know, but hey, the beauty is in the details. Unless we're discussing assholes. No need for detail there. EVER. Same goes for vaginas and penises, particularly when the penis is soft, because then it just looks silly and wrinkled and a vagina starts looking a hell of a lot more like the most beautiful flower you've ever seen, if you catch my drift.

So we're all sitting on the porch: me, Michelle, Mike (who I live with now, and I figure the blogging can really only get better once you move in with a boy) (and by better, I mean more dramatic and funny), Michelle's boyfriend, and Michelle's brother. We didn't realize it was getting close to one in the morning, but we ended up talking out there for a long time because Randy (the brother) wanted to know how Michelle and I came to fall out with Katie and why we decided to move, so we were telling the story. I even pulled out the letter Katie left us on the fridge one morning when she'd had enough of Michelle and I saying negative shit about her dog and not doing enough housework and I read it aloud. Complete with inflections.

The neighbor across from us, who has a trellis hiding her porch, came out and told us she could hear us through her walls and she was kind of a B about it, being all like "You can go out front and talk and bother someone else, that would be fine" even though then we'd be talking by everyone's front doors instead of their porch/balcony doors. We live in a building with three other apartments and we're on the bottom floor. We weren't yelling or screaming, but apparently our voices were traveling. I guess they made it through France and India before the Trellis Bitch decided to say something. So we went inside, and not five minutes later, two cops come knocking on our porch window. With their flashlight. Like, they knocked with their flashlight, like we're on COPS or some shit and I'm a felon who's about to get pistol-whipped and they need their flashlight at the ready. You know, so they can see when they beat me into submission.

Randy went to open it but they needed someone who lived here, so I went out and they basically told me they'd had "several calls" regarding noise we'd been making and when I gave them a confused look they asked if we'd been sitting outside. I said yes, but I was only confused because we hadn't been talking any louder than I was talking to them at that moment, and we get a noise complaint for that? The rest of the talk went with them telling me how apartments aren't built to hold sound in, they're built to make money, and we're on the bottom floor so noise echoes and all that happy horseshit.

Then they tell me that if the neighbors had wanted to register a more stern complaint that I could be freakin' arrested. So I was like "You can arrest me for sitting on my porch and talking with my friends?" and the dude cop was like "Yes, because we're charged with serving the people and protecting the peace and if you're disturbing your neighbors' peace then we have to act."

Then they take my name and birth date and tell me AGAIN that I need to be mindful and that because I'm the one who lives here, the "leasee" as they called me, that I'll be the one to go to jail if it gets worse. I wanted to be like "Well, I have two other roommates. Are they gonna go to jail too because they live here or am I the only one because I happened to step onto the fucking porch?" I also wanted to be like "So if you're charged with serving the people, and I'm one of the people as well, and I wasn't doing anything wrong except holding a conversation at a late hour, then why am I the only one getting fucked in this equation? Why don't you go find the guy who called you and ask him what's up because I bet you're wondering why you're out here, too."

But it seemed wrong to badger the cop.

Once I came back in I threw my cup of water into the kitchen and almost said "How's that for noise, motherfuckers?!?!" and then had my moment of near-crying in the bathroom. After I told everyone what happened, we came to a few conclusions. First, we made a mistake by not realizing how late it was while we were out there. Second, the neighbors are sort of assholes for involving the police when they could have stuck their head out a window and been like "Hey, you're loud, STFU" and we would have quit. Granted, the Trellis Bitch did that, but the cops said she wasn't the one who called. And third, the cops were being dicks to me. Like, in an unnecessary way. Michelle told me that cops really don't arrest for noise complaints and that they were probably just threatening me to make sure it never happens again and they don't have to come out at one in the morning to tell a small group of people to take the talking inside.

Hahaha...how funny would it be if shows like COPS showed nothing but a bunch of bogus noise complaints instead of actual crime and hardcore drugs? It'd be a bunch of officers cornering people on their porches and stoops saying "Come on guys, let's move the talkin' inside for the night. You might wanna lower your voices and head on home." Fuck underage drinking and cocaine, we got bigger fish to fry! Now knock off with the conversations or we'll have to take you into lock-up for the night.

Speaking of jail, while I was venting my frustrations in the living room, I was like "They're gonna take me to jail for talking on my porch. I'd go to fucking lockdown and have to piss in front of people for 24 hours until one of you assholes comes and bails me out!" And then Randy assured me that they wouldn't put me in with a bunch of people, I'd get my own cell, which did enough to comfort my nerves that I didn't even question too much how he knew such a thing.

I figure if the neighbor wouldn't have told us we were being loud and the cops showed up 10 minutes earlier, they would have really hated the dumbass who called them. They'd park their car and come up on the scene and find...five people sitting in a circle and chatting. And oh God, have they been drinking? Well maybe a little, but they're all over 21. What about weed, any weed lying around? No? FUCK.

I guess I'd be pissed off too if I was called in for a noise complaint and there wasn't even any marijuana to be found. I told my mom later that I'd at least like to be doing something illegal when the po-po comes to haul my ass down to the clink.

I'm trying this new thing where instead of holding onto unnecessary anger, which I've been doing since it happened because it pissed me off in a variety of ways, I just get angry for a little bit and then turn it around on the people who made me mad. So in this case, I'll hope the neighbor realizes how stupid it was to call the cops on a group of people talking and then I'll laugh because they didn't have the balls to knock on our door themselves. I'm also going to go to the police department and get a copy of the noise ordinances for the city so that we know how late we can be outside and then I'll be happy knowing that we're following the rules from now on. So if the pansy ass fuckwit neighbors call the cops in the future, they won't have a leg to stand on, and you know what they means?

It means WE WIN and the terrorists LOSE!! Sink that battleship, bitch, cause I just got Jenga!

Name calling is only for children and adults who happen to harbor grudges cause they can't ever let anything go.

2009-07-19T22:49:00.004-04:00

I'm sure once I've been in my new living situation for another few days I'll have more to blog about cause right now it's only like the second day and even though Mike has been playing WOW for a few hours now, I'm just happy to be on the internet again, so my complaint level is pretty low. Also, I've been stressed all weekend and moments where I was being pleasant were more or less nonexistent. So this sitting on the couch, watching music videos on demand, and having some relaxation is nice.

I may regret blogging about this later, but right now I could give a fuck. I came to the realization about a week ago that I am one of those people who worries too much about what others think to voice my opinions at all times. Don't get me wrong here, I'm a bitch quite often, but it's in that sarcastic way that you can be with friends who understand your sense of humor. It's in the way that those same friends find funny, so it's not really offensive after all. But when it comes to people I don't like, I have a thing about hating confrontation and not wanting to make waves.

I could go on for days about what it was like living at my old place with Michelle and Katie, but I'll abbreviate. What basically happened was that over a year ago, Katie got a dog. When we moved into that apartment, Katie and I were BFF's. Then Michelle moved in and we were good friends, but not as close as Katie and I. Then Katie gets this dog and it's an asshole dog who pissed and shat (haha, that almost sounds too formal for this particular situation) all over the place and whined whenever she left the room and was generally annoying. Michelle and I kept our mouths shut about it but I guess the tension was obvious so Katie wrote a bitchy letter to us, left it on the fridge, and was gonna go out of town and let us "think about things" while she was gone. The letter went on about how we weren't being understanding about having a new dog and she only agreed to stay another year with us because she thought we'd be supportive of her being in school again and blah blah BLAH.

Basically, that ended up in World War 3, as I like to call it, because even though she tried to get me to pretend the letter didn't exist, I showed it to Michelle and we spent the whole week she was gone getting pissed about it and discussing our game for how we were going to have an adult conversation. What ended up happening was a huge yelling match when Katie got home because she felt "cornered" and would not shut up about being "cornered" and when we did eventually have our talk it was all strained and then she hardly spoke to us for months. She did make it a point to ignore us entirely for several weeks.

Some shit happened over time with me and Michelle that got things back on a talking basis (as in Katie would talk to us cause Michelle and I got a lot closer over the past year or so), but living there has been so tense and stressful. She had her stupid and badly trained dog who would shit in my room if I ever left my door open as well as a warning system whenever she opened her door in the form of the dog vaulting out like a prisoner who'd just been released and realized he could get real vagina now.

Then there were the passive-aggressive notes on the marker board about dishes and cleaning and taking out the trash or recycling, or she'd just leave the dishwasher open by way of saying "Someone else do the dishes because I'm a cunt" and it got really old really fast.

I always encouraged Michelle and myself to take it all with a grain of salt for the sake of keeping the peace. I didn't want to make an already uncomfortable living situation even worse by responding in kind to her notes or stooping to her level and also doing passive-aggressive shit. And so Michelle and I went for the past year just chillin', trying not to make waves, but rolling our eyes every time Katie talked to her dog like a person (and not just a person...like a toddler, like the way I talk to my year and a half old goddaughter. Oh, scratch that, because I talk to my goddaughter like more of an adult than Katie talks to her dog) or slamming the dishwasher closed when I come home to it being open. And nearly full. Like, one more bowl and it's good to go. And look, there's some dishes in the sink. But why couldn't she put them in there herself? Oh, that's right. Because she's a cunt whore.

The point here is that my realization had to do with living my life for me and no one else. I don't want to be one of those people who looks back at my life when I'm 50 or 60 and wishes I had lived more for me and said fuck it to the people who clearly weren't worth my time. Katie and I had a good friendship while it lasted, but I feel that it's over now, at least on my side. I've lost friendships with people before, and this one actually ended better than some others I could mention. I call that progress.

I was nice before so as not to make waves. Now I don't live there anymore, that woman is not my mother (my mother is totally cooler), and I don't have to answer to her if I don't want to. And I don't want to. So THERE.

Yeeeeessss, I'm finding this new living-in-sin situation has made me much more grown-up and tolerant. Or maybe that's the Ghirardelli brownies talking.

Choosing Donkey Kong over sex on the eve of your anniversary is not the way to Vagina Town, boys.

2009-07-14T00:33:00.003-04:00

Holy shit everybody, this is a video of Michael Jackson shopping at a Publix, which is the store I work at. This isn't my store, though. I don't know where it is, but it was taken in 2003, and Publix doesn't go any higher than Tennessee, so it could have been anywhere there or below, really.

What I'm wondering is how much of a donation they must have made to the March of Dimes or Children's Home Society to get Publix corporate to shut down a store and donate bagger uniforms to Michael Jackson could pretend to shop like a big boy.

I mean really...it's awesome, I can't lie. I think most people would feel a sense of pride if he "shopped" in a branch of someone else's workplace. So my first reaction was "Awww, Michael Jackson loves Publix, awwww" but in light of current events at my store involving coupons (yeah, COUPONS, for Christ's sake) and a lot of complaining customers who are dangerously close to having all our managers reassigned to new stores, I'm gonna go ahead and chalk this up to the company I work for bending over and taking it up the ass, like a good little felon.

In other news, today is officially mine and Mike's two year anniversary and I'm moving in with him in three days and I kind of want to throw up a little, or smoke a whole lotta reefer. And my spell check has apparently stopped picking up on my mistakes, so who knows how many fuck-ups I have made that won't be caught until after I post this.

Here's the one big thing I'm currently stressing out over when it comes to living with Mike: TOOTHPASTE. He's already said he'll just use my brand and we'll split the cost when we shop, but it's one of those little things that has me realizing that I'm about to live with a smelly boy who farts and plays way too many video games and I'm supposed to be in love with him and accepting all these things so we can share a living space and God only knows what else we'll end up sharing since we'll be living together. Like a fucking married couple. Playing house, as my mother puts it. But she also said "This is what you wanted, remember?" when I said I was feeling anxious so she's not really a credible source.

Blow jobs can only happen on HIS birthday, because we have to hold the power somehow. And being on top just gets exhausting after a while.

2009-07-10T22:18:00.003-04:00

The other day was my sister's birthday. I texted her to say Happy Birthday and tell her she was old because she turned 37 so I reminded her that when I'm 26, she'll be 40, and she got all defensive and "FUCK YOU" over that, even though she promised me she was laughing, but I didn't believe her.

Anyway, I asked her how she was celebrating. She told me that her husband hadn't brought anything up by way of going out so she figured they wouldn't do anything. I was like "Fuck that, you need to go celebrate" and she was like "I don't really mind." So then I came up with this little gem that I was rather proud of because it made us both laugh, although her laugh was really just her saying "You're funny!", but I caught her drift anyway.

I go "If it was me I'd be saying 'Whose dick do I have to suck a daquari around here?!' and Mike would say 'Mine!' and then I'd be pissed because why should I have to suck dick on my birthday?"

I thought I was making an excellent point because I don't see why anyone should have to go about giving someone else totally amazing oral pleasure when it's not that person's birthday. When it's my birthday, I expect to be pampered and doted upon and I would prefer if my coochie were given vigorous physical attention.

Kind of like how Catherine Zeta-Jones says Zorro was vigorous with her at the end of this scene right here:

Oh yeah...just like that. Except I couldn't find a clip with the ending where her dad walks in and she says "He was very vigorous, father" so that sucks. But it's still hot, so you can thank me later.

And yes, I know I misspelled daiquiri, because I was driving at the time even though my sister hates that and I figured I could get my point across better by misspelling daiquiri than margarita, so there we are.

Give me liberty or give me death. If liberty was like work and death was like alcohol, I'd totally choose death anyday.

2009-07-09T13:45:00.006-04:00

I was sick on the 4th of July and I had to work at 6:45 in the morning until 3:30, and I had to start off on the express lane. There are some people who don't mind the express lane, but I am not one of them. I would much rather do fewer huge orders than a million little ones. Plus I always seem to get the crazies on express. Like the ones who are really stupid and can't use the pin pad, or who ignore me completely because it's express and they're only buying tampons, so why respond when I ask how you are today? I guess the answer would be "crampy, so leave me the fuck alone."

And then there's this little gem that happened on my line, and I feel that it's a testament to why I hate the express lane so much. Let me preface this story by saying that whenever someone comes through with more than 10 items or writes a check, although it pisses me off a whole hell of a lot, I never say anything. I just make faces and roll my eyes at any passing cashiers who would feel my pain. The reason I don't say anything is because there is a history of even very polite cashiers saying "Ma'am, I'm sorry but this is the express lane" getting complaints on them by customers who feel they should have the right to check out anywhere, even if their order is $200 and they're holding up the bitches with tampons behind them.

Now, in my story there is a man and a woman. I don't remember much of what the man said because the woman's voice overshadowed his big time. What I do remember is that since it was a holiday, a lot of people weren't paying attention and I was getting way too many people with more than 10 items through my line. I noticed this particular woman and, as normal, I wasn't going to say anything, but the guy behind her in line decided to.

Here's how it started:

Man: You do know this is an express lane, right?

Woman: What?

Man: You know this is an express lane, right?

Woman: No, I didn't notice that.

I didn't hear what the man said because I had my back to them. The woman I was still helping was writing a check (once again, people don't read the sign above my register anymore) and someone had shown up to help me bag. So I was smiling at the bagger because usually, whenever a customer tells another customer that this is the express lane, all hell breaks loose. This is called foreshadowing.

So the man says something I didn't hear which caused this to happen:

Woman: You can kiss my fucking ass! I was here first! You should have gotten here before me if you're in such a hurry! I did not see the sign, okay?!

Man: You can kiss MY fucking ass! You only have one volume. You need to stop screaming, you're embarrassing yourself.

Woman: I am not embarrassed! I am happy and blessed! I am BLESSED to be here today!

The man made random comments here and there to almost everything she said, because this did go on for a good five or ten minutes. While I was still helping the check writing bitch, I turn around and see the woman slap her ass and say "You see this? You can kiss it!" Then he tells her something about her "old ass" and she starts calling him Sonny. After that she starts talking about how she knows karate and she'll do it on him in the parking lot and he's a "sick guy" for some reason. I'm guessing it's because he called her ass old.

To clarify, at first, I thought the man was in his twenties. Out of my periphs, that's what it looked like, and the woman was in her forties or fifties. I didn't look at the man until the woman left, and I come to see he's got to be in his forties, too. He was buying beer and I definitely didn't need to card him. So I'm a little surprised that he's starting a fight with a woman not much older than him and she's calling him Sonny.

Finally it's her turn to be rung up, and she tells the man she didn't have much more than 10 items anyway, and then she starts to apologize. She apologizes to me first, and what can I say but "That's okay"? I really can't say anything else. Then she starts saying, "Lord, forgive me" and hiding her face in her hands like she's ashamed. My store manager appeared out of nowhere, completely unaware of the screaming match that just went on, even though I'd been trying to find him during the whole ordeal, and when the woman saw him she apologized for causing a scene in his store. He got this confused look on his face and said, "Oh, that's fine, ma'am" and gave me a look that said "What the hell happened?"

So the screaming stopped and I thought they were done. The woman took forever to get her money together and while she's digging in her purse I hear the man say to another customer, "Well, this is supposed to be an express lane..." and I almost couldn't believe he was still saying shit. Almost.

As the woman is leaving, my store manager came back and was offering her help outside. She turns around and starts again:

Woman: I didn't see that it was an express lane, it was an honest mistake. You go home and drink your beers you sick guy.

Man: Believe me, I'm gonna need a beer after this.

Woman: You're a sick guy!

I didn't say a word to the man and he didn't talk to me, either, while I was ringing him up. He just kept sighing and shaking his head. A few customers later, another guy came through and asked me what the ruckus was earlier. I told him a man had called a woman out on having too many items through my line and they started cussing and yelling at each other. So the guy goes, "Well, all I can say is good for him" and walks off.

The thing is, though, that I don't think either of them deserves a pat on the back. Normally, I'd be siding with the man because I was losing any shreds of patience I had left that day with people who brought their giant "I'm feeding my family of 20" orders to my line. But as far as I could tell, both of these people were showing their asses big time, and neither of them knew when to SHUT THE FUCK UP so not only did half the store have to hear about it, but when my store manager came back in from helping the woman out he decides to be funny and says, "Good job, Samantha. Good job."

I told him I was the model of maturity and decorum and didn't say a word. Then word traveled through the store and by the time I left, everyone was like "So what's this I hear about a brawl in your line today?"

And just when you think that's the end, oh no honey, it's not. Sometime after I came back from break, I notice that the next person in my line has vanished to go get something they forgot, which happens pretty frequently. I start scanning his shit and then I see him walking back with a bag of ice, slow as can be, taking his sweet ass time. So under my breath I say "Take your fucking time, sir" and when he gets back to the register, he decides he's Dane Cook all of a sudden and pretends to throw his bag of ice at me. I was sick and snotty as a motherfucker that day, and miserable to be working on a holiday, so this guy pissed me off. I just stared at him while he laughed and said "I don't think she thought that was funny" to my bagger. I just nodded by way of agreeing with him and gave him his total. Because I can't actually say "No sir, I didn't think it was funny. I'm sick and if I have to I will cover one nostril and shoot snot at you from way over here to make my point. ASSHOLE."

For those who actually read my twitter, I had another asshole customer who I actually did tell off the next day because he was being the kind of rude that's uncalled for. I want to elaborate on this one while I'm on the topic of people who ruin my life.

What happened was that this woman came through and she said she was shopping for her mother who was sick. Her mother had already signed the check and she wanted to know if she could use her license to run it because our store requires us to put the license number in every time you write a check. They had the same last name and I recognized the check as being from a customer who I'd rung up before, so I was cool with doing it, but she wanted me to check with a manager to make sure it was okay. My CSM was outside so I had to wait a minute for her to get back in and once she did, she approved it, so I started running the check. While in the middle of doing that, the next guy in line goes "Is this line open or does my back hurt for no reason?"

My first instinct was to look at him and see if he was kidding. He totally wasn't. Then I glance down my line and see I have a lot of people, and my light is clearly on, so he knows I'm open. He's just being an asshole. So I ignore him while he continues to say "I always pick the longest line." I finish the other woman's order and send her on her way. Now, as luck would have it, I was about to go on break. My relief was there waiting for me to be done with the check. So once the woman is on her way, the man starts to get into "It's my turn now" mode and I took my opportunity to make like a tree and get the fuck out of there.

So I signed off my till and said "Sorry, I'm going on break, but she'll be right with you" and he gets all pissed and goes "Shit! I always get effed when I come to the grocery store!" And in an act of defiance I'll probably never pull off again, I said "Well that's not my problem, sir. You have a great day!" and walked off. Then, of course, I hid in the back office until he was gone just in case he was the type to call up a manager. Once he was gone, I went out and asked the girl who relieved me if he said anything to her and apparently when she first signed on he said "You don't have to go to the bathroom or anything, do you?" and she gave him a straight pissed-off face and said "Excuse me?" and he shut up after that.

It gets better, though, because when I came back from break an hour later I see the same guy walking around on his cell phone with one of our phone books in his hand. A little while later there's a tow truck in the parking lot, but I didn't make the connection until my friend Nicole, who was coordinating and had to put me on express, came up to me and told me the guy had to have his car towed and she thought that would make me feel better, considering she had to stick me on express for the last part of my shift.

Now, after all this extended bullshit about my shitty holiday, I leave readers with the moral of the stories: Karma is a bitch, and so am I. And now it's cupcake time!

But if Edward Cullen was real, I'd be too busy trying to get him away from Bella. Or maybe I'd get Jasper. They're both hot.

2009-06-28T17:42:00.008-04:00

Today at work was one of those days where a sharp stick in the eye is almost better than being around a bunch of people. And not only people, but strangers, and if I learned anything else on the day when we did crossing the road in kindergarten, it was that you shouldn't talk to strangers.

In fact, I find that philosophy extremely interesting right about now. I never thought about it before typing this, but as children, we are indeed taught to avoid strangers because they do NOT have the best candy so much as they have the best venereal diseases. And the most creative ways of transmitting them. Like in your mouth.

So when we all grow up and get our big kid jobs and wear our big kid panties, we're almost always expected to interact with strangers. I was trying to be funny when texting my sister on my break today and I was all like "I hate my job and strangers are NASTY" and she goes "I know but you don't need to get fired." She only said that cause I was very close to yelling at someone and apparently I need to cherish my job because of something the economy did.

The economy is like a cold sore that fucks your night up. Just when you think you're going to the club to get some hot vagina-on-dick action (dick-in-vagina action?), the economy pops up like a cold sore. No chick is gonna wanna fuck your ass with a cold sore reciting the Pledge of Allegiance on your upper lip. And I say this like I'm a man who digs chicks. Maybe I should alter this a bit.

For ladies, the economy may be more like WATCHING YOUR CAT GET STUCK TO THE RUG WHILE SHE TRIES TO LICK HER ASS! Holy shit, she's trying to get to her ass but her claws are getting stuck in the rug, and the rug is not attached to the floor, so she's moving around on it like a magic carpet. HA!

Anyway, as I was saying, the economy for ladies is like that slut who flirts with your man and gets all her drinks paid for because she's a slut and she can manage to fit into a size 2 dress and her fake titties are all up like a shelf and if you wanted to, I bet you could rest your bowl of mixed nuts up there. Just for a minute, while you run to the bathroom to pee and fix your lipstick. And then when you come back, your man is eating YOUR mixed nuts off that slut's boobs and then it's ON LIKE DONKEY KONG because really, who the fuck said he could eat your nuts? So you kick him in his nuts and the slut has officially ruined your night.

I've just realized that maybe I can't blame the economy on the fact that I need a job to get by. I should blame living and breathing for that. *sigh* Things would be so much easier if I didn't have to eat human food or live in a house or require A/C in 100 degree weather. Too bad Edward Cullen isn't real...

If compromise is the cornerstone of a relationship, I may be in a lot of freakin' trouble.

2009-06-27T23:06:00.004-04:00

So I was reading a friend's blog which I just discovered today and I was feeling jealous of how smart she is and shit when I came across an entry on "Couple Things," which to her is the stuff that couples do together. And she went on to describe what she and her boyfriend have as their Couple Things. This got me thinking.

Mike and I don't really have Couple Things. When we hang out, we usually get it on after we've sat on the couch and watched TV for a few hours. We don't do it on the couch, though, because there are too many opportunities for roommates to drift past and take notice. The point here is that watching TV and sex is about all we do, except for the occasional time he'll run errands with me, which usually ends up with me yelling at the asshole who pulled out in front of me or getting mad at Mike for something dumbass he said about my driving. Which is perfectly FINE, even when I am under stress.

There's the stuff I like to do and there's the stuff he likes to do. My stuff involves reading, writing, listening to Queen (amongst other things), and playing the occasional video game. His stuff is pretty much all about video games and hanging out with his friends while he plays. After reading my friend's blog post about her Couple Things, I feel a sudden sadness over my lack of Couple Things.

Mike hasn't even read my blog yet, and it's a pretty big deal to me. Right now it's my only writing outlet that other people can see because I keep my journal under lock and key. But I don't feel like I can be too annoyed with that because he plays in Brawl tourneys and I don't have very much interest in those, either.

It seems like we're at an impasse. We're about to move in together, where we'll be forced to be around each other all the damn time, and we don't have Couple Things or an interest in each other's activities. I mean, he supports my writing because he knows it's important to me, and I try to be supportive of his gaming, even though I don't always get it. Seems like the best answer here is compromise, but since I've been living away from my parents for the last five years, I kind of suck at not having things go my way.

It's bitter, it's my heart, and I'll always be mean.

2009-06-26T11:21:00.006-04:00

The thing about me is that I am not nice. I'm cynical and pessimistic and I have a shitty general view on life. And it's not that I don't ever have fun because I do have good friends and things I enjoy doing, like reading and writing and listening to music and such. I may have a dead-end job I hate with managers who treat me like shit, but one day that'll change.

But right now, I am stuck cashiering for up-tight middle-aged people with their green bags who want all the cold stuff kept together and you know what makes me mad about this? Like, what really almost makes me wanna cry?

I hate these people SO MUCH and before I got suspend from my CSS responsibilities, I was hardly ever nice to people. I would say the bare minimum to get by and not smile and they would somehow remain unoffended and not seem to care, which always surprised me because as I've said before, my store is a hotbed for customer ass kissing.

Now that I'm a cashier, I am going out of my way to be nice because I figure if I'm stuck doing this for three months, I might as well make the best of it, otherwise I may very well so batshit crazy. So I've been nice to customers, smiling, asking how they are, telling them to have a great day.

But here is what I don't get: customers who are rude to me when I am nothing but nice to them. And I don't just mean that they're rude because something rang up the wrong price or I was rude to them first. I'm talking a guy who gave me a one hundred dollar bill and I held it up to the light to make sure it was real (I didn't have a counterfeit pen near me) and he says "You don't even know what you're looking for." To me, that's incredibly rude, because I am only doing my job. My managers expect me and everyone else to check big bills for authenticity, so that's what I was doing, and this asshole tells me I don't even know what I'm looking for? Um, yes I do. The only reason I looked twice was because it didn't look right the first time. Plus it's just rude to pay for a $3 purchase with a one hundred dollar bill ANYWAY.

I don't understand shit like that, and I don't understand when I get dirty looks or I get completely ignored by people who aren't even on their phones. I ignore people who are on their phones and most of the time, they don't even notice, they're so busy ignoring me right back. I don't mind that at all, really. What I do mind is when I go out of my way to be nice, which is required by my job, and all I get is bullshit back. Not my fault you're having a shitty day, kids.

And if I just had a fight with my boyfriend and I have to go to work and pretend that I'm having a great day when I was crying right before I clocked in, then the customers damn well better be nice to me otherwise I might just decide that everyone must be on their bluetooth and then I'll get a million complaints.

Maybe someone else can explain this to me. Why is it that when I'm at the customer service desk and I'm mostly rude, I get very few customers who are rude back, but when I'm cashiering and I'm nice and doing everything I'm supposed to, I get dirty looks and snide comments?

So this is what it feels like to have two days off in a week...

2009-06-24T14:21:00.004-04:00

Things I learned about tubing while tubing:

1. Growing up like I did (also known as: always living by a lake of some sort) means that tubing to ME involves a boat pulling my hefty ass around, but to my friends and boyfriend, it means rolling down a one mile an hour river full of weeds (not to be confused with seaweed, for we were not in the ocean, as many small children assumed we were) and fallen trees because it was ecologically sound and they don't fuck with shit in that river cause they want it exactly how nature intended it to be.

2. There aren't very many fat older women that go to rivers. They must all go to beaches. Instead, what I found at the river was women with an overabundance of titties and no asses, to the point where I would refer to them as having negative ass. They looked ready to tip over. Especially the one lady in the yellow bikini. Once again, not so much fat ladies in unflattering bathing suits at the river as saggy tittied women with no ass at the river.

3. The bottom of the river is a BITCH and it will cut you like a gangster whose turf you have trespassed upon one too many times.

4. A couple's tube, while an adorable idea in theory and totally romantic in terms of floating down a nice river RIGHTNEXTTOEACHOTHER, is a bad idea in practice because it will make maneuvering difficult and it will send the occupants into the weeds and trees at just about every turn. And if someone else were to hold onto our tube to keep us with the group, we would pull them into the weeds, too. Romance!

5. Bad idea to go tubing when you have to work that day, since it made me (who had to work at 2:30) and one of the other guys (who had to work at 2:00) both late for work by over an hour. The thing about the river is that you can't get off the fucking thing except for two separate spots, the first being like 2 hours after you get on and the second being another hour after that. And after 2 hours of paddling to get out of the shrubbery and weeds and trees and shit, the river loses a lot of ambiance.

In other news, I got my hair cut, but it looks like a hot mess right now due to all the mousse and the fact that I brushed it yesterday like a retard so it frizzed like hell all over the place. The back is short enough that all day yesterday at work I heard "Oh, you have a tattoo?" Cause now it's completely visible, thank to the severe lack of hair over the middle of my neck.

Treat my vagina like an operating room: sterile, but with less people all up in it.

2009-06-19T21:44:00.009-04:00

Here is what I think about when cashiering into eternity while my feet are throbbing and my left knee keeps giving away beneath me because I'm treated very much like veal when I work since I'm not supposed to leave my area without permission (they just want me to stay tender so they can sell me for high prices):

To the men who have badly manicured fingernails: do you have a woman at home who lets you finger her with that nasty shit? I wonder about these things because really, the first thing I think when a man hands me his money to pay for his beer and ribeyes (Happy Father's Day asshole who can afford such things, I'll be over here eating my BOGO Ben & Jerry's to drown my sorrows) and he has broken/dirty nails is WHAT WOMAN WOULD LET YOU FINGERBANG HER PRECIOUS COOCHIE?!

Coochies are SACRED, people! Broken nails can puncture and dirt can come swimming out like so many ladies in matching bathing suits and caps. I hate even thinking about it because I can't imagine such things near my va-jay-jay. It's bad enough babies are meant to come out of there, demanding oxygen and boobie milk from minute one, but why should the pleasurable process of baby-making (or in my case, um...fuck babies) be made worse by a man who doesn't know how to work both parts of his nail clippers?

I don't know about many other ladies out there, but I do know about Michelle, and as I type, we are discussing this. She works at a gas station and her opinion is that when she sees men with these types of nails, she never wants them to make hand-to-hand contact. Perfectly understandable I think, considering what they probably did to get their nails in such a condition. I don't mind if they touch my hand. I hardly even think about it, actually, because my mind is far too occupied with what they might do with those nails later on, and the poor woman who'll need a hose up her vag to clean it properly afterwards.

Also, I had this guy come through my line to buy two things a few days ago: giant bottle of Publix brand lube and magnum condoms. THAT'S ALL. I avoided eye contact with him and his items, in case he was trying to brag, because I do not condone that kind of bragadociousness. Instead of feeling impressed that he needs magnum condoms for his giant wang and a huge bottle of lube cause he's just soooooo big that he might not fit, I just wanna rub it in his face that I'm on the pill and I don't require condoms.

Oh, but sir, that's not an invitation. Because I've suddenly become allergic to latex. And grocery store brand lube. And overly large penises. And sex in general.

A child actually taught me a lesson, which makes me feel like I should rethink my entire outlook on life.

2009-06-17T18:16:00.003-04:00

Want to hear the saddest thing ever? So the other day, this girl and her mom come through my line. The mom stands there, reading a magazine, ignoring her child while the child unloads the cart. And we're talking bleach and water and heavy things, and the girl is like 9 or 10 years old. First thought: You's a lazy ho. I know that in a way, having kids is like having a built-in slave cause they should be made to pull their weight. After all, if I ever DO give birth to a child, it won't be so the kid can be a lazy ass waste of my loins and treat me like shit. Raising a kid means raising them to be responsible, but that point aside, I also don't think that having a kid means the parents should automatically become horribly lazy themselves. I feel that there's a median and a happy place to be found here.

Any-dang-way, so while I'm ringing up this woman's gigantic order, the girl goes to the scale. Guess what she says? "Mommy, I'm going to weigh myself to see how fat I've gotten."

From a girl not even old enough to wear a big girl bra, I hear this shit. The mom doesn't say a word, she just stands there cause she's finally put down her very important magazine and is waiting for me to be done. When the girl comes back, she goes "Mommy, I'm not going to tell you how much I gained cause then you'll want to put all the junk food back."

The only good thing about any of this was that the mom didn't respond in a way that agreed her daughter was fat, but she also didn't tell her anything to make her feel better about herself. And that just made me sad.

I went through all of elementary school getting made fun of for being fat and I feel like this girl could use come words of encouragement. I know I could have used some, because to this day I call myself fat, even though Mike says I'm not and Michelle says I look good for my size cause I'm proportional. But a part of me really felt bad for this girl, and it made the part of me that calls myself fat want to run for the hills. Forever.

I don't have a baby, everybody drink!!

2009-06-14T23:30:00.003-04:00

Also, I don't go to church, but whatever you do, don't tell the African guys from grocery about that. Otherwise I might get bombarded by questions whose answers are really no one's business but my own and then I'll have to defend my choices to men who have accents I can't even fucking understand.

Our old grocery team leader, whose name was Kenel, was from somewhere with a heavy accent. I want to say Africa, but I could be completely wrong. Maybe Haiti. So to avoid sounding completely ignorant, I'll just say that his accent was so bad he had to repeat things two or three times and I would still not understand him. Therefore I avoided paging him whenever possible.

He's not at our store anymore, but when he was, he caught me saying "God damn it" one day and crawled all over my ass like hemorrhoids about it, asking me if I go to church and when I said no he wanted to know why. He wanted to know if I believed in God and all this shit and even though I don't mind telling people that no, I don't go to church and no, I don't particularly believe in God, it was really none of his business. And it would have been fine and dandy if he didn't continue to ask me about it until he left the store. Cornering me in the break room while I'm trying to eat my sub or frozen dinner before my half hour is up, asking me yet again why I don't believe in God. Then telling me I should. Or at least I think he told me I should. Once again, his accent was like listening to a bunch of squawking birds that want my french fries real bad so they circle me on my park bench.

There's this other guy from grocery, Erik, who is also African/Haitian/something with the same horrible accent and I don't really like him. He's even harder to understand than Kenel was. Plus he used to date this girl in CS and he was kind of a dick to her, and he always asks me nosey questions even though we are not and have never been friends. I don't like when people who don't know me get on my sac, so I ignore him or tell him I can't understand him. Then he always tries asking me whatever question AGAIN and I walk away cause I lose interest and he's too ugly to look at for too long anyway.

Just today, I go on break to enjoy my delicious roast beef sandwich that I brought from home and he's in the break room, fucking up my restful space. He starts asking me shit right away. He saw me shopping the other night, so he wants to know what I cooked. He wants to know what I brought. He decided to comment on the 75 cent soda I bought and how much money I waste buying one of those five days a week when I work. He figured he ought to ask me when I graduate, and I told him I graduated in December. He wanted to know what my degree was in and if I'm looking for another job. Oh, and before all that shit, he starts talking about kids. I tell him I hate kids, don't want kids, can't stand kids. He does that fucking irritating thing people with kids do (cause he has one daughter, God help her if she speaks perfect English and can't communicate with her dad) and told me I have time to change my mind, I can always have kids if I want them, blah blah BLAH. Even though I am telling him point black that I DO NOT WANT KIDS AND I DO NOT LIKE THEM.

Oh, but don't worry. He continued to reassure me that there was time. Plenty of time. But then he starts telling me how his daughter demands so much of his time, to which I said, "Yes, it is not a choice to make lightly." Then in my head I said "GET OFF MY SAC" but noooooo...then comes the school shit, and then he ends the conversation with "Are you a Christian?"

Excuse the fuck out of me Pope John Erik the Annoying, but since when is it his damn business? Of course, the anger about it not being his business didn't hit me til later, so I did what I always do. I shut down the serious part of my tone and got all light sounding. I like to do this when people attack me because it lets them know I don't give a fuuuuuuuuuck what they think and it makes them mad. Double whammy, ma'am.

It was something like this:

Erik: Are you a Christian?

Me: Nope! *continues eating my AMAZING sandwich*

Erik: Do you go to church?

Me: Nope! *adds some Doritoes to the mix*

Erik: Do you not believe in God?

Me: Not really! *ooooh, oatmeal creme pie!*

Erik: I only ask because if you did believe in God, you could pray for a better job and he would give you guidance. That's why I ask.

Me: *seriously guys, I don't think you understand how fucking delectable my sandwich was. I am a culinary master*

Here is what I wonder...what is it with the grocery guys from other countries who get all in my shit and want to know why I don't want kids or go to church? It seems a strange coincidence that no one else I work with has ever asked me. Everyone on the front knows I hate kids because all I have to hear is a whine across the store and I go into lock down mode. But no one discusses church. I think only Big Mama goes to church anyway. Home girl will leave work to go to church, then come back. She's that devoted. And on occasion, she wears a skirt, and that just makes me laugh.

Hmmmm...maybe something can be said for church, after all.

List of shit I just said on Michelle's Twitter by accident cause I didn't notice she hadn't logged out yet:

2009-06-12T23:07:00.008-04:00

It went in this order:

On FB taking a quiz I'm pretty sure I took before. Also went shopping after work and scored a lot of great BOGO's. I am way too excited.

Oh hell, I don't know which musical I relate to most. None of them are even close to my real situation, anyway.

Don't think they have a musical for a college grad working a dead-end job with a cunty manager, a couple good friends, and a sappy BF.

Maybe I could write the musical myself! And use the music from Queen's Greatest Hits, like whoever made Mamma Mia did. But it's my idea!

Nobody better steal it...I know what the internet is capable of. All you miscreants and such out there, trolling and whatnot. I know you.

Hmmm...OH SHIT! I'm on Michelle's Twitter! FUCK!

So yeah kids, that just happened. And I'm only a little embarrassed because in all likelihood, no one but the few peeps who read this will notice or care. But I thought it was funny and worth mentioning, so there it is.

In other exciting news, I had the aforementioned talk with my manager today instead of Sunday. I'm talking as soon as I had my money and was emptying my change into the till, he comes to me and asks if I have a minute. In a nutshell, he apologized to me about a bazillion times for how badly the situation was handled (or rather, how the Captain chose not to handle it at all) and asked me exactly what happened, so I told him. I told him how I felt lied to and how angry it made me that no one ever bothered to talk to me and all that shit, and I got tons more apologies as well as that mythical counseling statement that I was beginning to think never existed.

I wrote my comments on it and told him that my biggest problem was how if my mistake was such a big damn deal, then why did no one let me know? Why did over three weeks go by before someone finally sat down with me? And he tells me that while he was on vacay last week, the Big Mama and the Captain were supposed to sit me down and talk to me. HUGE SHOCK that it never happened. I'm talking about the two most non-committal women I've ever met, here. If the Captain is good at not talking to anyone about important things, then Big Mama is the captain of badgering everyone about unimportant things. Combine the two and you have a nuclear explosion, immediately followed by several questions regarding why there's so much clutter in customer service, but no indication that an arrest might be made because of my heinous mistake.

I left the room feeling rather elated, though, because not only did he tell me he'd be having a talk with the Captain to make sure nothing ever got handled this way again and that he could see he was wrong to trust her to handle it while he was gone, (ha-HA!) but he also said he'd heard about what the devil child Kyle asked me about my vest. He said it was completely inappropriate and he would be having a word with him about it.

I felt even better when he said, "Kyle sure does talk a lot. He never seems to know when to stop talking. When I bag for him, I kind of wanna yell at him to shut up."

Ahhh, there is a little bit of justice left in this world. But I'm still trying to leave the store. The Captain is not on maternity leave yet and I'm sure her "hormones" will kick in and shoot me on my way out of the store one of these days.

Accidentally...of course.

If you don't fill out your MST, then the terrorists win!

2009-06-12T15:17:00.003-04:00

So Sunday is officially "Go explain to the store manager why his CSM is a cunty whore" day and I'm just a little nervous about this endeavor. On the one hand, I am dreadfully excited to be knocking the Captain down a few notches, and perhaps away from that big steering wheel that can be found on pirate ships (any good captain would have one, right? But she's a shitty captain, so who knows), but on the other hand, I know I'm about to fight an uphill and possibly losing battle.

Everything I've heard about the Captain tells me that even though she is a miserable person and a horrible manager, she has the ability to make herself look good at just the right times by kissing ass. So even if I go in with a loaded gun full of things guaranteed to make her look bad, also known as the truth, then she can still probably find a way to spin her own version of the truth into something entirely different later. And most people wouldn't want to call their manager a liar, or point out that what they're saying has nothing to do with the situation.

Hmmmm...except maybe me. Which is why I really need to find a new job or transfer to another store because after this shit storm hits, I don't think I'll be able to stay nice and comfy anymore. And I don't want to wait for the Captain to go on maternity leave to get some peace.

But there's always plan B: good ole pipe bomb in the uterus. Still a viable option. I just need to meet the people who invented Potter Puppet Pals, or some good terrorists. HEY! Since I didn't fill out that MST, maybe I'm in automatic cahoots with the terrorists! They invented that form so they could track money and see if it's being used to fund terrorist activities. Maybe not filling out the form means I get my own terrorists included!

Oh God, I can only hope...

I want to punch her in her baby.

2009-06-10T11:09:00.004-04:00

I passed a beverage check yesterday and the Captain actually high-fived me. Did the bitch not get the memo about how when you demote people, they aren't your friend? Did she not notice that I was never her friend to begin with?

It's on like Donkey Kong. Til the break of dawn. Singin' my song, all day long, at Hooooooooooogwaaaaarts.

Watch this video if you don't know what I mean:

Pipe bomb right in her uterus.

Thing I hate number elevendy-billion

2009-06-08T17:54:00.003-04:00

Now that I am stuck on the cashiering circuit from hell until Sep-fucking-tember, I have seen both the good and bad sides.

The good side includes all of the following:

Not having to worry about big important things like Lotto, Western Unions, money orders (cause we all know how THAT turned out), cashing checks, or giving refunds. Which translates into "For three months, I won't have to worry about fucking any of these up. Because I have been barred from doing them. But by all means, let the little cashier boy get trained and fuck up Lotto every night and then go around asking perfectly nice and respectable people for their vests. When his anus is bleeding, no one will know it was my doing. He will be too paralyzed from fear to name names. Or walk."
No more front end coordinating shifts. If there is one thing I hate more than my manager it's coordinating shifts. Usually because it combines these two things I hate most and also adds the responsibility of making sure the entire check-out area runs smoothly. All while the Captain breathes down my neck and Big Mama tells me the lot looks awful and can someone get some carts please? Kthnxbye.
I no longer have to handle thousands of dollars at a time. My till might occasionally have over $1000 in it on a busy day, but that's why God invented pick-ups, and really, since I'm not going to be in any position to perform pick-ups until September, can I really be held responsible for how much money is in my till? (Probably, but hey, if they strip me of my job title, then my superior attitude is going to stay and I will pretend I know better than they do.)
Even though I doubt it, I'll probably get to fly under the radar a bit. Managers pay more attention to customer service bitches because they are supposed to be setting the example. I am back to being but a lowly cashier, and as a rule at my store, most cashiers and baggers get away with text message murder because management looks right past them and finds things the CSS are doing wrong. Nevermind that we have a bagger stealing time while texting in the back of the parking lot! There's a CSS talking to another CSS while they have no customers! Something must be done about this! What I'm trying to say is that I feel rather cast aside, so if that was their intention in demoting me, maybe I'll get lucky and get in less trouble as a cashier than I did before.

Now for the bad thing about being a cashier:

*ahem* PEOPLE WHO TELL ME WHAT'S ON SALE AS THEY PLACE THEIR ITEMS ON THE BELT. "Ok, this ice cream right here should be buy one get one. These dinners should be buy one get one. These are two for $5, these are 10 for $10, blah blah BLAH." I know, bitch. I've read the ad and I've scanned about a hundred of these items today. What's even better is this happened once yesterday, with just one woman, but she was one of those priceless people. Not only did she tell me what was on sale as she unloaded her cart, but once she got to the card swiper, she stared right at it and asked me what button to push. Out car swipers are touch screen and they have buttons. To pay with a credit card, you sign the screen instead of signing a paper. She was so confused about whether to touch "DEBIT" on the screen or press the button next to it. BOTH OPTIONS WORK, MA'AM. Then she was picky about how she wanted her shit bagged. Of course. And I thought I was doing a fine job on my own until she'd reach over and take something I just bagged out and put it elsewhere. I didn't have a bagger at the time so she was taking it upon herself.

And now I have a bit more journal writing to do before I go to my friend's house and get drunk and complain about Publix. T-minus 39 days before I move out of this place and in with Michelle and Mike. It's only two buildings over from where we are now, but it will feel like two continents as long as I can get away from that stupid dog. Or I'll feed it chocolate before I move out. Either way.

Corporate Kiss-Butt: You're doing it wrong

2009-06-07T16:22:00.003-04:00

I finally fixed my time stamps and I have to leave for work in less than an hour, but while I have time, allow me to give a quick update on the current state of my sad life:

My life bites the weenie with relish because Captain Cunty Whore has finally found a way to fuck with me that everyone will see. The abbreviated version is that while working in the front office one day close to 3 weeks ago, I forgot to fill out a Very Important Form called an MST, which is required by law, due to the Patriot Act, when we have a customer who does money services for $3000 or more. I sold over $4000 in money orders without doing this form cause I just plum forgot.

I know this form is important, but 2 weeks went by without anyone in the managerial field telling me what was going on behind the scenes. I had to question the assistant to Captain Cunty Whore about why I wasn't on the office schedule for the current work week to find out that I was being punished for not filling out the form. I also found out that they got to invent my punishment since apparently I'm a ground breaker and I'm the only one to ever not fill this form out since it's invention after 9/11. I've started such a trend that they didn't even have a punishment on the books for this atrocity, so the Captain got to decide what would happen to me. She thought suspending me for a week without pay would be too mean so instead I get three months suspension from the office.

Not only does that completely suck because I'm only on day two of this demotion and already my knees are killing me from standing in one place for hours and I don't have the insurance to go get a brace or something, but I haven't been officially spoken to about this yet. The Captain was "supposed to talk to me about it" but has yet to do it. I wasn't supposed to question the assistant but I happened to find out on my own that I wasn't being put on the office schedule, and so the assistant (her name's Tameka, or as I like to call her, Mini Mama) had to tell me the whole story on her own.

So here I am, stuck with all cashiering shifts, having been told pretty much everything by Mini Mama, but I'm still lacking in a few other things. I still haven't received my counseling statement, which is the written proof of what I did that goes on my record (so until that form has my signature on it, it's kind of like my mistake doesn't exist), and I still haven't been spoken to by the Captain, or Lil Mama, as I also like to call her. I call our assistant store manager Big Mama. Can you see a trend of shitty management style going on here? I like to nickname accordingly. I also call them the Trifecta of Bitchiness.

I have plans going on in my head. Big plans. I don't care if it takes days and weeks for my to fully form my plan, my store manager is going to have a nice sit-down chat with me and I'm going to tell him exactly what I think of Lil Mama not telling me that for 2 weeks, a lot worse could have happened to me than a suspension from the office. She could have given my a pay cut, a permanent demotion to cashier (and then I'd have to go through the process of becoming customer service staff all over again), or she could have fired me. No one bothered to tell me how much trouble the store was in. No one told me, so I had no idea. And I'm fucking pissed about it.

I realize all this is depressing as shit, but it's almost all that's been on my mind for days. But get this, to add insult to injury, there's this little asshole cashier named Kyle who has been jonesing to get in the front office for like 2 years now, and he finally started training last week. He's one of those know-it-all guys who always thought he'd be God's gift to customer service. He also always said that the only thing stopping him from getting promoted was that he wasn't 18 yet. Well, mother fucker's been 18 for almost a year and they just started training him. At the same time I get demoted. Not only is this cruel irony, but Kyle decided to be a little bitch the other day when he was bagging for me.

Little cock smoker actually has the nerve to ask me if I'd mind letting him borrow my vest while I'm demoted. I don't know if I mentioned this last time I talked about my vest, but people on customer service staff get dark green vests so you can tell who they are. When I told Kyle yes, I do mind if he borrows it, and he can get his own vest when he gets promoted, he goes, "Oh, I already AM promoted." With a smug smile and a knowing tone. He doesn't seem to realize that getting two days of training doesn't make you promoted. You have to know everything before they promote you, and that took me over a year.

So now I get to go pack my lunch and go to work close cashiering again. I get a day off tomorrow, and I'm going to spend it looking for bed frames with the boyfriend and getting drunk with a friend after she gets off work.

I swear to God, though...if that little fucker has any other favors to ask, he's going to get my nametag up his ass.

I'm trying not to squee over the New Moon trailer, so I give you all this gibberish instead.

2009-06-01T00:02:00.000-04:00

Much as I know I'm going to sound like I'm copying the Bloggess here, I think something needs to be done about my writing. I've made a goal for myself that starting June 1st (which is technically now, even though my time stamps are still fucked in a sideways fashion) I would write in my journal every day, because I tend to neglect it really badly and then all my drama piles up like minorities in a pick-up truck (notice I didn't actually SAY "Mexicans" because that would be mean). And then I need to start writing other things, like stories and such, if I actually want to be published one day.

But here's the problem. Much like Sean, Mr. Lance Bass himself, I have work horror stories coming out the ass. Cause I work at a grocery store which prides itself on "great customer service with a smile" and I hate smiling at stupid people. So I have problems every day of my life.

One big problem being that my whore of a manager just had me work 7 days in a row and I'm sorry if I said this already in my last post but I just can't remember these things anymore because I have been overworked by THE MAN. Who is not really a man, but a CUNTY WHORE. Side note, spell check tells me CUNTY should be COUNTY, or just plain CUNT.

Anyway, the point is that when Mike and I broke up last October because I was having an emotional breakdown, I started carrying a little notebook in my vest pocket (oh yeah, I have to wear a fucking vest to work) so I could write my sadness. It was therapeutic and made me feel better. I also occasionally ripped a new one on a customer in there cause I couldn't do it anywhere else.

Nowadays my vest sucks. They got me a size bigger cause my other one was too small and I was getting too fat and popping the buttons off and it looked "unprofessional", even though there's a cashier who's boobs are bigger than mine (and mine are pretty epic, which is why Mike never stops touching them) and she looks way more like a sausage than I ever did. The point is the new vest is a short vest. At my job, there is the short vest and the long vest, and you can pretty much get the one that flatters your figure most. And let's face it, there's really no girl who looks good in the short vest. It cuts you off, makes you look shorter and, in my case, chubbier, and you have to wear your shirt tucked in, and usually the vest is short enough that you can see the shirt poking out and it comes untucked every time you bend over for paper towels or to harass the small children who always press the buttons on the pin pad and their parents NEVER STOP THEM.

I looked good in the long vest but now I look like a retard humping a doorknob only I'm ringing up your groceries and selling you lotto instead. So the original point of this was to say that on the long vest, the pockets were big enough for my mini steno notebook. I could carry it and a pen and write whenever I didn't have customers. But the short vest has pockets which are too small for my notebook and so I have to fold up pieces of printer paper if I want to write, and that gets annoying, having a million pieces of paper around that I never want to throw away so I keep them in a box.

So the thing is that I do quite the same thing as the Bloggess, writing on random papers and such, but there have been many a times where I haven't had the chance or time to write something down and then I lose it when it could have been funny or valuable. I think I need to find a way to keep my little notebook with me again to see if it'll help me get on the right track. Funny and horrific things happen at my job and in my life every day. I just want to remember them and then post them here so a few people will think I'm funny and want to come back for more.

BTW: Sean, I have something that will make you totally jealous of me and I'll post a picture of it once I have one. Let's just say it's features your future husband and it's old school and my mom never told me she had it until last weekend and now it's in the backseat of my car. Giggidy.

Falling asleep as I type is probably a bad omen, or at the least annoying because then sidjfiJW;IOEJT;OIQJWETjnask,d

2009-05-29T23:29:00.000-04:00

I haven't posted anything in like days because I was busy helping my best friend get married and I've been working every day since I got back into town and it completely SMOKES MY POLE because I don't get a day off til Monday and that makes it seven days in a row I'll have worked.

I dropped my mp3 player into the bathtub while I was trying to shave my legs and listen to Fall Out Boy at the same time. Or maybe it was Queen. Nooo, it was Kelly Clarkson. So now I have no convenient music at my fingertips and nowhere to put the three disc Queen Greatest Hits set I just bought jointly with Michelle.

I really thought my whore of a manager would be gone by now, but she's still there, starting to wear her maternity clothes again and all refusing to pick up heavy things due to her "delicate condition" that she won't actually mention. Seems like everyone at my damn job is pregnant. What scares me about this is that after a while, those stools they get to sit on start lookin' pretty damn comfy. But then I tell myself it's not worth it to have a baby just so I can sit on a stool for a few months when I hate my job anyway, and I'd hate the kid even more and probably end up resenting it cause by the time it'd be my turn with the stool it would either be broken by one of the current fatass preggos or it would "mysteriously disappear". And by that I mean broken in some way other than being sat on too long by a fat pregnant chick. Minor bagger, perhaps? They're all pretty stupid, after all. Always getting into shenanigans.

I would write more, I'm sure, except I am tres tired and Mike was supposed to be here like an hour ago and I am beginning to care more about sleep than him, which is pretty much our entire relationship. So, until I get another day off...oh wait, I have three next week because my cunty whore of a manager doesn't know how to make a sched!

Also, I found a wine I actually like. Now all I need is for ABC to carry it and I'll be one of those drunk desperate housewife type whores, complete with half naked pool boy. That is, whenever Mike and I go to the pool and he's topless. Otherwise I just have a boy.

Cow tongues are quite literally as big as your head.

2009-05-17T14:21:00.000-04:00

This is Michelle, after 6 hours of cooking the cow tongue and getting ready to "peel" it because apparently that's what you do with it and she's doing this entire experiment on the fly based on how she remembers her mom doing it and it smells funky as hell and there's a fucking cow tongue boiling on the stove:

Michelle: OH MY GOD. Oooooooooooh my God, eeeeeeeeeeeew, oh my God. Eeeeeeeeeeeew it's nasty! Next time I tell you I want to cook something that I've never made before talk me out of it.

Me: YES MA'AM.

Michelle: I have to pee, I can't do this. *rushes off to the bathroom* STOP LAUGHING AT ME, SAM!

Me: *giggling on the couch, texting Mike telling him I get to have cow tongue for dinner*

Michelle: *comes back from the bathroom* Sam...

Me: NO.

Michelle: But I need moral support!

Me: NOOOO.

Michelle: I will throw this tongue at you. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwww...I think I like delicacies better when I don't have to prepare them.

And just now she waves a bit of it at me and is all like "Wanna feel it, it's thick!" to which I should have been all "That's what SHE said" but instead I politely declined and then I hear "Ok, it's peeled!" and thankfully she's in there doing it all on her own now when at first she was trying to get me to open cans and shit and I politely declined that offer, too.

Now she's pouring V8 on it, which is the way her mom always made it and Michelle is swearing to me that it tastes good when it's done but she also swore to me that I wouldn't have to watch her make it and I definitely had to look at a fucking TONGUE BOILING ON THE STOVE which is a little too "NO WIRE HANGERS" for me so I don't know that I trust her anymore.

Holy God, it is EARLY...

2009-05-16T05:50:00.000-04:00

The only bad thing, and I do mean the ONLY bad thing, about meeting Jen Lancaster in Atlanta, which is five hours away from Tally, is the fact that I didn't think to request that I not open at work the next day. And I couldn't really get out of it easily, so I decided to suck it up.

And now it's 5:51am and I'm about ready to do anything but work for 8 hours before I come home and take a huge nap while Michelle cooks this cow tongue she bought and then makes me eat it because she swears it's delicious.

Also, in a pinch, Silk vanilla soy milk is fucking AMAZING on Lucky Charms. I don't know what it is. But damn, I'm in love. In love with Jen Lancaster as well. I told her she was my idol and I fixed her shirt sleeve cause it had been bugging me all night. And there's a very real possibility that when Michelle asked if we could mail her a picture and she'd autograph it and send it back so we could hang it on our living room wall that she thought we were lesbians. In retrospect, I don't mind that quite so much. Cause I got to meet Jen Lancaster, and talky bitch who sat next to me aside, what could be better than that?

My fingers smell like BBQ sauce. Sonic gave me the wrong food but it was pretty damn delicious.

2009-05-14T15:39:00.000-04:00

I am super fucking crazy ass batshit excited because when I go to work today, if I end up working with my customer service manager, then it may very well be the last time EVER. Every rumor I've heard is pointing toward her getting transferred to a smaller store where maybe she'll get less customer complaints and we're supposed to be getting a manager who is awesome.

The new lady's name is Rain. As in storm, or drops. And just say her last name was Storm. I'm having all kinds of fun thinking of how I could page her over the intercom, like "Rain Storm, come to customer service please. Rain Storm, customer service please." Then the customers would be confused as hell because I'm pretty much asking el nino to visit the front office but they don't know the truth, which is that this new manager was probably the child of hippies and on LSD when she was born.

I'm going to see Jen Lancaster tomorrow and all I can hope is that when I come back to work on Saturday, Latasha's name has been permanently removed from the schedule and I can finally breath easy. Unless my assistant store manager is there. Now there is one cunt who hates me and doesn't try to hide it. Maybe next week when I go home for my friend's wedding I'll come back and they'll have transferred her too.

I'm totally not in a good mood either because I have to meet Jen Lancaster with zits all over my face. I like how I haven't broken out like this since high school and it has to happen right before I meet the woman I kind of idolize. And much as I'd love to bring her cupcakes to make up for it, Michelle has convinced me that a 5 hour drive in the heat and then holding onto the cupcakes until I can physically give them to her isn't an ideal situation cause they will likely have wilted by then.

So I apologize in advance, Jen. I'll just try not to pick at my zits when I'm all in the front row and crowding your shit.

Less talk-y, more summarize-y, or no one will ever want to read my memoir. If I ever write one.

2009-05-13T20:44:00.000-04:00

I am making myself take a break from reading my pron so that I can finally tell the dinner story because I care enough about the handful (because who wants to be as awesome as The Bloggess ? Um...yeah, I totally do) who read my blog to tell it. I'm also watching Time Warp, a show I blame my sister for getting me into, and it's pretty damn awesome. I find that I get true entertainment out of watching snakes attack water balloons in slow motion.

So here's the background: Kristen is Mike's sister and Red is her fiancé. His real name is Warren, but he's called Red. Don't mistake him for the dad on That '70s Show. He's not as cool. So Kristen and Red have already moved to a city about two hours away and the lovely Olive Garden adventure we all had was to say good-bye. I'd actually forgotten all about it until the day of and Mike only invited me in the first place because I'm already considered a daughter by his parents (replacement much?) and he wanted someone to pay attention to that wasn't his sister or her idiot fiancé.

To be as short as I can be since I know I'll go for hours if I let myself, I'll just say Kristen is a big ole girl (read: plus-sized and even bigger than my own fat ass) and she has low self-esteem. So the guy she's going to "marry" one day is kind of an ass who makes me want to throw things into his gullet when he starts saying Captain Obvious things. He's the type of guy who will state what everyone already knows so he can look smart when really he just looks like an asshole. He didn't actually say this, but for an example, he'd be the one to go "Oh yeah, the economy is really bad right now." NO SHIT SHERLOCK, knowwhatImean?

He's also a ginger, something I have to point out every time I see him. Because not only is he a ginger with all those freckles to match, but he has a tongue ring and he's a southern boy with a hick accent. He's also a registered sex offender cause he had sex with a minor a few years before meeting Kristen. The main point is Kristen COULD be doing better, but seems to think she can't cause she's fat or something.

I would believe that excuse if I weren't a fat bitch myself who has managed to find someone who loves me exactly how I am, snark and pessimism included, and I'm not with him due to how shiftily (it's a word, shut up blogspot) I view myself.

Also, no matter how hard, I can't get past the tongue ring, and I don't think anyone else who met him could either. Not when you also take into consideration that he ordered a yellow daiquiri type drink with his dinner.

Now that I've gotten out of the way how nasty I find Red, let me try and keep this part on the short and summarizing side.

First off, Mike's mom made me sit so that she was between her husband and me so I could help "protect her". Then, even though she was very annoyed with Kristen for inviting the two engaged friends because she wanted it to be family only (see how I have no wedding band on my finger and I'm family already? They kind of love me, and I totally don't mind), once the couple got there, I spent the rest of the evening hearing Mike's dad chat loudly with the guy because apparently they're close friends and seeing the girl's bra poking out of her slutty shirt.

The thing about Mike's parents is they're awesome like mine and actually make friends with their kid's friends.

Mike's mom (Cheryl) has an iPhone and Mike's dad (Tim) wanted a good drink so she finally found one called a "Greek Mother Fucker". The recipes I'm finding from Google aren't sounding 100% accurate to me, but it definitely had Yukon Jack, Jack Daniels, and I believe 151 proof rum with about three other hard liquor shots. So he had three drinks, about 18 shots all together, and kept saying things like "I hope no one's offended by the word fuck!" and similar things all throughout dinner. I'd always be like "You know no one gives a shit Tim" and he'd laugh and point at me and say "I fucking love this girl! I'm afraid of her cause she'll kick my ass!"

Which is very true, and I punched him after dinner to prove it. According to him I also have a death glare that rivals Cheryl's, and that's saying something. I've just become way too cynical way too early in my life.

So I spent most of dinner making fun of everyone under my breath so only Cheryl or Mike could hear me. When Cheryl was like "Hey, are those three fighting?" and I turn around to hear Mike, Kristen, and Red in a heated debate over something computer related. Which is about the point I turned back to Cheryl and said "Should I just yell 'vagina' so they stop fighting?" and she died laughing and then I said "Then maybe someone else will yell 'penis' and we can put the two together."

Hehe, together. Know what I mean? Like in a sexual way? Putting your P in someone's V? Or perhaps blowing your L on someone's T's? I know I'm not the only perverted one out there!

ANYWAY, close to the end of dinner Kristen decides she wants a different kind of fruity drink than the first one she had (some pink thing in a tall glass, and to be clear, I would totally have had my own pink drink and probably my own yellow daiquiri if I had money...which I do not) and she finds a drink called an "Adios Mother Fucker" in the iPhone and Red decides he must write this down immediately. So he gets a pen from Cheryl and tries to take the phone so he can write it down. Kristen reads it off to him instead. Red gets all pissy and says he can't write it down if she's reading it to him, he has to read it himself and WHY CAN'T SHE JUST COOPERATE WITH HIM?! She stays quiet and a few seconds go by...then Red tries to take it again. Kristen tries to read it again and this time HE IS GOING TO LEAVE HER ASS IN TALLAHASSEE AND MOVE ON HIS OWN.

Right in front of Cheryl and Tim and what do I do? I start mimicking them under my breath. In the meantime, Kristen has chosen to write it down herself and give the pen back to her mom. Then Red needs the pen back because HE CANNOT READ HER CHICKEN SCRATCH and he has to let everyone at the table know what shitty handwriting Kristen has. All the while she sits there silently. I am almost saddened by this because I would be raising the fucking roof right back about his nasty tongue ring and his backwards baseball cap and his ginger-ness. Which I still cannot let go of.

So then, at the end of the meal, after Tim is so drunk that he's told me three or four times that I'm his favorite person there and everyone else can fuck off (except Cheryl), the smokers all go outside. The smokers are Kristen, Red, and the guy who spent all night chatting with Tim. The slutty fiancée stays and then we get our checks. I kept dropping mine on the ground and Mike was giving me shit for it so I went "berserk" and was all like "Mike, I can pick up my own check and if you don't leave me alone I will LEAVE YOUR ASS HERE and move without you! I don't watch your chicken scratch on my receipt!"

I don't think everyone was paying attention to me but at least the slut thought I was funny.

The night ended in the parking lot with Red and Kristen both deciding that we're close enough for hugs. And I mean emotionally close, because at that point we were geographically ideal for hugs. But I've never been close with either of them, especially Ginger McTongueRing, and they all wanted to hug me and tell me to take care of Mike.

One of the funniest things about Mike's family, at least to me, is that they all think I'm the best thing to happen to Mike since forever. I guess they think my college degree will rub off on him one day or something.

So that was more or less my night with Mike's family. I love going out to dinner with them, they can just be loud as hell. Cheryl is quiet by nature but Tim is not. So it's surprising when Cheryl's laughter echoes across half the restaurant, and then Tim will usually unintentionally say "fuck" or "shit" or something really loudly and then I kind of have to hide my face because I know someone heard it.

But that's an experience with Mike's family at dinner. And if Tim's drunken declaration to the waiter saying "That's my future daughter-in-law!" means anything, then I'll have about a hundred of these to look forward to until I die.

I pretty much suck...

2009-05-11T11:32:00.000-04:00

Yeah, I got a preview of dinner going and I've been too tired/busy/a little bit lazy lately to get on here again and actually finish it. But I'm going to, because it was one of those situations people normally blog about when they're embarrassed by their family. Only I wasn't embarrassed so much as shocked and covering my mouth with things so I could laugh or talk shit to Mike's mom, who was sitting next to me.

Anyway, I have some Lucky Charms to eat and Mike just got here, actually. So I will finish this later. Just dunno when.

It's all Greek to me, you drunk mother fucker!

2009-05-07T22:09:00.000-04:00

When I have more time tomorrow, I will post about the dinner I shared at Olive Garden tonight with my boyfriend, his parents, his sister and her fiance (who are moving tomorrow and the whole reason I got to have my ravioli di portabello and eat it, too), and two friends of the sister and fiance, who I'd never met before tonight.

As a preview, here's what you'll get to hear about tomorrow when I get off work and get done running my errands:

1. Mike's dad having a drink called "Greek Mother Fucker" three times over.

2. Mike's sister (Kristen) being quasi "yelled at" by her fiance (Warren) over her chicken scratch hand writing when trying to write down the ingredients for an "Adios Mother Fucker".

3. Mike's mom spending a good portion of dinner looking up drinks on her iPhone because she fucking can.

4. Me wondering aloud if I should dissuade a blossoming argument between Mike, Kristen, and Warren by yelling out "VAGINA".

5. And as a last little teaser, Mike's dad propositioned the two friends (whose names I forget, but they're engaged) into having a threesome. Guess who the extra wheel would be?

As for the rest of my night before I have to wake up at 5:30 and work at 6:45 in the busy ass Friday Ihavetogocashmypaychecknow panic, I am going to clean my room a bit and read Jen Lancaster. One more week and she's mine for the coveting!

Today is a day of celebration! And no, I don't mean cinco de mayo.

2009-05-05T11:29:00.000-04:00

I am so totally going to buy Jen Lancaster's new book today, after I get up the non-laziness to take a shower and clean the litter box like I told Michelle I would because I need to be a good roommate so she'll continue wanting to live with me and Mike in July, otherwise Mike and I will be stuck in a two bedroom we can't afford with a dirty cat box and no one to come between us when we fight about how much of a lady he is and how much of a guy I am.

I think I started an entry once about how Mike and I are like Miranda and Steve from Sex and the City, but I don't think I published it because after a while it was too sad and real, so I decided to keep those nuggets to myself for the time being.

But if anyone has watched Sex and the City, there's one episode where Steve says he wants to move in with Miranda after they'd just gotten back together and she doesn't like having him in her space all the time, so she says she doesn't want him moving in, but the argument they have ends with Steve saying, "It's like you're the guy sometimes."

That's exactly how I feel with Mike almost every day. I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing because my personality is just a lot more harsh and unforgiving than his, so I do tend to act more like a guy. And Mike is all affectionate and lovey-dovey and caressing me all the time when I'm like, "Dude, I need space, can you not be all up ons?"

Due to my monumental lack of funds, my breakfast today is consisting of fudge drop cookies and Michelle's leftover sour punch straws. She probably won't notice until she reads this and then yells at me down the hall for eating her candy that she left on the couch three days ago, which to me means it's free game.

I don't know if anyone else watches Twilight, but the girl who plays Victoria is doing a Lifetime movie and I don't know what I think of that. For some reason, it freaks me out every time I see the commercial because all I can think is "No, you're Victoria, you don't have a soul, you're a bitch, I know what you do in books two and three, whore!"

On that note, shower/changing cat litter/buying Jen's book time. Also, please note that although I am broke as hell, I still have money in my savings to buy this book. I consider it an emergency. It needs to be read before I see her on the 15th. Yep, it's that important.

Got kicked out of a pipe store, son...

2009-05-02T02:22:00.000-04:00

So my city has this thing called First Friday every month where all these local artists have their studios open for people to come look at their stuff and buy if they're interested. There's also food and booze and some cool shops. So Mike, Michelle, and I went and there's this pipe store. It says all over the store "These products for use with tobacco only" because obviously they can't admit you could smoke weed with their pipes, even though it's all I've ever seen the little ones used for.

They had a huge selection of smaller pipes, and I'm talking like these babies:

So while Michelle and I are looking at these pipes, Mike and his friend D are at the other end of the store. We didn't notice they were gone til the owner comes up to us and says "Are you two with those guys?" We said yes, and he told us to get out. When I asked why, he did the whole "Because I said so" thing which really pissed me off in retrospect because even though the only reason he was mad was because D asked if he was selling weed and that's the wrong question to ask someone running a pipe shop with signs that say "For tobacco use only", he still didn't have to be rude as hell to Michelle and I. We had no idea what D was asking, or that he was even asking anything, and I think it's unfair to assume that because we were with them we had to be potheads, too.

I was all ready to lie and be like "Sir, I do NOT smoke marijuana and I don't appreciate your assumptions. Learn some better fucking business practices!" What's even stupider is that D is more Mike's friend than mine or Michelle's. But we couldn't be trusted.

Nevermind that we were looking at those pipes with a particular kind of interest. Nevermind that for now, because that is not the point of the story.

The point is we got kicked out of a pipe shop. So now I'm a badass refugee from the fat man who runs the pipe shop.

On a lighter note, I was smacked in the face by irony a few days ago. See, normally I hate taking showers. I love feeling clean, but I feel inconvenienced by showers themselves, so sometimes I go for far too long without taking one. I went to go take one after like three days without one a few days ago but the fucking hot water heater was busted. So I had to go to work that day and the next smelling ripe as hell because I already hadn't showered for an eternity and now my work shirts are stinking up the rest of my dirty clothes.

The moral of the story is that I should have learned to appreciate showers more, but it's been like another three days since my last one and I haven't learned a thing.

Good night!

I really want a Midnight Truffle Blizzard from DQ...

2009-04-29T21:36:00.000-04:00

I think that compared to other people in this country, I am incredibly under-informed when it comes to national news. For one thing, I absolutely hate politics and I pretty much refuse to talk about politics with anyone, even friends. So when it comes to things like watching the news and keeping up with current affairs, I'm all in the dark and shit. I've even had an altercation with a woman who comes into my store because I don't watch the news.

I just did a quick look-see on my blog to check if I ever wrote about that before but I don't think I did. It was more or less this woman telling me I needed to be informed and that I would end up on the news, in a bad way, if I didn't take the time to be informed. Because the only way I can be informed is if I watch the news. I was nice and decided not to tell her that I AM informed. I know everything I want to know because I read all the books, blogs, and magazines that interest me. So I have to wonder if this woman's subtlety was a threat on my life, only in disguise. In cognito, as it were, knowwhatImean?

So yesterday at work some rude guy interrupted me while I was helping another customer because he wanted a manager. Okay, fair enough. But then once I call for a manager he starts asking me for face masks. It went something like this:

Man: Where do you keep face masks?

Me: (Thinking he can't mean Halloween...or could he?) *cock-eyed crazy stare*

Man: You know, those masks for your face.

Me: (Starts thinking he means the shit old women put on their faces before they sleep to keep them looking vibrant and...um...not shiny) ...Face masks? *still with the crazy stare because I really didn't understand what the fuck he wanted yet*

Man: Yeah, like the ones doctors and nurses wear over their mouths.

Me: (Recognition dawns just as my manager comes out) Oh, okay. I don't know if we have those...

Man: Well you SHOULD have them because blah blah blah...

I started thinking that if he knows our inventory so well then maybe he should be leading me to the masks, not the other way around. Fucker. Then I foisted him off on my manager and he had her take him on a tour of the store looking for face masks, dental floss, and razors.

Then today my friend Nicole was checking the store e-mail for recalls so she can know if any of the recalled stuff has the swine flu. Every time I check my e-mail on MSN I see more shit about the swine flu but I have yet to flinch over it. That's what makes me feel unprepared and like an R-tard. Because while the rest of the country is scouring their local grocery store for face masks I'm ignoring all the warning signs on my e-mail page.

However, I did finally click on the map that shows where there have been confirmed cases and nothing has hit Florida yet. That must mean something good.

What's really sad, though, is I'm gonna go eat some taquitos now and read my romance novel in bed while I drink cherry Coke and wait for Mike to come over so I can get me some.

Maybe it's a good thing I don't watch the news. I've never be able to enjoy sex again, not with the face masks getting in the way. I don't know about the other ladies, but I don't want my man to be a cunning linguist with tissue paper over his mouth. And when you think about it, all the germs collect on the outside, so they'd be getting all in your va-jay-jay. UNSANITARY.

My cat is an attention whore, even when I sleep.

2009-04-27T05:28:00.000-04:00

I just slept for only about two hours on the couch because my boyfriend was snoring too loud. It's 5:30 in the morning and I came out here around 3:15. And I have to leave for work at 6 and there's nothing good to eat here that belongs to me. So I'll be starving and sleepy all day. Until I go on break, then I'll just be sleepy.

Oh Christ, I hate Lady Gaga. Why does she never have her own hair on display? I don't understand. She pretty much drowns in her fake hair. And I don't think she has a poker face. I think she has a slut type face. And an overly gyrating pelvis.

Clearly I'm too traditional for today's happenin' music scene. Although I do love Britney's new song...she's naaaasty. I'm going to look for pop-tarts.

Selling my soul for 40 hours a week and insurance

2009-04-23T14:14:00.000-04:00

So my mom has made a suggestion that I am taking into consideration...and by that I mean I'm going to sit down with my store manager (the only one I can trust in the mob) tonight and see what he thinks.

My mom thinks I should go full-time at Publix and use them for 40 hours a week and health insurance until I find something else, because right about, my daily searching of Career Builders is not giving me anything new and exciting except bank jobs I'm not qualified for and a variety of shit I've never heard of.

The problem with going full-time is that I can't at my store. There are already three full-time CSS and there's no room for another. So I'd have to transfer, and that's assuming there's another store in the city who has room for my sunshine and happiness 40 hours a week. Granted, there are 11 stores in the city, but from what I hear Tally is pretty competitive and close-knit and no one ever wants to leave their store. Which makes me a little concernicus.

Now, I've never given much thought to trying very hard at my job because I assumed I'd get something full-time somewhere else that didn't suck as much and I'd be on my way, smiting and burning as previously stated. But as my luck tends to run, that's not what's happening, so I have some choices to make.

I love the people I work with at my store. I hate my trifecta (it's telling me I spelled that word wrong...the fuck?) of managers who hate me and ruin my life, but I love my fellow CSS and most of the cashiers and baggers. I get along well with almost everyone, and the ones I hate I just ignore. Except my managers. I can't avoid talking to them hoes.

So the big question now is, do I go full-time and transfer to another store where I'll have all new managers and have to make new friends (but I'll have guaranteed 40 hours a week and insurance) or do I stay at my store part-time where I'll get 37 hours one week and 25 the next and expect to pay all my bills that way?

I'm kind of shocked to say that going full-time is sounding like my cup of tea right now. As much as it saddens me to think of leaving a store full of people I love, I'm beginning to wonder if a change of atmosphere would make work more bearable. I'm thinking it just might.

*sigh* But I still refuse to be a robot. Or a Mary Sunshine.

Where shopping is a pleasure, but working is a pain in the ass.

2009-04-20T21:35:00.000-04:00

Over the past two days I've had some of the stupidest and most annoying types of customers come up to me and waste my life.

Here's a list of examples:

1. The "Can I buy a turkey sub with my EBT card?" guy.

2. The "Where's your restroom?" people. (Which I can almost forgive because most Publix's have them in the back and ours is in the front, but I've gotten this question more in the past few months than the entire three years I've worked there. Shit's getting old.)

3. The "Can I get a roll of quarters?" people. (Once again, I could forgive this, because we normally give them out, no problem. But we have been short on money, quarters and ones in particular, and have just enough to make cashier set-ups and such tomorrow before we finally get more money in. Seriously, we're low enough that if I sold quarters to everyone who asked me yesterday and today, we'd be out almost $200 and we wouldn't have any quarters left.)

4. The "Oh, I can't get this on EBT because it's hot? Well, I don't have any other way to pay" people. (And then their food gets tossed when I could be eating it.)

5. The people who return obviously shady shit, like four month old meat. Oh yeah...think about that for a minute. Customer service was smelling ripe yesterday!

6. The people who have no idea what a Western Union is or how to fill out the form, and the people who need very particular money orders but who have no idea how to fill them out. And then I have to read the fucking thing to them because clearly, understanding cannot be reached by using your EYES like a non-lazy American. NOT AT PUBLIX, ANYWAY. At Publix, we will wipe your ass if you complain enough. Because at Publix, you are treated like a four year old child, meaning that if you whine enough about how the customer service lady wasn't nice to you and wouldn't give you a roll of quarters and claim it's a "personal attack" against you, then the manager will bend right over and take it up the ass instead of backing up their employees.

Reason number elevenitybillion that I could not work as a manager: it's like less glorified baby-sitting. Meaning even baby-sitters who put up with screaming toddlers are usually well compensated, especially when the parents know their kids are a handful. But being a manager means you're expected to be a punching bag.

FUCK THAT! I am far too much of a hardass to let wimpy little organic eating bitches bend me over the register. I'm a lady, God damnit. My skirt only goes up for one man, thank you.

Oh, and that whole "personal attack" thing about the quarters? Yeah, that shit actually happened yesterday. The girl I was working with, Ashley, was the one who turned him down and he went complaining to our bitch assistant store manager that it had to be personal because he gets turned down every time he comes in here. Ashley's response to that?

"I've never seen that thin bitch in my life."

But the motherfucker still got his quarters, and I was all silent disappointedness about it when the manager came over and requested them from me. And apparently when she asked why we weren't selling change, no one (namely, my ass. customer service manager) bothered to explain that we were on a change shortage. So who ends up looking dumb? Us lowly CSS. And that's buuuuuuuuuuuuuuullshit!

According to my ACSM, I cussed very loudly in front of some customers today. I hardly believe that because they didn't look like they heard, and they were some skinny hoes doing some modeling shit anyway. They actually wanted paper bags because they're with a modeling troupe and they had to make outfits out of paper fucking bags. They wouldn't tell me how many they needed, and we're not supposed to just give out a million bags to people. I call the ACSM up, the bitches tell her 20, and she says they can have them. My ACSM looked annoyed with me, so by way of explaining why I called her out I said "They wouldn't give me a fucking number, Tameka." Now, Tameka doesn't care about cussing, but she got this affronted look on her face and told me I'd said what I said really loud. And like a silly goose, I said I didn't care if I was loud.

I waited the whole rest of my shift to be pulled aside and told that I needed more decorum on the job or some other new age bullshit. Never happened, though. So I'm safe, for now.

And after much long-winded crap, I'm going to go to my room and read and write before I go to bed. I don't have to work until 4:30 tomorrow so I can stay up late and get some stuff on paper that's been on my mind lately. I may be slacking on the whole writing stories front but at least I still keep my journal.

Ron White reminds me of my dad, in a way that makes me proud of what a stoner my dad really is.

2009-04-19T22:26:00.000-04:00

I find myself in a dismal position. Basically, I hate my job with a fiery contempt, but I'm stuck there until I find something else. My main qualifications for "something else" are that it be full-time and give me health insurance.

At my job right now, everything I once loved is slowly crumbling beneath me. People I love are being sent away, management is getting nosier and less trusting of us lowly employees every day, and my soul won't stay in tact much longer.

I'm wondering...is there anything I can do to make myself hate my job any less? To not feel so shitty about my situation so I can function like a normal person who doesn't feel like they're wasting their youth in the devil's grocery store? I'm sure there's nothing I really can do but suck it up, but there goes my problem. I'm pretty awful at sucking it up and being a robot just for the sake of someone else's profit. Namely, the managers who get to look good because they have unhappy, albeit friendly-in-a-robot-way, employees.

Like I give a flying fuck what the district manager thinks anyway. I found out today there was a huge shady happening going down to get a girl transferred out of our store because my customer service manager never liked her. Seriously, Publix is like the mob of grocery store chains. Except they only protect their own if "their own" comes with a managerial nametag with many stars on it to signify years of service. They don't give a fuck about us underlings.

Which is fine because I don't give a fuck about them either. And when the timing is right, I will smite them and set the building on fire. Customers included. Then, while I stand and watch the place burn and some stupid mouth breather comes up and says "Where am I gonna get my paycheck cashed NOW?!" at one o' clock on a weekday, I can punch them in the face and finally say "WE'RE NOT A BANK, BITCH."

...Except with my karmic luck, I will end up working in a bank. And then I will always be thinking "Why don't you just go to Publix and LEAVE ME ALONE."

So I'm fucked either way. Good to know.

Perhaps if I came up with my titles before I wrote the entry, the entry would make more sense. Right now I wanna call it "Cowboy butts drive me nuts".

2009-04-15T18:52:00.000-04:00

I have a bad and possibly racist question to ask: Do all the black people in Snakes on a Plane get bit in the ass? In lieu of dying, as Scary Movie tells us happens to all black people in movies such as these?

At least I think it was Scary Movie. Might have been I Know What You Did Last Summer. Google is not helping me here. I googled "black people always die in movies" hoping I'd get the movie that has a similar line, because I know I've heard it before, but all I get is a bunch of forums and shit where people are looking for the answer to why black people always die in movies.

On a side note, the casting for Snakes on a Place is pretty awesome. Not only do we have Kenan Thompson (loved him in All That and Good Burger) and the guy who played Will's gay husband Vince on Will & Grace, but they are completely overshadowed by Samuel L. Jackson. Who I won't get to hear say FUCK because this is cable for Chrissakes.

Now I'm in the middle of trying to find the best answer to why black people always die first in movies. With so many links, there has to be something good out there.

Oh, I tell a lie.

This one is actually from a guy who wants to know if there are any other movies out there where the black guy dies first. And here's what the end of his post says:

****Also, (b/c there's always one asshole to get offended) please don't come at me about being racist or some other gay shit...I have a daughter who's half black soooo...

My thinking here is that if he's claiming to not be racist and using his daughter as the ace in the hole, then he might not be the black parent in this scenario. I mean if it were me, I'd be all "I'm married to someone of the African American persuasion, suck on THAT" but hey, that's why I don't run shit around here. No one likes the obvious being rubbed in their faces by a fat chick all day long. It kills morale, kids. It's all bullshit and it's all bad for ya.

And now I've remembered how much I love George Carlin. So yeah...I'll be back after I've perused YouTube for a while.

On another side note, I never have seen Snakes on a Place before, but I think I'm liking it on mute better than with sound. Making up my own dialogue is like talking to myself in the car, only vastly more entertaining because no one is here to witness my crazy and mutter quietly about that strange girl who's having animated conversations with herself in the next car and gesturing wildly at absolutely no one.

Last side note before I go: according to this historically accurate film, snakes have a green night vision goggle thing going on when they look at you, and when you zoom in on them as they slither toward a group of unsuspecting (oh wait...they just became suspecting, and screaming) tourists, they look an awful lot like gators.

Thanks a lot, UF marching band. Now I've got the damn Jaws theme in my head because you guys can't be any more original with your theme music than a song from a movie about SHARKS.

And that is why I went to FSU instead of UF. Also, too much inbreeding in Gainesville. I got plenty of that back home. Where the tires are large and the Wranglers are tiiiiiight.

Jim Bob Duggar hates to shop...because he's not your typical male. He has feelings and shit.

2009-04-13T01:53:00.000-04:00

From the middle of sex:

Mike: How can something that feels so good result in something to bad?

Me: Like what?

Mike: Children.

But I did have a dream the other night that I was pregnant and totally fucking cute in this dress. Then I told Mike about the dream and he had to do that whole stopping in his tracks thing because he had to make a point about NO BABIES, ABSOLUTELY NOT, YOUR VAGINA IS FOR ONE THING ONLY, WELL MAYBE TWO BUT I CHOOSE TO IGNORE THE BLOODY ONE, LET'S JUST STICK TO THE SEX FOR NOW. OR FOREVER.

And now I'm going to finish watching this episode of 18 Kids and Counting and hope my sleeping pills have kicked in by the end. Sir Snores-a-Lot is keeping me awake tonight.

This would be one of those instances where I'm highly inappropriate and I might get a mean comment because I'm also insensitive

2009-04-11T12:36:00.000-04:00

So the other night after work I go to Miller's Ale House with some friends and my boyfriend and while we're drinkin' it up I see a commercial featuring Aunt Jackie from Roseanne selling what looks to be African babies. You know, like she teamed up with Sally Struthers and is trying to save the world one hungry foreign kid at a time.

Only to (a slightly intoxicated) me, it appeared as though she was selling these little African babies so I mentioned it to the people nearest to me. This one guy Chad, who actually used to be my manager before he got fired (and I got to stay, joyful hallelujah), was like "How do I buy one? Is there a toll free number to call? Can I returned it within 30 days if I don't like it?"

And then I said something which I thought was hilarious but which, according to Chad, "took the joke too far, Samantha." Since the babies were from Africa and all I figured there was room for an AIDS joke, no matter how inappropriate, so in response to Chad's questions I was like "I wonder if they'd let me return the baby if it had AIDS."

Actually, I said worse things than just that, but I don't want to press my luck here. So for now I'll just leave it at that.

The conversation did end with me telling Chad that I'm a bitch and him saying "No you're not. You've never been a bitch to me" and me assuring him that I indeed AM a bitch and am not very nice to most of the people I meet. Then he said, "I only hear what I want to hear, Samantha. And you're an angel in my eyes." And I said "Even after the AIDS comment? You still don't think I'm a bitch?" and he said "Like I said, I hear what I want to hear."

Just like a man to ignore when a woman is being a bitch. That's how men get in trouble in the first place. And then they wonder why they're getting the silent treatment and no sex for days.

Today is full of exciting happenings

2009-04-07T16:45:00.000-04:00

Michelle was in here with me while I did the last entry and she was telling me how her boyfriend loves to watch basketball. And she was over at his place last night trying to show some interest even though she's like me and could give a baker's fuck.

She's all telling me "I'd rather watch the Antique Roadshow than basketball, that's how little I care" and right now I can hear her through the wall telling her boyfriend that she'd rather watch Antique Roadshow than basketball. For some reason I think that's funny as hell.

It's kind of like when my boyfriend is telling me things about Brawl, which I hardly understand, and I start to space off because I have no idea what he's talking about. Then he gets annoyed with me for not trying to show interest. So I politely explain to him that I don't have a god damn clue what he's referring to because I don't play the game. Then he tries to do me a favor and explain the game to me.

Let's just say we've gotten in fights over better and worse things than this before. And they always end with one of us falling asleep. But it's usually him, and then he snores, so I end up losing even more because then I can't fall asleep either.

He's a crafty being, that man-o-mine.

Captain Comic Book: UPDATED, now with more flair!

2009-04-07T16:15:00.000-04:00

Because I somehow managed to forget that Michelle took very sneaky pictures on her Sidekick, here is an update on the hero of our story: Captain Comic Book & the Meatball Sub or The Soap Didn't Smell Like Apples.

Here's our hero (carnie fag) perusing the drink selections. As it happens, I was wrong about the socks. He had BOTH SIDES tucked in. He is the epitome of fashion in its truest form.

Note the expression on his face. It's as if he's saying, "Eureka! I've found my treasure!" in the days of yore (also known as the days of digging for gold and oil...black gold...Texas tea).

Also note the bottle of pills on the table. This is something neither Michelle or myself noticed the first time around but homeboy clearly needed a sturdy table for popping his pills and that's why he was a dirty liar and didn't take his meaty balls to go like he originally said.

BTW, that arm on the right is all mine. I'm partway famous. But nowhere near as famous as Captain Comic Book. He has his own book series.

I need to call my parents to tell them what kind of daughter they raised...

2009-04-06T19:28:00.000-04:00

So Michelle and I were in Quizno's and who happens in but a homeless looking man in purple sweatpants. I noticed him and said "Hey Michelle, look to your left" and what she meant to be a glance turned into a full-fledged stare-a-thon because this man was wearing what I am sure was women's sweatpants (and they were PURPLE, in case I forgot to mention it) and a lady's comic book shirt. And his pants were tucked into his socks on one side. And he had some kind of backpack. The kind of thing I'd normally refer to as a "man bag".

I couldn't be sure he was gay until he opened his mouth. Because purple sweatpants and a lady shirt aren't always strong enough indicators on their own. But once he started telling the guy what he wanted in a high pitched kind of faggoty voice and specified that he wanted meatballs on his sandwich (think Mr. Garrison here when you read "meatballs") I couldn't stop laughing at this man.

He had very little idea of what personal space means so while I was waiting for my sandwich, standing in the designated waiting area by the register, Captain Comic Book crowds my bubble and stares at me. So I was all "Go ahead" so he would quit staring at me.

Michelle and I decided he was a carnie fag because for some Cullen unknown reason our mall decided to set up a miniature carnival fair thing in the parking lot near Quizno's and Mr. Purple was traipsing off in that general direction once he was done. He was also a dirty liar because he said he was having his sandwich to go and he totally sat next to us even though there was no one else in the place and stared at us while he ate our phallic looking sandwiches. So I started typing notes on Michelle's phone about how I could see him staring via my periphs and this caused even more laughter, and by that point I figured it was obvious enough that we were laughing at him.

I can only feel thankful that his fanny pack was covering his genital region because if I had to see his oddly-shaped pecker through his girly pants I think I might have lost it. Because I totally did not lose it the entire time he was in there. I was a paragon of patience, dignity, and respect for my fellow man.

However, to make up for his lack of genital action, a slutty lookin' chick came in with a short tight dress that the wind was blowing against her so the shape of her vagina was clear as day. So if I was ever in doubt of what a vagina might look like from the outside...well, now I know.

Now all I need is Jenna Jameson's biography and I'll be set for life.

I forgot how much I used to like Sum 41

2009-04-03T21:43:00.000-04:00

Michelle has brought to my attention the fact that my entries are always long. I know she's right but I can't seem to help it. I usually don't realize how long my entries are until I'm done and they're posted and by then I figure hey, fuck it, it's my blog. If I wanna be long-winded, then what better place? Also, I'm lazy.

Today was a rather productive and enlightening day for me. I went with the boy and picked out a mattress set for when we move in together and then I called my mom to tell her. The thing is that I'm a worrier and an overanalyzer and I've been through every facet of moving in with Mike hundreds of times. I've written about it in my journal, talked it over in my head, and talked it over with friends. I finally feel like I'm making the right choice and that I'm going about this in the responsible way.

My other biggest flaw is that I care far too much what certain people think of me. Namely my parents and my sister. And each one of them had a separate concern regarding me moving in with Mike.

My mom: He's never lived away from home and isn't used to paying a lot of bills. I'd feel better if he had a full-time job and a plan for college.

My dad: You need to be independent. You don't need a boy relying on you. I'd like to see you live by yourself.

My sister: If you live with him he'll always be there and you won't be able to get away if he's driving you crazy.

I took all of that into consideration and actually, not all of it applies as much as it used to. Last summer I was getting really annoyed with Mike all of the time and I hardly ever wanted him around. We ended up breaking up for a few weeks because I thought it would be best but I ended up missing him so much and realized I didn't want to be without him so we got back together. My sister was only worried that we'd have a repeat of that and I'd want out again. She makes total sense and hey, it could happen again. But I've got faith in us and I think if we really want to be together we can make it through another tough time like that.

*ahem* Okaaaaaaay, all sappy love story shit aside, back to my once again long-winded tirade.

As for my dad, well, there's no way I can live alone. One bedroom apartments are too expensive. His other suggestion was staying with Michelle and Katie for another year, which was the plan, but Michelle wanted to move in with her boy so that left me with few other options. There's no one else I'd want to live with besides Mike and even if I found a random stranger who needed a roommate...I've been there before. I've lived with someone, a good friend, and had both our names on the lease and gotten completely screwed. I ended up owning over $2000 to the apartment complex and the utility company because of this friend and he got off without a scratch. So there's now way I'm having my name on a lease with someone I don't know who could screw me the same way again.

At least with Mike I know where he lives, I'm very familiar with his testicles AND his parents, and I can get help crushing one set of those while the other set helps me with the massacre. If you catch my drift.

Then there's my mom, who's not only worried about the money situation (which happens to be the one I'm also most worried about) but who also keeps adding worries to the top of my worries. She's just being a mom, really, and I get it. But I'm 23 years old, I'm an adult, and I am responsible enough to know what I'm doing and to handle myself if shit starts hitting the fan.

Which is what was rather amazing about today. I was expecting my mom to freak when I told her Mike and I were officially buying furniture together (which kind of scared me when we were leaving the furniture place and it hit me that I'm investing in something with him and that usually means business) but she surprised me. The most shocking thing, however, was when she called me back later to basically say "You're an adult, you don't need me telling you what to do, I can only suggest and advise, but if you're gonna sign a lease with him and buy a bed with him then you can handle yourself and I think you'll be fine."

I kind of "WHAT THE FUCK"-ED all over the place on that one, but I was definitely not unhappy. More like thrilled because what my parents think of my decisions has always weighed heavily on my mind. It feels good to know I finally have some support.

In other news, Michelle's wild misuse of her money at Victoria's Secret has earned me a free bag! I talked her into giving it to me because it has my birth year on it and she would clearly look like a hypocrite if she carried it. It says 1986 and Michelle still looks 15. No one would believe her so it has to be mine.

Good thing my logic is impenetrable.

PS: Know what the best thing about a king size bed is? Mike and I are both fat people but on a king size bed, if we each sleep near the edge, there's enough room for a whole nother fat person in the middle. And I like that because Mike likes to roll over in his sleep and not realize he's ON me. Like, one leg on my leg and his head on my chest kind of on me. I only notice because he ends up waking me up. And cutting off my breathing.

Apparently this is what insomnia does to me...

2009-04-01T03:07:00.001-04:00

It makes me take a shower then write in my journal before bed because hey, I haven't written in a few days and I'm not tired yet. Also, I suddenly heard Michelle having sex through the wall, which didn't really add to the insomnia per se, it just made me look up and go "Oh, midnight sex for the win. AGAIN."

But I digress. After that, it makes me read the first few pages of Misery, my second Stephen King novel, so I'm already kind of in the mindset when I go on break tomorrow. Then it made me lay down and realize that I wanted to play Odin Sphere, the game which has recently overtaken the place in my heart that used to be for Okami, which I still haven't beaten thanks to one stupid race I can't seem to beat EVER.

Then it made me play up to this bitch of a boss fight that kept killing me so I got frustrated and saved and tried to go to sleep again. Somewhere in the midst of the laying about I texted Mike to say I was probably in the throws of an all-nighter. He texted me back even though he totally should have been asleep himself and then I called him and he talked to me until he got home. Then insomnia decided to be a whore and totally desert him so he could conk the fuck out and then it came to have a slumber party with me, which is ironic considering that insomnia stands for all that I am against right now.

We are like the Dems and the Reps at election time, my friends. In this case, I am like John McCain, wanting to stay the course with Sleep As Usual and insomnia is like Barack Obama, wanting change, and it's not the kind of change that will help me function for eight hours tomorrow. If insomnia were change, as in actual US coin currency, it would be nickels. If working at a grocery store has taught me nothing else, and it's quite possible that it hasn't, it has taught me that nickels are the least used and least requested form of coins. In other words, they can smoke my pole and so can insomnia.

So here I sit, typing away because I figure what better way to pass the time? I'm probably still going to be awake when my alarms go off anyway so I might as well complain while I'm stuck being aware of my surroundings.

I did read this interesting article from the interwebs just a minute ago though, something Katie posted on my wall because it's about how there are people who invented a religion called Cullenism after the family from Twilight and she wanted to know if I was going to be that bad. The answer is a resounding "Neg" but the article is still fascinating. And by that I mean that it's insane that there are people who think Stephenie Meyers' dream somehow created real people. They think all of the characters from Twilight are real. And you hafta be good if you wanna get a lifetime of vampirism with the Cullens. If you're bad, you get sent to James' cave.

WTF man? James had a fucking cave this whole time?! Why didn't he take Bella there and kill her instead of a fucking ballet studio in the middle of Phoenix? And why would it be bad to be sent to his cave? Not to be a spoiler or anything, but James, Victoria, and Laurent all fucking die. Every one of them. So...who's in the cave? Is there a time out corner where you have to sit and think about why the Cullens won't let you in?

I was going through my phone during the time of the laying down without actually falling asleep and I found a note I'd written saying "Mike is a punching bag for my witty rhetoric." I'm pretty sure he said that himself. It's kind of awesome to have a boyfriend who wholeheartedly supports my snark. Not many guys would tell a girl they like it when she's a bitch because then they don't have to guess at what she's really thinking. With me you kind of always know because I like to be vocal about my dislike of almost everything/everyone.

While I'm thinking about it, allow me to bitch about why this particular night is a bad night for insomnia to hit: I HAVE TO WORK AT 6:15 IN THE GOD DAMN MORNING. And I know my time stamps are off on all my entries, Cullen only knows why, but right now it's about 3:30 in the morning. And I'm stiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiill awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaake.

Oh jumping Jesus, my mind is a whirlpool of useless crap when I'm up this late. Know what else Mike said that I put as a note in my phone? "I pretty you." He said that by accident instead of "I love you" one night and I needed a memory. Gosh, isn't he just the most?

I think I'll go watch the weather channel now. Maybe shove this cat off the couch of she keeps cleaning her vag all loudly. We are ladies, we do not clean our vaginas in public, no matter how dark the room is.

Once again, Randal got it completely right.

2009-03-31T11:33:00.000-04:00

I hate working the breaks shift at my store. They've taken away the bank person/front office helper on all days but Friday-Sunday so the big midday shift now is the breaks shift. And I can never seem to get off on time when I work it. It's 11:30-8:30 and I clocked out at 9:17 last night.

This wasn't made any better by the cuntbag of a woman who came up to customer service while I was covering that break. I had to go check a price on something for a guy and Katie (roommate, also works at my store) was helping me because I'd gotten busy. When I come back from the check she tells me the woman at lotto needs her check cashed. While I'm doing that, this other woman comes up with some chicken and sets it down.

Now...we should all know by now that I'm not nice. When customers come up and I'm doing something else I generally ignore them until I'm ready for them. It's my way. Well this woman kept staring at me so I said "I'll be with you in just a moment" and then it all went downhill from there. Bitch fucked the rest of my night UP.

Bitch: I've checked out with you twice before and you never said hello to me.

Me: I'm sorry...? (I continued what I was doing and ignored her because really, what do you say to that?)

Bitch: (on her phone) No, I was talking to Samantha. I've been to her twice now and she's never said hello to me. Well that's what Publix is, they're supposed to greet you.

Me: (I decided to be nice-ish) I'm so sorry ma'am. How are you tonight?

Her: Don't say it if you don't mean it.

SERIOUSLY? I almost told her the truth, which is that the reason I don't say anything to begin with is BECAUSE I DON'T EVER MEAN IT. I know it's my job to pretend I care about these people and their lives, but sometimes it's difficult because my job sucks and then I get people like her who have to fuck my night up. I came very close to telling her all this, to being honest and explaining myself, but I knew I'd get a complaint on me if I did.

So then I stayed silent again until I got done cashing the other woman's check, gave her the money, then went back to the Bitch. I was uncommonly polite for the rest of the transaction and I'm not particularly proud of that because if there's one thing I hate (and yes I know, there are actually many things I hate) it's giving people who start shit like that the upper hand. I'm sure me kissing her ass is exactly what she wanted.

*sigh* I hate whorebags like that. I really wanted to be like "Do I come in your work and demand that you ask how I'm doing? No. Because I know you don't really care, just like I don't care how you're doing."

But again, I have a clean record of customer complaints and I don't need to start getting any now that I'm trying to get out.

I have to cashier today and the boyfriend and I are gonna go look at mattress sets tomorrow. Oh the joys of moving in with a boy for the first time. And he snores like a god damn lumberjack so the bed that I kick him out of when he's getting on my nerves needs to be comfy.

Oh shit, son...

2009-03-27T23:49:00.000-04:00

I just read on MSN that they're changing the way Dora the Explorer looks.

And let me tell you, bitch got slutted the hell UP!

I don't think I'd realized just how young she looked before until I googled her and found this:

Now check out home girl after she got all whored up on her bus ride to the bad side of town:

Fucked up, right? And according to the article, the young one will still be around, but this one is for a slightly older audience. Nowadays she shops and gets makeovers and little girlies can go on-line and change her hair and accessories whenever they want.

This is right up there with 50th anniversary Barbie getting tats, man. Now if Barbie starts rolling up on a Harley, I am totally protesting because there is now way the doll who owned a mini-van, horse stable, dream house and battery operated corvette when I was younger is going to pass up suburban bliss for a life on the open road.

What would June Cleaver say?

OH! There's a quarter on the couch!

2009-03-27T14:06:00.000-04:00

I've been abandoned in the apartment today by both my roommates and the boyfriend. Katie, the roommate I don't think I've mentioned yet, is in Key West for her step-sister's wedding. Probably drinking pina coladas and having hot southern Floridian sex with her boyfriend. If only I could be so lucky. And Michelle left for Jacksonville with her boyfriend about an hour ago so they could party and meet his parents and shit. Mike is still in town but he's leaving tonight for Orlando for a Brawl tourney. For those who don't know what a Brawl tourney is, I think it might be better left unsaid.

I'll just say I'm dating a video game dork of the highest capacity and he makes road trips to play Super Smash Bros. Yep...I'll just say that.

ANYWAY, Michelle will be back tomorrow night and Katie and Mike will be back Sunday but for the rest of today, I am all aloney on my owny.

What will I do with the rest of my day today? Hmmm...I'm sure it'll involve watching Twilight again. And you know what I realized? It figures that as soon as the movie is out, once I finally stopped feeling all sad that I'd finished the books and it was the end of the story, that I suddenly want to reread all the books again. But I've just discovered how amazingly grotesque Stephen King is, and something tells me that passing up good ole Stephen for Twilight would be a slight against some kind of God.

I've got my hopes up in all kinds of crazy ways about this bank job. I'm not sure how to respond to comments yet since I'm still kind of retardedly new at this, but in response to Prosy, I have already wondered if working at a bank would just be trading one set of demons for another. I hate customers, no doubt about that, and I know I'll be hard pressed to ever have a job where I don't have to kiss a little ass (that is, until I become a famous writer, and then I can tell the stupid old people who put their motorized carts in reverse for 30 seconds so the beeping echoes all over the store to fucking QUIT THAT SHIT or I will brain them without getting fired), but at least at a bank I already know one thing: we got yo money, bitches!

At Publix, we have to kiss ass every time so they keep coming back. At a bank, we already have their money, so we already have their business. So all I gotta do is be friendly and offer help and then I won't have to hear about how the deli chicken they got didn't "taste right" or they want to return these pringles because they "wanted to try the new flavor but didn't like it."

My patience is wearing thin and I really need some kind of reprieve. This guy I work with, who's a bagger and I'm pretty sure a flaming homosexual, was like "Why don't you take a vacation?" The only problem there is I can't afford a vacation. Doesn't that suck about 20 kinds of stanky ass? That I can't even afford a short vacation from my job because otherwise I won't have enough money to pay my bills? Another reason I'd like a full-time job: guaranteed hours.

I'm sure I'll still stay on the weekends for a while, that way I can save money for the big move-in with the boyfriend in August. He only has one big bill to pay right now so he can do whatever he wants with most of his money. I owe credit card debt and shit so I'm kinda fucked.

On that note, before I depress myself even more by remembering how much exactly I own on my credit cards, I'm gonna go forage for food.

*sigh* If only I could afford sushi.

Also, thanks to The Bloggess...

2009-03-27T02:02:00.000-04:00

I embellished a bit for humor.

And I know I can thank the Bloggess for this cause now I'll never get off the internet.

Dude...I have COMMENTS!

2009-03-27T01:33:00.000-04:00

I am pretty much beyond excited right now because not only have I applied for this awesome job I would love to get at a bank, but I have also discovered the existence of two comments on my blog! I'm a sad losery type of person who has no shame in admitting that this has basically made my day. And it's just after 1:30 in the morning, so this will last me a while.

Now, for those who might read this and be like "She thinks a job at a fuckin' BANK is exciting?", allow me to explain.

My current job has recently become more about the customer ass kissing and trying not to get trapped by mangement and their stupid politics than anything else and I am getting to the point where I'm dreading work most days. The only thing that keeps me going at all is my coworkers. I work with some pretty kick-ass people and they are the only thing that makes any of it worthwhile. It's to a point where I'm almost tempted to stick around because of these people, but I know how that'll end up and I think I need to count my chickens while they're hatching. Or however it goes.

It's pretty much all about the customers. They're the ones who ruin my fucking life. I can have twenty nice customers who don't fuck with me at all but then all I need is one asshole to ruin everything. It's like that kid who won't shut up during the video in class. He can't shut his pie hole so the teacher decides everyone has to suffer and there will be no more movies.

Customers who complain to me about why certain information has been left off of their lotto ticket when I tell them over and over again that I don't know why and he keeps insisting that my machine in broken and he keeps calling my manager over to tell her we need to get the machine fixed and when I try to offer an explanation he interrupts me and tells me my explanation is the least likely of three possible explanations available (oh yeah, he had his own two theories which apparently made more sense than mine) and who do all of this during a rush when I'm trying to cover my last break of the day so I can GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE AND WATCH THE LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT WITH MY FRIEND...those guys piss me off.

And they ruin the fun for everyone else.

That being said, I do occasionally get customers who make me laugh. Like when I finally did get over to the liquor store to cover my final break last night, after the lotto nightmare. Guy walks in and says this:

Here's my plan. Tell me if you think it's a good one. Get some duct tape and a marker, right? Then put the tape over the doors of these cars who park in the fire lane and write something like "This isn't a parking space, don't park here" on the tape. What do you think?

And considering what a chipper mood I was in (heh heh heh...), I said "I think that sounds like a GREAT idea, sir."

And we both had a good night after that. THE END.

PS: I figure the worst I can do at a bank is have a customer cancel their account and go somewhere else. Cause once we have their money and shit, all I have to do is deposit and withdraw as they like. At Publix it's all about bending policies and getting yelled at over things I have no control over (like things ringing up for thr wrong price, which is the responsibility of all the other departments, not Customer Service) and then kissing these peoples' asses until they're satisfied enough to come back. And when they come back, they expect the same ass kissing all over again, even if they're wrong. It's kind of like raising a kid. If these people learn once that bitching a lot will get them their way, then that's what they continue to do.

PSS: Which is why I cannot wait to quit. Cause kissing ass just isn't in my genes. But yelling "Attention Publix customers: FUCK YOU AND YOUR CHILDREN, TOO" on my last day? That is SO in my genes. Thank you mommy and daddy.

"Babies are not my scene, and from what I've heard this one sounds like an asshole."

2009-03-25T00:41:00.000-04:00

Everyone thinks I'm such a bitch for hating kids. When Mike and I went to his friend's house the other night kids kind of came up in the conversation and I started saying how much I hate them because they're assholes. One guy was like, "You can't really blame the kids because it's usually the parents who don't raise them well" so I was like "Yeah, and most of the people who have asshole kids are assholes themselves. And then they bring their asshole kids into my store and shop."

I've given quite a bit of thought to the topic of whether or not I should have kids because my attitude regarding children has usually been that I hate them. They're noisy and messy and so much damn work cause first you have them, then you gotta raise them for 18 years and help them out for the rest of their lives whenever they might need it. Which means I'd have another life to be responsible for UNTIL I DIE.

I know that for a lot of women, having kids is their dream and the one thing they felt made to do. My sister is one of those women and that's totally awesome for her and all the others. But for me, all my selfish tendencies have always come first. I get all annoyed when I think about having a baby who's going to demand every second of my time until it hits teenager-dom and who will probably resent the hell out of me once they hit high school and possibly get hooked on drugs instead of phonics in college and then I'll be wondering why the hell I ever had a kid to begin with.

I'd pull a Katherine Heigl in Knocked Up and be all "MY VAGINA NEVER LOOKED THE SAME AFTER YOU, YOU UNGRATEFUL WHOREBAG OF A CHILD!"

I like to think I'm pretty honest about who I am. And who I am is a very selfish person who cares about myself first and everyone else second. I have plans for my life that don't revolve around a husband or kids. I know I will get married one day, and that day will come when the boy and I are both ready for the commitment and ready to become a team and sacrifice a little to the other every now and then.

But for now, I'm a selfish bitch with my own agenda and there ain't no way a baby is gonna fuck up my plans. I'd be so resentful of a baby right now. It's psyche would probably be completely fucked by the time it hits kindergarten cause of all my backhanded compliments.

Stuff like "You look so cute in your little dress. It almost makes your unnaturally large head seem smaller. And boy did your head hurt coming OUT." (That last one is the guilt I would pass down to my children because I love them so damn much and I like family traditions.)

The topic of a woman choosing not to have kids is always an interesting one to me because I only know two women who chose not to have any and one I don't even know personally because it's Jen Lancaster (and I'm only BFF's with her in my fantasy world, which is where I can also afford Coach bags and shopping sprees at Lane Bryant).

I always talked about what I would name my kids when I was in middle and high school, like I'm sure most girls did, but I've noticed that with age, my hatred for children grows. I mean no disrespect to people who have kids and love them more than anything. Truthfully, I love the kids who are related to me. My nieces and nephew, I love them (even though they're all whiny and spoiled bitches). My goddaughter, I love her (and she's actually damn well behaved for a 15 month old). I'm just discovering that I have practically zero patience with kids and their temper tantrums, their whining, their begging or anything else.

If my sister tells me that she wants to make cookies but she can't because then the girls will want to help (and there are three girls), I tell her to lock them in the basement and say "Stay the fuck away, mommy's making cookies." If she says Ali (oldest girl) made herself and her sisters ramen, I say "Well where the fuck is YOUR ramen? You did give birth to the ungrateful bitch, after all."

See what I mean? Mothers are supposed to be selfless. But if I had a daughter and she didn't know when to leave me the fuck alone or when to make me some goddamn ramen then the flogging would continue until morale improved.

That's another problem. I hit ALL THE TIME. Shaking baby syndrome is no way to get front page of the PTA newsletter.

Or so I hear.

HOLY SHIT I'M ON THE BLOGGESS' BLOGROLL

2009-03-23T00:05:00.000-04:00

I suddenly feel the need to stop watching this show about sex slavery in the suburbs and write something hilarious because I just checked The Bloggess' blogroll and I'm frigging ON IT.

I know this is because I whored myself out and was all like "Hey, you should put me on your blogroll" and she obviously did. So now it's all about hoping that if anyone finds their way to my blog that they find me witty and charming and way too inappropriate because honestly, I revel in my inappropriate nature. It's what makes me cheeky and unique.

Michelle and I went to what is probably the world's smallest Wal-Mart today. Oh wait, my bad. It's more like Walmart with an asterisk after it. Like "Walmart*", all sophisticated and shit. My asterisks looks way more ghetto, though. Anyway, we went in for cat litter and Michelle was like "We need a cart" so we turned back to get a cart in the one singular entrance that this tiny ass Walmart had, only to see a male employee chugging a Mountain Dew on a bench. I didn't think much of it til a female employee came along and was like "Men aren't good for anything, are they?" and Michelle said, "I was gonna say, that's one helpful Walmart employee right there."

While we were walking in, I was telling Michelle how when I'm at work, I don't ever help customers with carts. First off, it's not my job to help weak people yank a cart off the line, and second off, I'm a bitch who likes to watch stupid people struggle.

Me: I won't help them because they're usually really dumb about it. People don't wanna use two hands to pull a cart out. They pull with one hand and if it's stuck, they still won't use two hands.

Michelle: But it's not your job to do that for them. I think Walmart greeters are really lazy. All they have to do is give me a cart and say "Have a great shopping experience today!" but they don't even do that.

Me: If it was my job to greet people and give them carts I totally would. I'd have no problem if that was my only job, but it's not. And I hate people too much to do nice things for them unless it's my job.

Which is true. I hate the people who come into my store because they are LAZY AS FUCK and don't wanna do shit for themselves. Publix is all about great customer service and after three years of working there it seems that "great customer service" usually translates into "kissing customer ass so they'll always come back with the belief that they won't have to do anything for themselves."

I was once told by a customer that in Europe, people bag their own groceries. WHAT A FRIGGING CONCEPT, right? I bet they bag their own shit in Canada, too. I think that if they do then that'll be reason number two after better healthcare for me to move there.

Speaking of other countries, I went to the Health Dept. the other day to see the gyno and get back on the pill. One nurse asked me if I needed condoms and I said no cause I still have plenty but the nurse who brought me the pills put them in a bag with 20 condoms and when I got them home and was counting them I noticed they said "Product of India" on the back.

Me: Mike, these say "Product of India" on the back. Know what that means?

Mike: What?

Me: If we use these then THE TERRORISTS WIN!

Mike: So all people from India are terrorists?

Me: Of course! Didn't you listen to Bush when he was president?

Now before anyone gets all mad let me clarify that I don't think all Indian people are terrorists. I just thought it was a particularly appropriate stereotype for the moment. As well as damn hilarious because I sure got a good laugh out of it.

We're using the condoms anyway, though. Mike and I procreating is scarier than terrorists attacks any day.

Twilight: Gayer than gay cowboys doing it in a tent

2009-03-21T21:36:00.000-04:00

I find it quite amusing how much gayness straight men are willing to tolerate. And for that matter, I also find it hilarious exactly WHAT gay men consider too gay.

This is a convo had with my boyfriend a few days ago, before I owned my own beloved copy of Twilight (which I already watched and ogled Rob Pattinson shamelessly).

Example of how silly straight men can be in regards to levels of gayness:

Me: I'm gonna make you watch Twilight.

Mike: Why?

Me: Because it's either that or Brokeback Mountain. (I've been threatening the gay cowboy movie for months now.)

Mike: OH GOD. I almost think I'd rather watch Brokeback.

Me: ...........SERIOUSLY?! You'd rather watch two gay cowboys fucking in a tent than a sparkly vampire?

Mike: Yes. Because vampires don't sparkle in the sun. They die in the sun, or they aren't vampires.

Me: Let me get this straight then. To you, sparkly vampires are more gay than gay men?

Mike: Yes.

And that, my friends, is why straight men are retarded when it comes to homosexuality. Because clearly, if Edward were to perish in the sunlight like all the other vampires then this wouldn't be an issue and he would gladly sit through Twilight with me knowing that he wouldn't have to see two men making out hotly against a building. Or grunting in a tent in a very sssssssssssssexual manner.

On that note, I'm going to accompany Mike to his nerdy friend's party, which includes alcohol. Which is apparently supposed to be enough to get me all sex nuts and retard strong.

And I was requested to bring hot friends. Because I clearly am a hot chick with a horde of hot sexually active just-turned-18-last-week friends.

Apparently.

I may very well die, but I need to try this new B&J flavor first

2009-03-17T00:27:00.000-04:00

So I've been awake for an ungodly amount of time. I've slipped into some completely shitty sleeping habits over the last week or so because my manager decided I should not work before 3:00 pm, except for two exceptions. Which means I've been going to sleep when I like to go to sleep, and since I'm a night owl, that generally ends up being around 3 or 4 in the morning.

Boyfriend's snoring has been keeping me up, too. It took me a while to get used to it when we first started dating, but eventually I think a person can be tired enough to sleep through just about everything. The problem that is that I've developed a completely random inability to fall asleep after he's already started his snore-a-thon and I have no idea why. It's fucking with me even worse because of how late I've been going to sleep. I end up falling asleep even later than normal, usually with my headphones on to drown him out, and then half my day off is gone.

I'm trying different techniques to get his snoring to calm down. It gets better when he's on his side, and holding his nose helps, too. But he doesn't like that. He woke up last night when I did that and said "You know I can't fucking breath when you do that" and I said "Which is why you need to learn to breath through your MOUTH and not SNORE and keep me AWAKE, honey" and he just rolled over and started snoring again, all pissy cause he thinks I was trying to suffocate him or something. Men, pssh.

The point here is that I barely got an hour of sleep last night. We didn't go to sleep til 4:30 anyway and I had to follow Michelle so she could get her car serviced and then take her to work. Once I got back I was all wide awake so I stayed that way til I had to work at 3. Of course, at about 1:30, I took a 45 minute nap that fucked me up even more. I was almost better off with no sleep at all.

Even now, I should be in bed cause I have to work at 11:30 tomorrow, but I bought this limited edition Ben & Jerry's Gingersnap ice cream today and I really wanna try it.

In other news, my store manager is in the hospital with something painful and related to his pancreas. Apparently he wants no visitors, but I will say this: if he bites it, then that's it. I'm transferring to another store. Our store in it's current managerial situation is pretty much a one-way flight to Suckville, USA with layovers in Lack of Communication City and Two-Faced Bitch Island. So if the store manager goes, a guy who will chase after shoplifters and kick out customers who insult his employees, then I fucking RESIGN people. I will assume the princess is in another castle and haul some A.

And I leave you with Things You Never Needed to Know About Big Mama (the assistant store manager bitch): Apparently home girl lost her V-card at the ripe old age of 14 and got pregnant before she was ever married. I mean, my mom got pregnant with my sister at 20 and never married the father, but this is my manager we're talking about.

I CALL HER BIG MAMA FOR A REASON.

The morning-ish after

2009-03-13T01:21:00.000-04:00

So I'm actually rather proud of myself for that last entry. I only made one mistake and that was calling one of the shots vanilla ice cream when really it was vanilla cake and it was FUCKING DELICIOUS. I finally tried buttery nipples and the nerds shots tasted just like I like my booze: not very alcoholic, so I think I could safely black myself out with enough of those in the future. There was also a shot called Girl Scout cookies that tasted like a thin mint only better because it had frickin' booze in it.

I'm watching CSI: NY on demand right now and this particular episode has a bar scene with a lot of half-naked chicks. Now, this would normally offend my fragile feminine mind (heheheheheNO) but these chicks are voluptuous. Like, they have boobies and their waists are bigger than my thigh. And my thigh is sizable, friends.

Speaking of sizable...there was a lady with a sizable shelf-like ass at the pool bar last night! And according to Michelle, said ass/shelf lady was with a friend in the bathroom twice and was very occupied with not understanding how the automatic paper towel dispenser worked. The ones where you wave your hand in front of it and it just...shoots some towel at you. Having that big an ass must limit the inner workings of your mind.

And on that note, I'm about to find out who killed the guy on the plane. And then I'm gonna read me some Stephen King and go night-night. Tomorrow is my day off and I'm gonna get drunk off my own homemade buttery nipples as soon as I find a good drinking game. Holla!

Drunkity drunk drunk

2009-03-12T01:18:00.000-04:00

It's my birthday bitches and I am drunk on 8 shots of various wonder! Buttery nipples are pretty much my favorite thing in the world right now, along with nerds and girl scout cookies and vanilla ice cream., Leftover burritoes are wonderful too and so is Will & Grace. Boyfriend is asleep but we had awesome sex before he fell asleeep so I'm all good!! Gonna go buy me some ingredients next time I have money for my own wonderful shots! BYE!

Amputee sex is the new anal sex

2009-03-10T22:13:00.000-04:00

I keep coming across these pictures on a forum and they are pictures of chicks that are missing limbs or are all taped up in an odd bondage-type way that makes them look like they might be missing limbs from a distance. Sounds strange, right? Like, how could it look like a girl is missing parts of her arms and legs from a distance? Well, I would show you, except it pretty much grossed me the fuck out and I think I’d have to find a way to sterilize my blog after I was done. And really, I don’t know if Purell makes enough sanitizer for me to get it all nice and clean and then still have enough left to scour your eyeballs and brain so the image doesn’t haunt you for the rest of your life.

The point here is that I don’t get amputee porn. I’m definitely not anti-porn by any means, I can totally enjoy myself some filmed sex if it’s good, but I’ve never been a fetish kind of girl.

But amputee porn…it’s Michelle’s fault I’ve ever seen any, and that shit is just so damn awkward. It’s like that episode of Family Guy where Brian goes back to college and his professor talks with a keyboard like Stephen Hawking and he has a wife who talks with a keyboard too and they show them “having sex”, which is really just the two of them in their chairs, on a bed, talking dirty via keyboard, and watching that is like watching a retard hump a doorknob. That’s what it feels like to watch a girl with her legs cut off mid-thigh get banged by a guy with all of his appendages in tact while her stubs wiggle around.

It’s disconcerting all around, really. And just a bit fucked up. And very hard to find. Just try googling amputee porn. I would wait, but it'll take years, and I'm pretty sure I'll need TCBY before then.

I imagine if I were a dude, especially a dude in the porn industry, I would at least have my standards. I have heard that a vagina’s a vagina and men will hump anything, but I would be picky if I were a dude. Not just with ladies missing body parts but also ladies who are eight months pregnant or on the rag. My boyfriend turns into such a chick about things when I’m on my period. Come on, dude. Lighten up! If men in porn can have sex with Knocked Up Backdoor Sluts, then what’s the problem here?

Whose warm lemonade is this? It's not mayan. It must be urine!

2009-03-10T02:38:00.000-04:00

This is the third time I’ve tried to type this entry. I’m trying not to sound like a pompous ass, but I don’t want to sound retarded, either. So I guess I’ll just type how I talk and hope I come across as funny as I like to think I am.

This chick Emily that I work with said something today that got me thinking about high school reunions. She mentioned running into a girl she knew in college and how said bitch has lost 20 pounds and looks awesome. Which led me to say, “Don’t you hate it when you run into people from the past and they look good and you look like hell?”

Like the other day, I went into the Publix closest to my apartment for some sushi and soda with my roommate Michelle and on the way in I realized I had a headache and I felt like puking, which doesn’t happen to me often. Michelle pukes all the time, she has the shittiest immune system I’ve ever seen, but I hardly every puke, so it was a freak occurrence. Anyway, we get our sushi and I’m trying not to blow chunks at the sight of all the cream cheese when who do I see but this dude named Karim who I met in freshman chemistry and who I shamelessly flirted with via text while he sat in the row ahead of me. This was back before my parents had a text plan. If only they knew the things we discussed for 10 cents per text. Hehehe…yes, it was that bad.

The thing is, I was gonna bang that boy. My ex-boyfriend had broken up with me right before I graduated from high school and I was away at college, all lonely, no friends, and this guy was cute. He flirted back a little and I got hooked. Boy was fine too, all Dominican and shit. He was from Miami and he had that cute accent that’s hardly there but it’s enough to melt your butter a little bit. So anyway, I run into him in Publix and he’s all giving me a kiss on the cheek, cause he’s Dominican and that’s how they do, and saying we should hang out and all I can think is, “I haven’t showered in three days and I might puke because of all the cream cheese. FUCK.”

So I take what Emily says and form a new train of thought, which centers on my high school reunion. I’m pretty sure that I’m gonna be one smug bitch at my high school reunion, and you know why? It’s cause I don’t plan on having any kids! Haha! Not only will I be the only one there who did not shove a baby out of my vag, but I will also be the only one there who didn’t get married before I left my teenage years behind! I will have beat the system with the business end of a rake and left brutal scratches in my wake! (I just read Shawshank Redemption, I am all about the “business end” of things.)

The thing about my hometown is that it’s not a town of teen pregnancies. At least, it wasn’t while I was there. When I was there it was all about not moving away for college, and going to PCC instead, and if you were a chick, getting a degree in nursing because that’s about all they offered that was decent. And also if you were a chick, it usually seemed to be about getting pregnant and/or married before you were old enough to have graduated from college. Like right now, I know one bitch who’s married and she’s a year younger than me. She met her husband in her freshman year. HOW FUCKING SPECIAL, right? She still managed to do shit in the right order. This other chick I knew has been with her boyfriend for like 6 years or some shit and I think they finally got married, but she always seemed mentally unstable to me. Plus she’s a preacher’s daughter so she had to do shit in the right order or God would smite her.

The point I’m making is that even the ones who got married BEFORE they had kids or the ones who got pregnant but are trying to make the best of it all have one thing in in common: it all happened really early for them. I’m all about not hurrying, about taking my sweet ass time to decide if my boyfriend is the one I want to marry, and taking an even longer time after that to decide if I really want kids.

And let me tell you, I highly doubt I should be procreating. Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you, too. I’m a mean bitch, I’m a cunt, and I don’t like kids. Everyone says they’ll laugh when I get pregnant. I’ll laugh even harder if I turn out to be infertile. How funny would it be if God forgot to give me a uterus or something? That’d be a kick in the ass to everyone who thinks it’d be hilarious to watch me raise a baby. Maybe I should start drinking more, just to be on the safe side, though.

When I waltz into that reunion with Mike on my arm (he’s a prime candidate for my husband, the only one in the running at the moment), I will feel safe and smug in the knowledge that my uterus has remained baby free since the last time I saw those people. My vagina will have popped out nary a fetus and I will drink copious amounts of screwdrivers and pina coladas to celebrate. And then Mike will take me to the hotel and we’ll have dirty loud drunken sex without the burden of kids.

However, knowing my luck, that would be the one night his sperminators got motivated and put me in a Jon and Kate Plus Eight situation and then I’d have to donate those babies to the Goodwill. Tax exemption, here I come!

And now a message from Jack of Will & Grace:

Rule number one: if the pad’s a rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’. Rule number two: the pad will always be rockin’.

PS: Also thinking I might need to change my blog name. I found another chick who's blog is named Miss Snark and it's very similar. I don't know if mine will look like a bad attempt at copying. Must contemplate with roommate over Svedka.

Honest to Blog

2009-03-06T21:51:00.000-05:00

So I’m sitting here, watching Step Up, trying to remember why I ever went to go see the movie in theaters when it first came out. Aside from the fact that my friend Amanda dragged me to it. And every time I see Channing Tatum, Captain Huge Ears But Hot Face, I remember why.

Watching this movie causes me to recall that this isn’t the only dance movie I fawn over. Save the Last Dance and Center Stage come to mind. I think I have a pretty intense ballet obsession for such a fat chick.

I feel the need to start my blog off right. I’ve probably fucked up any chance of that what with admitting in two paragraphs how much I love ballet movies, but maybe my sparkling personality and dirty mouth will win me back brownie points.

My goal here is to get my snarky out into the world. I’m not a huge purveyor of the blogging world. I only follow a few and aside from Jen Lancaster’s, I haven’t read nearly all of the entries available to me. It all started with Jen Lancaster, really, and her books which have spoken to me since I read them in the wrong order cause I didn’t know there was more than one and when I saw the title “Such a Pretty Fat” in Barnes & Noble there was no way I couldn’t buy it. Once I realized she had a blog, I was hooked, and am getting hooked one new ones every day.

I do not lie when I say I’ve started viewing the blogging world as a type of sorority I am dying to get into. I mean, some of the funniest thing I’ve read lately have come from blogging queens and I’m only just a teeny bit jealous and antsy to become equally as awesome and queen-like. But something tells me that blogs, like novels, take time to find success. I’ve already resigned myself to many years of fruitless writing before I hit on something good, and I’m totally cool with that. However, having my own little corner of the interwebz is kinda sweet in the meantime. Way cooler than my old Live Journal any day (although…way funny to read about how dramatic my life was when I didn’t know my then boyfriend was gay).

Basics on my life, in case anyone does start reading this and wonders who the hell I am. The About Me section only let me have 1200 characters so I have to be all brief and shit. Let’s just say that I hate my job with a fiery passion, mostly because of the customers, because the particular grocery store I work at is all about customer satisfaction. In other words, it’s a Corporate Kiss-Ass Ladder that I refuse to climb, and it’s all about kissing the asses of these douchebag customers who come in to return a canister of Pringles because they didn’t like the flavor. Most of my management doesn’t like me very much, and I don’t like most of them. I feel this is because I’m not a fervent supporter of playing mind games at my place of work and a few of my managers seem to think they’re only good managers because they’re the kinds of cuntbags who play mind games.

Sadly enough, that’s about all my life is right now. Working at Publix for as many hours in a week as they’ll give me (which is rarely enough) and trying to save my money so I can pay all my credit card bills in a timely fashion. I have a boyfriend, I have roommates, and I’m an aspiring writer. Oh, and I’m terrified of roaches. Which is more inconvenient for my boyfriend than me cause he gets to kill them, and he sucks at it.

And I leave you with an awesome quote from Ghost World for no reason at all other than that I love it.

Boss: We Greeks invented Democracy!
Doug: You also invented homos.
Boss: Fuck you.
Doug: You wish, you gotta buy me dinner first!