Television

I had my brother over for dinner tonight. I was a little wary of his reaction to my joblessness, considering he vouched for me to get that job. And I promised him that I would stick it out through thick or thin for at least two years. (Psh, two years? I don't keep jobs for that long! I kept my RA job that long, but that was different. The RA job required, at minimum, maybe thirty hours a month, but you could spend, like, 29 of that watching TV.)

But he came over, and I kicked his ASS at Scattergories, thanks to the category "Boy's Names" and the letter was D. 30 points of terrible handwriting. Sweet. He sent me a text that I didn't get until 6 because my husband took my phone with him to work today, so I couldn't answer any of the mean calls I got from work, or hear any of the bitchy voicemails. It was a nice text.

I don't miss my job yet, either.

Opportunities Knock Loud

This morning, they cut a hole in the fish bowl, right in front of the computer we don't really use.

The following conversation happened early this afternoon, right after I jumped off the counter, where I was standing to spread fake spiderwebs from the ceiling to the top of the fish bowl. (The fish bowl is where I work. The entire reception area is surrounded by glass.)

Manager: Hey, do you want that job?

Me: Heck yeah. Would you like me to write an "I don't quit letter" first? You know, rescind my resignation officially before I accept another job in the company?

Manager: As far as I'm concerned, you never did. I totally lost your resignation letter.

Me: Right, like it was a bad dream or something.

Manager: Exactly!

This other conversation happened later this afternoon, and it would be a lot funnier if you were there. Sorry.

Assistant Manager (AM): Why did they cut another hole into this glass? It's not like we use this computer for anything.

Training Manager (TM): They do paperwork at this desk. It seems like a big interruption to have a hole there.

AM: Well, I guess we can put some Halloween decorations over it, since it's just going to be a distraction.

Co-Worker 1: I heard they are going to have a receptionist start next week.

AM: I would have heard about that! They didn't hire anybody for that, I know. I DO ALL THE BACKGROUND CHECK FORMS.

TM: I haven't seen any posted job openings in the center.

AM: (Getting mad.) This is stupid! They can't do that! I AM THE ASSISTANT MANAGER AND I SHOULD GET TO BE A PART OF THE HIRING PROCESS.

And there I am, watching it from a few feet away, laughing my ASS OFF. I AM TOTALLY THE NEW RECEPTIONIST, BITCH.

Nothing glamorous, like I said, but a hell of a lot better than the gig I have now.

UnQuit

In a time of economic crisis, where Wall Street and the government and huge business is trying to squeeze every fucking dime they can out of the lower and middle classes, it's probably not a good time to quit your job.

I've been applying for tons of jobs, and only two looked promising. Neither of my two prospects worked out. One decided to stop hiring, and the other just wasn't that impressed with me during the interview. I could be more hurt, and I could be a lot more upset. Honestly, neither job sounded all that appealing to begin with, but both were something different, something more interesting than drawing blood samples and asking people about AIDS all day. Both would have been somewhere that I could wear my nice dress clothes and pretend that I was a hard-working, productive member of society.

Tomorrow, I'm probably going to have to officially withdraw my resignation. I've been talking a lot about it with my manager, and she's been so great and understanding about it. However, and this is a pretty big however, this however spans the galaxies and fills my heart with hope and desperation and longing for this however to be exactly what I need...there might be an opportunity for me in the center; they are pushing for a job to be created in the area I work in, a job that I'm beyond qualified for, and I have exchanged many hushed words behind closed doors about what I would do to get it. This job opening would allow me to wear my dress pants and not have to wear a lab coat. This lateral move is nothing glamorous, and it won't give me a raise. But out of the dozens of jobs I've been applying for, this is the kind of work I've wanted to do the most.

Everybody think happy thoughts for me tomorrow, as I'm praying that I'm given this opportunity to add another notch on the bedpost I call my resume.

Good

Good God, there is nothing in the world that sounds better than printing out a letter of resignation. Especially when you hate your job so much that you welcome a nasty summertime flu so that you have a good excuse to not show up for most of a week.

It's okay, I have two very excellent job interviews lined up this week at two awesome companies that pay better than where I current work, and neither job makes me sign a waiver stating that if I somehow contract HIV, I can't sue the company. Score!

Revolving Like Turnstiles

My job already handed me a trainee. "Train her well," they said. "If there's one thing that pisses us off, it's poorly-trained employees. We may have to kill you if she makes a mistake.

"We'll start by cutting off each of your fingers, then boiling the rest of your hand in cheap pesto sauce. From there, we'll take all of your cute clothes and give them to that bitch from college, and then we'll take your computer and install Windows ME. After that, we'll key your car. To top it all off, we'll bend the springs in your couch making it very uncomfortable to sit on. Maybe we'll take away your favorite Dooney and Bourke case and replace it with one made by Joe Boxer. That will show you, bitch."

Maybe that's a little exaggeration, but they MIGHT. So, it's 1 am and I can't sleep. Part of that is due to the kitten that won't calm the fuck down, but mostly, it's work.

Go Team Friday!

My whole day was blah blah good work ethic, blah blah promotion blah blah blah exceeds expectations blah blah blah.

So, I got that promotion to become a trainer at the good ol' plasma center. When I told my brother, he said "well, I got that promotion BEFORE I hit my 90 days, so I guess I'm doing better than you." To which I said "Well, at least I didn't have to get a second job to pay my bills, plus I have kitchen table, so there." I admit, that's really mean-spirited, but that's just how we relate. Get it?

I'm excited though. Trainer! That's another 3% raise! That's 33 cents more an hour! Woo!

A Story About My Panties

Today at work, five hours into my shift, I checked my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I believe I said something like this.

"HOLY HELL WHAT THE SON OF A DAMN IT!" I just got a new pair of scrub pants, and I didn't know they were see-through until I realized that you can see my panties right through the back. Because I love to share embarrassing stories, I told my friend, K. "I thought you knew!" was her only response.

Later, I went to grab my drink out of my locker on my last break, when I realized that somebody with handwriting suspiciously like my brother's had made a sign that covered the entire front of my locker that said "Rainbow Bright", which was then error-corrected to read "Rainbow Brite," with most of the sign being covered by a very incorrectly-drawn rainbow that was missing orange, blue, indigo, and violet.

Which I can only assume means that several people had noticed my underwear (and then neglected to tell me), which are covered with small rainbows. And also, my pants are more sheer than I thought, because those rainbows are tiny anyway.

But hey, I've said it before and I'll say it again; I've always wanted a nickname.

File Under "Freaking Pervert"

As I'm sure none of you have heard about this asshole; he's a man in my city arrested for distribution of child pornography. The article was funny in spite of its disgusting topic, especially pointing out that he was arrested at his "mommy's house."

However I met him aside, I do know this man. Probably one of the last things he did before his arrest on Wednesday was hit on me (or, as he says "flirt with" as he promised not to hit on me after I told him I was married, at least, not until a month after I'd been married) because he's a freaking scumbag.

It's just pathetic what some people do, and probably the only reason this man hit on me every time I ran into him is because, even though I'm 22, I look about 16-17 at most. I know another girl that he's constantly sexually harassing, despite both hers and my frequent requests, pleas, and threats for him to just knock it the fuck off, and she looks about the same age, even though she's 23 (and married, really top-notch man, huh).

I'm horrified by what this man has done. I mean, I've only known him for two months, and the first time I met him, I had already had him pegged as a creepy old man, but I never had any idea just what was going on in that totally twisted mind of his. I mean, seriously, Gerald, kiddie porn? What the hell is the matter with you? Not to mention that he's already a registered sex offender for God knows what else, but he was stupid enough to get caught again? Really?

When I heard that he was in jail, and what he was in for, I immediately felt like I needed a shower. I mean, that guy has tried to feel me up at least ten times, but because of certain, annoying circumstances, there was no way for me to avoid him completely. And the only reason he felt the need to openly stare at my chest was because I look like jailbait. Really nice.

Highlights

At work today, my friend Andrew managed to pop me in the eye with the back of his head. I got a shiny, swollen eye to show for it, and I can only imagine what on earth his already-misshapen feels like. Poor Drew's skull.

I came home about five hours ago and read an entire book. The swelling on my eye still hasn't gone down, and it's starting to turn purple, which excites me. I've never had a black eye before! I can't wait for work tomorrow. I'm going to tell people I got it in a fight with a ninja.

Bastard

I saw a great Father's Day card at Borders a few weeks ago that read something like "Happy Father's Day, You Old Bastard!" and I've been kicking myself all day that I didn't buy it then, as they appear to have sold out of them already. I love my father dearly, but we have a very silly relationship, and that card would have been freaking perfect.

If I felt like linking it, this is the part I'd link Ben Fold's song Bastard.

I spent my day in their pool, and I have the red legs to show for it. It was hard enough to coax Gabe into rubbing it onto my back without promises of sexual acts, and I'm much too lazy to bend the seventeen feet down to put it on my legs. So, I've upped my chances of skin cancer, and I feel like my friend Zach would be rolling in his grave if he knew. He died in November a few years back (the day I met my husband, actually) of a combination of skin cancer and swelling in his brain, and when I started going to a tanning salon when I was 19, he lectured me for about two straight hours, then he lit a cigarette and started hitting on me. He was 30 and married. He wasn't a man of few contradictions, but he was awesome.

It's still very hot, and I'm sitting in pajamas in my living room, watching Gabe play Assasin's Creed on the PS3 while waiting for my laundry to dry so I can go to sleep. I work another one of those 11 hour shifts tomorrow (lucky me), and although I'm scheduled for several of them this week, this may be my last one. My boss was allegedly fired on Friday afternoon, and without him, we may all be absolved from the two-hour meetings in the mornings. Which will be nice, don't get me wrong, but man, he really was the best boss I've ever had.

Damn

When I was 14, I met a guy. We spent many hours in Marketing class passing notes. He was my type. He was more than my type; he was the archetype, the original. Every relationship I've been in since then, up to this very moment, was with a tall, nerdy guy with dark hair and glasses. If you happen to be an ex-boyfriend who reads this site (I know of three), don't feel bad. I still loved you. Probably.

Anyway, being the first in my long line of nerdy boys whom I harbored secret crushes on, he was a little...intense. For instance, if you knew his name, you could look him up on Myspace and see that his music interests include Opeth and the only books he likes? Manga. He plays D&D on the weekends, and most weeknights. And I spent many of my teenage weekends and weeknights daydreaming about him.

When I was 17, I decided to let the crush go. I spent some time in Canada, and started dating a boy I met at church camp. And he started dating a girl who had once threatened to cut off my head and shove it in a mailbox.

I haven't seen him since I was 18, and nobody I know has ever mentioned him since.

Yeah, until today. It was the standard day for me. I went to work and threw up, and opted not to go home. An hour later, my bra clasp snapped off, so I had to take it off and go most of my morning hoping that I wouldn't be asked to do anything that would interrupt standing around with my arms crossed. Then I spent my lunch break at the local Target finding a suitable replacement. Right after lunch, a boy I knew in high school showed up, and I thanked every deity I could think of that I hadn't decided to just buy an Ace bandage and call it good enough.

You're thinking it was that boy I was in love with, aren't you? Dude, are you serious? If it had been him, I would have still been hiding in the supply room, clutching a ream of heavy-weight copier paper and hyperventilating the alphabet. So, no, it was his best friend, who was in for his donation (have I mentioned my new job is a plasma lab? You may have pieced that together). This guy also kind of knew my brother, so they struck up a conversation.

I was working when I got paged to call the lab. Being a new employee, nobody asks me questions, other than "hey, can you pull those charts" or "aren't you Brian's sister?", so I was already pretty suspicious. So, I call, and my brother gets on the line.

Him: "Hey, do you know [name of the guy who was there]? He had a friend [boy I loved]?"

Me: "Yeah, why?"

Him: "He just told me that [boy I loved] had a huge crush on you in high school."

Me: "....................?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!"

I mean, who the hell does that? That's the biggest slap in the face karma could give me right now. I mean, does he know how many years I pined for his gangly ass? And two weeks, two weeks before I get married, I find out that not only were those years totally wasted on a spineless prick who sends his best friend from high school to tell the brother of a girl he had a crush on FIVE FREAKING YEARS AGO that he had said crush, but the fact that he obviously thinks I'm still so desperate that he should at least give it a shot.

Jesus, leave me be, generic-named boy from high school. I just don't have time for your shit anymore.

Life, The Universe, and Everything [else]

Blah blah blah, I started a new job in Colorado Springs. However, there are cons to working there, namely that my brother works there as well. This is the third job I've had with him (the fourth place we've worked, although the fourth one, we never worked there at the same time as each other). In the total two years we've had the same place sign our paychecks, we realized we work very well together. The only major con? This job, I tried to make an effort to be my own person, nerdy as I may be, but it leaked out somehow that I was his kid sister. Ok, it didn't leak out, more like he told everybody. Damn it. I was used to good ol' Wyoming, where nobody knew my brother, I was just that chick with wit that could cut through diamonds. Now, I'm the witty girl who isn't nearly as cool as him, and people refer to as "Brian's sister," the only things I've ever had resembling a nickname other than [FirstnameMiddleInitialLastname].

I love him, though. He even gave me a set of his old scrubs to wear at the new job. Which was sweet because I sure as hell don't know where to buy scrubs. Unless I go to Wal-Mart and get a pair plastered with Betty Boop or desperation. Or I think they sell them at some second-hand shops. Or something.

The new job is a blast. I work at the front desk at a laboratory (which I pronounce as la-bore-ah-tory) for a pharmaceutical company. I figured, screw my college education, everybody in my family is either in the social services or medical field anyway. What's left to fight? I surrender to the patterns laid before me, plus, have you ever worn scrubs? It's like wearing pajamas to work. That, and let's face it: I do love me some Grey's Anatomy.

The trip down here was awful and snowy, but I made it, and I didn't wreck the car. I did a lot of other crap this week, but I just can't remember what. Let's pretend I did something cool, like jumping out of an airplane or rescuing kittens from a burning building.

Moving Day!

I feel I should have a talk about how much I've worked for my life since I moved to Wyoming, and how much I've changed since I've lived here. The experiences and friends I've had, and sometimes, lost. However, let's be honest here. I'm not that different than I was when I moved to this God-forsaken Hoth-like hell-hole four years ago, unless you count me going up two cup sizes and reading less Salinger, but instead can we focus on this for a minute? 10 best big cities in 2006, and number one? My old stomping grounds: the 719!

I took most of this week off from work to pack up all of the random crap that has accumulated throughout this crappy apartment over the last 10 months. I will not miss this apartment. There is a hole in the ceiling of the hallway that our neighbor actually put his arm through to high-five us over the weekend. It's okay, though, because that neighbor is awesome. But it's still unnerving to think that they can hear us all the time due to that hole, which leaks when they're showering.

So far, I've uncovered a stash of dress pants in my closet. I don't know where they came from, but they make me look like I lost ten pounds. Also, all my little things I've bought take up so many boxes, mostly full of newspaper. I'm never buying anything not made of plastic again. So, packing sucks. I'm taking a break. A beer break. At 1 in the afternoon.

It's all worth it, though. My dad, grandfather, brother, and I are going to drive up here in a few weeks and put all the boxes in the three vans (and trailers) that they own, and bonus, my father and grandfather are paying for all the gas to move our things to Colorado. Is your family awesome? Yeah, not as much as mine. My stepmother is lending me some scrubs to wear to work until I get my own, too. I know, I should have gotten an office job, so I had somewhere to wear my all my nice pants.

Left Foot Fucked

As today might have been my last day at my job, I felt sort of in the mood to mess with other agents. That's right, my official job title is Agent and I'm even on team 007, but all of this sounds a lot cooler until I mention how my supervisor branded me with the company logo temporary tattoo, and that I spend the majority of my day on the phone with agents in Canada, who all inevitably yell at me because I cannot turn somebody's phone back on until they pay their bill. My day is a blur of NPAS ACR BACGUII COMPRUC OHMYGODGETMEOUT. I'm much too used to spending my day on my feet, interacting with people who don't end every sentence with "eh" and use superfluous o's. I'm just not cut out for the desk job where I spend my day muting the phone so I can use the word "fuck." A little of this, a little of that.

Plus, I might even get fired for something I did earlier this week. Or maybe I'll take the job I'm interviewing for tomorrow. Long story, so I won't bore you with it.

By now, you've forgotten that I started talking about messing with other agents. I ran this idea by my coworker B., who told me that I would most likely get fired if I did what I was planning, so of course, I had to do it. Plus, B. was on the phone all day with a cold, and I gave him a pill-pack of Dayquil, so he promised not to rat me out.

Then the phone rang. My prank was harmless, I mean, it wasn't like those wily Canuks were really going to pay much attention that I answered the phone "Thank ye for calling ye ol' [place I work] Res'oral Line! How may I assist you, good sir or madame?" I kept up the entire conversation in middle English ("why, these modem thymes are detestable, good lady! I shall restore them for you at once, or I shall perish in the quarrel!"). I had to mute most of the conversation while the woman was talking, partially to muffle my giggles, partially to muffle the ones of my coworkers. This is where I should also mention I was faking a British accent the entire time. Not a fancy one, but the kind that poor British people in movies are portrayed as having.

And then I hung up, and damn it, you'll never guess who was behind me the entire time. If you guessed not my supervisor, but the manager of the entire office, you would be correct!

Long story short, I didn't lose my job. But he was laughing his ass off as he went back to his office, and just a few short hours later, my heart resumed its normal beating pattern.

Oh, Whatever

First off, person who checked my blog 17 times in a 13 minute period a few days ago: whoa.

Can I tell you how much I love my job? I'm still trying to figure it completely, but they're pretty relaxed about quota and breaks and not watching The Princess Bride on your iPod. Also, having no supervisors after 6 pm (and we're there until 11) seems to make everybody a little unmotivated. And that shit's contagious. I processed 19 orders last night in my 8 hour shift. Quota is 14 1/2. Per hour.

So, I'm still figuring it out.

But I'm going to love it.

The Past Week. In Annoyance.

Training at my new job is...well, there isn't really a word to describe how it is to be trained by a woman who looks like The Icebox.

The training is confusing. I spend about five or six hours at a time in a room full of people, most of whom are single parents or college students or idiots. I have taken nearly seventeen pages of notes, which is well above the average of the girl who sits next to me, who has managed to lose at least six games of tic tac toe. TO HERSELF.

When I'm not bored out of my mind at training, daydreaming about the day that I'll win the lottery so I won't have to work crappy jobs, I've been working on planning my wedding. The main problem I'm running into here is not any of the actual wedding pieces. I've already picked out a dress, and a cake, and favors, and centerpieces, and what else have you, but I cannot, for the life of me, find a place to have the damn reception. I've emailed a few churches, a few hotels, and NOBODY is writing me back! I'm supposed to be getting married in, oh, five months, and it's a little hard to send out those stupid little Save-The-Dates if I can't nail down a reception site for the date that I so very much desire.

Eloping is starting to sound more and more appealing. When I was a little girl, I always wanted to get married in Vegas by and Elvis impersonator. Maybe I'll just make it happen.

Superfast

Yesterday morning, I got a new job.

Oh man, I am awesome.

Best New Year's Present I've Ever Given Myself

I walked out of my job this afternoon. This seems as though it may be a running theme. However, I just couldn't take it anymore.

Somewhere between my manager being fired/arrested for embezzling thousands of dollars, the new manager being a complete jackass and favoring a new employee because she was actually sleeping with him already, and the fact that I've been hosed on nearly $200 in holiday and back pay, I'm over this! So I handed over my keys, grabbed my purse, and came home.

Which is where I am now. A little shaken, a little worried, but nevertheless, happy with my decision to get my ass out of a job where I'm not only taken for granted, but verbally abused and mistreated every single day! It's poured over into my personal life, triggered my depression to an almost suicidal degree, and made me basically cry in agony when my alarm went off in the mornings. I'm sick of craving a good, cold glass of wine in the mornings. I'm sick of needing cigarettes to get me through another painful day (I've started buying them by the carton, which lasts a little more than a week).

I hated that job. I HATED IT. So where am I now? Contemplating whether or not to get a glass of wine, or just stick with the iced tea I've got by my side right now.

Quickie

Well, at least Mr. Wasting-Company-Time is no longer my boss. I can't go into details because I could also lose my job. Hey, have you guys ever seen the movie Larceny? Or Let's Go To Prison?

Anyway, things are looking up. I got a care package of Evening Primrose Oil, and I'm spending my day making a huge pot of chili and cupcakes. Oh, and planning that wedding I'm having next summer.

Slipping On That Banana Peel Of Depression Again

I've had a very depressing past few weeks. I'm trying to find a place to live in Colorado Springs (not right now, but next year for sure) because, you know what, fuck Laramie, WY, that's why.

I'm not going to go into detail about work. Fuck work. I don't get paid enough to care if I just made sixty six cents to lip sync a highly whimsical version of Blink 182's song I Miss You into a caramel bottle. You know why? Because those five minutes only cost them sixty six cents. They probably made that up in profit from me not telling customers to eat my ass all day. Anybody with basic math skills can figure out how much I make an hour, which is not much considering those two AA degrees I have. Most people make at least $8.50 an hour with a couple of those bad boys.

My house is too cold, when I light a fire it's too hot, I'm depressed and ashamed of myself most of the time, and I think living in Wyoming for nearly four years now is enough. I miss my Colorado, with it's purple mountain's majesty and the zoo in the mountains. I miss living within 100 miles of a place to spend money that isn't a Wal-Mart. I miss being able to see my family more than four times a year.

I miss everything. It's time to go home.

Cranky

Tonight, I had to work until 1 am so that one person could buy Spiderman 3.

Oh, damn you Mary Jane, you dirty, dirty bitch.

Totally Irritated

You may not be able to tell, but I am angry-typing this because I am so, so pissed.

Dude, I am not good with kids. Well, I'm great with kids under the age of 7, but above that, I'm like "uh...do you want a Tang or something? Do you...play twister?" I am somebody's embarrassing uncle, the one who talks about your bras in front of your friends, scratches himself, and always smells a shade like Old Spice. That guy.

I have a point. My store manager has a 14 year old daughter, and she threw a party last week, so while he's still in Montana, he's counting on his employees to babysit her. For free. And today's frantic call from him was apparently his way of telling me it was my turn. It wasn't even a request. It was "I need you to spend your shift keeping my kid from shoplifting, and then take her home, feed her, buy her soda, and put her to bed. In YOUR house."

If that isn't bad enough, I worked tonight until about 11:30, and I have to go back in at 8 am. My whole night is now dedicated to keeping a 14 year old from drinking up my liquor. And getting her to school on time. And keeping her from killing herself by ingesting too much alcohol. And keeping her from drinking all my booze!

So basically, somebody owes me a fucking pony. And a six pack.

Mostly Bad Kids

The reading is going really slowly. I've been working closing shifts back to back with opening shifts, which makes for a lot of napping in the afternoons. Plus, when else am I going to keep up with the new season of South Park? "I've got a golden ticket!" What a horrible, horrible episode. Comedy gold, people.

With the help of a coworker today, I apprehended two teenage shoplifters. I think having them call their parents is the worst part. What words are there to say to your mommy when you're busted with $40 worth of HIM cds in your backpack? Other than "I'll beat myself for this later, please don't tell my dad" I mean?

I also found out that catching a shoplifter means my next paycheck will have an extra $100 bucks on it. Rock on.

Catching Up On My Classics

I am just now getting home from work. It's 1 in the morning, and I usually go to bed around, oh, 11, so I'm pretty cranky. As I am wont to do.

I ran into a man my boyfriend inexplicably calls Jimmy, even though he is both a dad of one of our friends, and a professor at that college we used to go to. Not that I can really mock him for that because I refer to him as Mr. T, and I doubt that man has ever used the phrase "I pity tha' fool!" but there you go. It was really nice to see a familiar, friendly face from that town because I've been ready to go home lately, even though I know that it's not my home anymore, and never will be again. Isn't that silly, I'm nostalgic for a shitty 1.5 horse town in rural Wyoming. The shame.

I also picked up a book titled Lolita today. You, like I, may have seen one of the movie adaptations, or maybe you, unlike I, have actually read it. (I've noticed that only smart people read this blog, which makes me feel rather inadequate in my writing. But hey, I may read the chronicles of Mia Thermopolis, but I also devoted my life to the religion of Salinger when I was about 15, so I don't want to hear it.) Anyway, yeah, Lolita. I've heard it mentioned in at least four conversations in the last week, so it seemed like time to pick it up. I hope it's better than that movie I saw a few years back.

And oh my god, I was just looking into the fire, and something flew out. It was a butterfly, and it's alive. I think I have to take care of this now.

Ramblings

Oh, what a day.

At midnight, Halo 3 was released, and since I work at the only place to get video games (other than Wal-Mart or K-Mart) in town, I was bombarded by people's telephone requests for it today.

"Are you sure you have enough copies? Can't you just hold one for me?" they pleaded as I stared at the cart stacked with copies. "No," I replied multiple times, "I guarantee that there will be enough." And there were. The store sold like twenty grand worth of video games today, and when I left, there were still, oh, a million copies left.

It was busy enough, apparently, that I worked from 8 to 6:30. If it were a real job, I might understand the long hours. But I basically work at the small-city equivalent to a Borders, not the Suicide Help Line. I'm only a little miffed because of the strep-throat I've got raging in my throat, the sickness that I was going to go to the doctor for today, only last night, my boss switched my shift on me at the last minute, and it's not like I'm going to pay the astronomical $200 copay at the hospital for somebody to look down my throat for five seconds and write me a prescription for antibiotics. I'd rather infect all the nerds! Nerds!

I might be more upset if I hadn't released that bird into the store the other day. But that's partially my assistant manager's fault. She pretty much said I could anyway.

Work

Today, I learned that I am allowed to take home advance copies of novels from work, and since practically nobody else in that entire establishment cares to read books before they come out, I got first dibs on this week's shipment.

I picked up The Girl Who Stopped Swimming by Joshilyn Jackson this evening, and so far, it is fantastic. I won't post any spoilers, or even an image, because we all know what happened the last time I did that (it took me over six months of editing on Wikipedia to get people to stop linking this site). Basically, in March 2008, you should pick up this book.

Further Proof I'm No Badass

Last night, I called my dad. I don't talk to him as much as I think I should, but that's only because he's so far away in New York. Who can afford that kind of communication, except after 9 pm and on weekends? Well, he told me he had a dream about me and he paused, and worked up the courage to ask if I was pregnant.

Dude, just because I've recently moved in with a guy, stopped pursuing my education, and abandoned all pretense of religious affiliation doesn't mean I'm knocked up.

I couldn't stay on the phone too late because I had another one of those fun 8 am shifts at work. I know, a lot of people have to be at work at 8 am (or earlier, the shame) but, dude, I'm 21! I don't get up before noon if I can help it.

I was really, really dreading this shift. The past few days, all I've done is stocked books. Thousands of books, all aranged in alphabetical order by author's last name, is not exactly the most fun I've had, oh, ever, so you can probably understand why I was thinking do I really need a job? Oh, how wrong I was.

I finally got trained to do what I was hired for, be a customer service manager, which is nothing more than a glorified cashier with access to keys that open the game cabinets. W00t. But I was so wrong because even though I was standing up from 8 am to 4:30 pm today without a break, I had a blast. My coworkers are badasses, rockstars, the elite of the underground social network of neo-punks. The kind of people I wish I could be. However, my hair doesn't do that flippy thing and I don't wear Chuck Taylors, preferring the $7.95 shoes I bought last month that were originally blue until I colored them black with a sharpie. Also, I've watched every episode of Big Brother that has been on this summer (can you believe that skank Jen lasted so long?) and my hobbies include scrapbooking and knitting scarves in the colors of the 4 houses of Hogwarts, so I have some work to do on myself before I can be One Of Them.

Also, my assistant manager bought me a latte, so that perked me right the hell up this morning. It's odd, I'm kind of looking forward to going to work tomorrow morning (5 days this week, 8 am!). This is a day that needs documentation because the last time I looked forward to going to work, I had braces and a '77 Caprice with dice over the rear-view mirror.

Work Bands

I started work today. Finally. That job was a pain in the ass to get because they had to call all my references, one of whom has switched offices on campus and was probably pretty hard to track down. He never spent much time in his office to begin with. Then, of course, I had to pass that drug test. And wait for the manager to actually be at the store because he goes on a lot of business trips.

The fact that I am probably the nerdiest girl you've ever seen becomes apparent in this story. My work uniform is an issued t-shirt and jeans. To compile some aura of coolness with my new coworkers, I also donned a Lawrence Arms hooded sweatshirt because it's not like I've ever met anybody on the street who even knows who they are, and I could use the ruse of being a badass behind my indie-rock favorites, adding a little mystery to who I am. Give me a break about this one because I only slept an hour and a half last night, and it made sense at 7 am.

I knew my shroud of being cool was gone before I even got in the door. I was waiting for it to be unlocked when my new boss looked at my sweater and was all "You like the Lawrence Arms? I love them!" Not only was he just trying to compile a little badass-ness of his own, he is quite possibly as big of a fan as I am. He knew who they went on tour with their last time around! He's gone to Denver for one of their shows before! Which, sadly, means there's a really chance I've slammed into him in a mosh pit. And I shouldn't be surprised because this place I work is like 25% Barnes and Noble, 75% Empire Records.

Maybe I need to be obsessed with a new band or something. This one is becoming well-known, and I need some indie-rock street cred.

Tyler Durden Isn't Real

It's three am. I work at eight. It will be my first day of a new job, the best job I've had in a long time. I don't know why I can't sleep. Maybe because I'm watching Fight Club online instead. Insomnia wasn't too bad for Edward Norton until the six month mark.

I've been very angry today. Maybe that's why I can't sleep. My old laptop is fixed after nearly a year of issues, and I'm upset about it. Hardcore. Not that it works, it's more like how it works. It all boils down to a long set of lies that I realized after one person said a whole five words to me. Six months of confusion, three months of pointless (non) conversations, and an entire year of bullshit was uncovered with one mere sentence. I stamped my foot, called somebody the naughtiest word I could think of (starting with a c and having most of the same letters as aunt), and broke out into frustrated tears.

You could say I was a little worked up over it. I'm better now.

And I'm hoping that a routine, a job, will help me to break out of this depression. As much as I've enjoyed these last three weeks of sleeping until noon and watching television all day, it wasn't really very good for my work ethic.

It's Not Worth Talking

I'm getting pretty sick of bridal magazines.

I mean, they're good for browsing for dresses and thinking about invitations, but they really tell you absolutely nothing about how to plan a wedding. And what the hell is a save-the-date?

Grr...not cool, Bridal Guide, not cool.

I've gotten a job as an assistant manager, and I don't start for a few more days. I've been working at a much crappier, more minumum-wage-ier job, and I'm pretty happy to get the chance to switch. Nothing makes a college dropout feel better about themselves the way that not being paid more than $7 an hour can. Ok, and I'm not dropping out, I'm taking time off.

My friend K., who is not taking any more time off, swung through town this weekend, returning from Washington, where she got to spend her summer. I am a little jealous, I'll admit, because Washington is my favorite place on the planet. She had a blast, made some friends, and drove 23 hours straight before she stopped by and crashed on my couch. Poor girl. Maybe I'm not jealous of the travel time. I hate traveling.

And in other news, the next person to mention the Nintendo Wii to me dies.

Flirty

So, here's something I'm sure you know (if you know me): I suck really bad at flirting.

For instance, this evening, I was out delivering pizzas, and a very nice southern gent gave me a $20 tip. I thanked him, and it wasn't until I got in my car and saw his phone number scribbled on the bill that I realized oh duh.

And usually, when a guy is just being nice, I think hey, maybe he thinks I'm cute. But if you've seen me ever, you would know that I'm really not.

Whatever. I'm tired, and I still suck at flirting even after the five minutes it took to write this. Thank God I never ever have to find a boyfriend again.

7-7-7!

Happy Luckiest Day of the Century!...or something. I don't know about you, but I can chalk this up there as one of the worst days I've had in a long, long time. I'll just Tarantino this and tell you the ending first; I pushed a senator and his wife out of my way. Not the state senate. The SENATE senate.

Why did I lose my mind enough to shove a senator +1 out of my face? Because I had a pretty crappy day, and I know that it doesn't matter what my issue was because there's no excuse for pushing somebody, but I tell you, I've never forcibly touched anybody with so much power. It was like that time I egged the mayor's house, only what? I didn't do that. (Don't tell my mom.)

Anyway, I was standing in the lobby of the Holiday Inn, pizza bag in one hand and bad mood in the other, and they just stopped and stood there, continuing their asinine conversation. I might think they didn't hear my pleas of "excuse me, can I get through here" only they turned, glanced at me, and continued discussing frogs or rimjobs or whatever the hell it was that they were actually talking of.

And after three solid minutes of waiting for them to get the fuck out of my way, I lifted my weak arms, forced them in between the two, put one on wifey's sholder, and removed her from in front of the damn door. She scoffed, and he donned a pissy attitude, so I placed both my hands on his chest and moved him off the damn path, too. Grinning, I continued my pizza delivery skills, and when I passed them in the lobby a few minutes later, they were sure to stay out of my face.

Show Me Your Boobs!

Today (well, yesterday, as it's past midnight. Whatever. Saturday.) I had to be at work at 10 am for Sexual Harassment Training Seminar 2007. On my day off. That was fun.

Anyway, I ended up going BACK at 10 pm because I got a frenzied phone call from my boyfriend that it was so busy that he was about thirty seconds from pulling out his box cutter and ending it all in a bloodbath.

That's not really the point. The point is that I pulled a Mardi Gras and flashed a co-worker to demonstrate a type of visual sexual harassment.

"But wait," you are now saying aloud to your monitor, "you just said your boyfriend works with you. Surely, you didn't show your breasts to another co-worker. You are trying to fool me into thinking that you flipped up your t-shirt and showed your pink bra to another man, but I'm not buying it." And of course, that's what I want you to believe. That I was so naughty that I have no problem giving a peep show to somebody I am not engaged to.

The truth is, yes, my boyfriend was standing right in front of me when I lifted up my shirt to demonstrate sexual harassment. But the person I was flashing was my stoner co-worker/good friend, Zach. Apparently, Boyfriend didn't think that was very appropriate to sexually harass another man. But Zach said that it's not sexual harassment if it's not unwanted.

I wonder if I made Boyfriend's shift better or worse?

Shorty

So, I stopped showing up for work at Wal*Mart about a week ago because they are pure freaking evil, and they have called me 7 times and left 5 messages.

Apparently, they won't let me quit. THEY'LL NEVER LET ME QUIT.

In other news, my manager at the pizza place had me do some things that were probably against the rules, but I made an extra $20 in tips.

In other other news, it's great to be me.

Odd Work Conversation

(Please keep in mind I've had this job for three weeks.)

Me: Can I change my availability?

Boss: Uh-oh.

Me: No, I'd like to change it to 'all the time.'

Boss: Oh. Sure. What happened to Wal-Mart?

Me: It sucked.

Boss: Hey! What are your career goals?

Me: What? Oh, I'm just doing college. I want to teach, or maybe be an editor.

Boss: Would you be interested in a promotion?

Hey

Eh.....

I slept from midnight until 2 pm today. I woke up at 7:30 and stared at the alarm clock, it's beeping mocking was mocking me and I just couldn't take it. I called into work, stating food poisoning, and no matter how much bullshit I was shoving down their throat, I knew that, had I gone into work, I probably would have walked over to the hunting department and asked for the key to the gun case.

In other words, I'm not able to do this 60 hours a week bullshit because one week of it has already driven me crazy. I've been bitchy and irritable constantly, and my poor boyfriend and roommate have been angels putting up with me. I owe them both so much gratitude for not telling me exactly where I can shove that snotty attitude that I've adopted.

The crap part is that this job pays more per hour than any other job I've ever had, and if it was my only job, I'd be fine. But I love my pizza delivery job more, and with tips, I make plenty of money to survive. Well, I would if I was a full-time employee anyway.

On Monday, I'm going to walk right up to my manager and get on my knees and beg for full-time. Because I love it, and I kind of want to stop being so tired and angry that I scream at people when I'm late for things.

Flux Capacitator..check

One of the guys in the shop was going over a checklist with me today, and he actually tried to slip that in, and if I wasn't practically married, I'd probably develop the world's tiniest crush on that man.

However, being covered in oil is kind of a turn off for me.

New job somehow turned into FUN new job today around 11 am. Sure, my job is basically being something cute and shiny for the dirty old men to look at while they're getting their tires rotated, but I also do useful things. Like checking VINs and directing people to electronics.

I did mention I worked at the local Wal*Mart, didn't I? I'm sure the manager at Kroger would be so disapointed to see me turn over to the dark side, but the $10/hour to stand there and be ogled is nice, and I don't even have to dance on any poles or serve hard liquor. I wouldn't mind the tips in my panties, but having my dignity intact is a nice trade off. Plus, I live in Wyoming. I'd probably just get quarters shoved up my ass, and I'm more of a pennies girl myself.

Graph

Well, Smacky, I think the graph might look more like this.

The pink line is a little inaccurate. For instance, I don't hold any grudge against either the first or fourth person on that graph. I'm still friends with both of them.




PS-I quit my job today. In 33 minutes, I will no longer work any sort of crappy tech support. Everybody was right. Who knew?

Never again will I be forced to say JUST POWER CYCLE YOUR GODDAMN MODEM AND IT WILL ALMOST ALWAYS FUCKING WORK.

I start another new job on Tuesday (leaving me three jobs, for those keeping score at home). Rock freaking on.

I Win!

Today at work, my hours were cut by about a quarter of what I worked, meaning I lost a quarter of my income.

And since I have to start saving up for our house, and we have to pay $1000 deposit by the end of June, this was just freaking unacceptable.

Luckily, about two hours after I got off work (and a bottle of cheap wine later), I received the best phone call that I could possibly get.

A job offer. Yeah, it's delivering pizzas, but my friend Z. works there, and he averages $18 an hour, and I guess that's about the norm for this company in this town. Which means that, with the three jobs I currently have, I'm going to make somewhere in the neighborhood of $Enough.

And I'm sorry for anybody who happened to read the post I deleted where I made a racial slur about my crappy boss. I was out of line. And drunk.

And for the record, I totally sobered up before I drove across town to fill out my paperwork.

Campus

Last night, there were some issues on campus, in my complex, but luckily I wasn't on duty, so somebody else had to deal with it. And I'm glad for that because those kids were out of control.

Around 11 pm, I went to put my laundry in the dryer, and I saw a pink write-up sheet on the washer. I picked it up, and I was very surprised to see on the line where the RA on duty signs her name, she had written my name, even dotting the I with a certain condescension.

She didn't even have the balls to open her door when I knocked to ask her why the hell she did that.

Whatever, coworker. PS-I know where you sleep at night.

LAN Party

Who the hell names their kid after Peter Gabriel? My boyfriend's parents, that's who.

Anyway, Mr. Boyfriend and I have been spending more time together than is really healthy, so tonight, we both went and hung out with our separate friends, doing our separate interests, which means I went over to a friends house and put lipstick on her cat while watching Spiderman. Totally my idea of a Saturday night.

My boyfriend headed over to a LAN party, which is one thing I don't really understand. I mean, people bring their desktop computers to those. WHAT IS THE POINT OF OWNING A LAPTOP IF YOU DRAG YOUR DESKTOP EVERYWHERE? I know Take Your Daughter To Work Day was earlier this week, but if you treat your computer that as one, it's going to be a very long time before you have any kids. Or practice making them.

My boyfriend called me while he was driving over. He said that they had called him and asked him to bring as many Ethernet cables as he had because nobody thought to bring theirs. I thought it was kind of ironic that they lovingly disassembled their computers and probably put them in steel cases lined with 100% freshly-skinned kittens, all cute, but they didn't think to bring anything that would hook them up to the internet.

Even more ridiculous? The party is at the warehouse for the internet service provider where he and I both work. In the storage warehouse for an internet company, a building full of modems, and nobody knew where to find extra cables.

Why do they rip out perfectly healthy teeth, anyway? Can't they just straighten them?

In case you were wondering, my presentation went AWESOMELY.

Now onto my next problem: teeth.

That's right, my teeth. My four, large wisdom teeth that are all simultaneously growing in crooked. There isn't enough Ambesol in the world to keep me from wanting to stomp around like a baby. There is, however, enough Sangria, which I found out that I can buy 5 liters for $10. Of course, I'm not allowed to purchase it because it's a dry campus and I'm an RA and all. And we know that the rules always prevent me from doing things that I'm legally old enough to do anyway.

I think I mentioned it briefly before, but I'm going home to my wonderful home state of Colorado later this month to have them pulled. I'm excited because, hey, who doesn't love big cities? Hopefully, once I get them pulled, the pain on the outside of my jaw will go away as well. Friends in the nursing program keep telling me that it's probably my lymph node that is swollen, but I've convinced myself that it's something to do for my teeth because going to the doctor would be such a hassle.

In other news, my boss gave me permission to "bitch slap" one of my coworkers. That makes me so happy that I can barely explain it.

Long weekend. Oh man, what a long weekend.

I got in my car on Saturday night, and it wouldn't turn over. The clock had reset itself. Damn it. So, yesterday, boyfriend drove me to Napa Auto Parts and even installed the new battery in my car for me. He rocks.



Also, he's cute.










I got precisely zero hours of homework done over Spring Break, so I've been working on a health test all morning at work (I work at a job where I wait for people to call in, so I put aside my homework while I help people delete their temporary internet files or whatever) and I'm not even concerned about all the contraceptive information I had to Google (I'm more concerned that they might find my blog and be all "oh, she's dating somebody who works here, isn't that cute"), but oh man, damn you, Health Test question 32 because they are all food borne illnesses.

I trust you're well, internet.

Thing That Makes Me Pretend Sad

Today, I finally got to start taking calls at my new job at the dot com.

Yeah, I work at an ISP. Like I know shit about the internet. Thank God for this website.

Anyway, I work in tech support, and I've been training the past week. But today I got myself a cubicle and a headset, and I logged onto the phone at 6:30 pm. My supervisor was going to listen to my calls tonight so th