there are moments of the day where i'm concerned that the only blog i read other than my own is a pathetic piece of literature centered around twilight.
i'm over it, right?
apparently not.
so as i sit and sip my half-fat no-whip peppermint h.c (i give myself props for this one... i made it at home sans the stuck up and slow starbucks barristas) i've decided to rid myself of the twilight fiends. i'm at a healthy place in my life where i don't need to constantly decipher hand placement in a hug, or a sidelong glance when you didn't think anyone was noticing.
who gives a fuck? i mean, who gives a fuck if they're fucking?
i'm not fucking. so, really, i mean, c'mon. there's no need to pry into what others do in their bedrooms just because you're not getting any.
ohhhhh how i'm not getting any.

i can't decide if i'm excited for christmas or the feeling i get when i think about it is just a side effect from a mixture of unbridled postal-rage and the fumes from the sharpie i just used to address my christmas presents. i'm going to go with the latter, because the former doesn't really apply. i'm not excited. i'm not stoked on life. i'm just waiting until it's all over. my feet are killing me; if one more person asks me if i work there i'm going to throw a fit. working retail has effectively ruined my holiday spirit. not that i had much of one before.
don't get me wrong: i love decorating and i love seeing everyone together-- aside from this year. i would rather have extensive dental work done without local anesthetic than have to put up with my 'family' for more than twenty minutes. this year i'd rather be somewhere warm. i don't even care if i'm by myself or with my parental units or with friends. i don't want to be here. i don't want to have to be anywhere near a mall until sometime in the new year. i don't want to have to explain that no, the warranty does not cover your wife 'accidentally' smashing her watch on pavement thereby cracking the face into several pieces. and no, dear dickbag will i replace it for you free of charge.
i have thousands of stories like that one... and trust me, they all end the same way. i have to walk away from going postal and the customer usually does what i already asked them not to do.
i hate retail. hate hate hate hate hate!

thankfuckily i don't have to work christmas eve. the traditional douchebags of christmas come out then, i'm sure. i'll be one of them, scouring the city for that all too perfect gift. fucking swim goggles. fucking father. i should just give him the goddamn money. he'll just return whatever i buy him anyways, or not use it like he always does. fucker.

that's it. i've had enough. i'm going to go pour a generous amount of baileys into this hot chocolate and see if i can finish this damned wrapping before i have to stand for another 8hr stint in hell.
i'd prefer hell, to be honest. it's warmer there.

b; old enough to know better; attached.
college student of historical events, future educator. canadienne. i like to read, but i don't do it enough. i run. i like zombies. i'm obsessed with all things batman, except not batfleck. i'm a terrible video game player, but i'm getting better through attrition. i can play piano pretty good, though. the sound of city streets soothes me, but i love the silence of the forest. curious stargazer.

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there are moments of the day where i'm concerned that the only blog i read other than my own is a pathetic piece of literature centered around twilight.
i'm over it, right?
apparently not.
so as i sit and sip my half-fat no-whip peppermint h.c (i give myself props for this one... i made it at home sans the stuck up and slow starbucks barristas) i've decided to rid myself of the twilight fiends. i'm at a healthy place in my life where i don't need to constantly decipher hand placement in a hug, or a sidelong glance when you didn't think anyone was noticing.
who gives a fuck? i mean, who gives a fuck if they're fucking?
i'm not fucking. so, really, i mean, c'mon. there's no need to pry into what others do in their bedrooms just because you're not getting any.
ohhhhh how i'm not getting any.

i can't decide if i'm excited for christmas or the feeling i get when i think about it is just a side effect from a mixture of unbridled postal-rage and the fumes from the sharpie i just used to address my christmas presents. i'm going to go with the latter, because the former doesn't really apply. i'm not excited. i'm not stoked on life. i'm just waiting until it's all over. my feet are killing me; if one more person asks me if i work there i'm going to throw a fit. working retail has effectively ruined my holiday spirit. not that i had much of one before.
don't get me wrong: i love decorating and i love seeing everyone together-- aside from this year. i would rather have extensive dental work done without local anesthetic than have to put up with my 'family' for more than twenty minutes. this year i'd rather be somewhere warm. i don't even care if i'm by myself or with my parental units or with friends. i don't want to be here. i don't want to have to be anywhere near a mall until sometime in the new year. i don't want to have to explain that no, the warranty does not cover your wife 'accidentally' smashing her watch on pavement thereby cracking the face into several pieces. and no, dear dickbag will i replace it for you free of charge.
i have thousands of stories like that one... and trust me, they all end the same way. i have to walk away from going postal and the customer usually does what i already asked them not to do.
i hate retail. hate hate hate hate hate!

thankfuckily i don't have to work christmas eve. the traditional douchebags of christmas come out then, i'm sure. i'll be one of them, scouring the city for that all too perfect gift. fucking swim goggles. fucking father. i should just give him the goddamn money. he'll just return whatever i buy him anyways, or not use it like he always does. fucker.

that's it. i've had enough. i'm going to go pour a generous amount of baileys into this hot chocolate and see if i can finish this damned wrapping before i have to stand for another 8hr stint in hell.
i'd prefer hell, to be honest. it's warmer there.