Posts Tagged ‘random’

The Glued-on Smile

March 3, 2010

Every February-ish I’m listing to one song or another from Skinny Puppy on repeat. Like, Repeat. With a capital blowmyearsout. This year, of course, is no exception. Apart from the car I drive whilst listing to aforementioned song, and contemplating taking a wrong turn into a telephone pole. 

Of course the live version video is better but this is here for clarity’s sake. Hah. Clarity.

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Freedom (or, Mindgames II)

February 24, 2010

Oh, XKCD, where would I be without you.  It’s like we share the same hive-mind or something

After a 9 hour shift, I just don’t have the words for today

February 2, 2010

Shrinkydinks

January 27, 2010

Dear CowWorker, 

I’d say I’m really sorry you live a small life, but that would imply my considering you and your sad existence.   My life is not small, I will not work here for 31 years and have this place as my sole source of entertainment, interaction or friends. 

Have a wonderful evening with your Lean Cuisine dinner, your sham of a marriage and the children you squeezed out who don’t love you anymore. I have Things to Do, Places to Go, Drinks to Drink and the impending GRE on my plate. 

In other words, kindly fuck off.

Sincerely yours, 

******

Mindgames

January 25, 2010

Dear Customers, 

Because I’m feeling magnanimous today, I will share with you the reason I don’t allow you to visibly anger me anymore with your stupid demands, rudeness, insipid helplessness and generaly cuntitude that comes with being middle-aged menopausal women. 

When you start up with your nastiness, rudeness, and general mistreatment of me, the retail worker, I imagine stabbing you with my scissors, in the face, repeatedly. I picture picking up the largest piece of merchandise near me and swinging it like a baseball bat until it connects with that thick skull of yours.  Home-run!  

And to top it off, after I finish killing you in my head, I smile, look you straight in the eye and wish you a great afternoon, good luck or a wonderful evening. And I thank you for your patronage. 

See, if you anger me and I break the mask I wear to get through the day, then you win.  But when I continue about my task of helping you with the same level of neutral professionalism and polite faux-interest that I give my nonasshole customers, I win.  And top it off,  I’m entertained by scenes of your death.

Some days are harder than others, but I Will. Not. Let. You. Get. To. Me. 

So doubly,  I will continue to win because I laugh at you. You have no idea what I’m thinking  and that is freedom.  

Oh yeah, and I watch Dexter not for entertainment, but more of a “how-to.”

Thank you, come again,

*******

Rich old white men

January 6, 2010

Dear Corporate,

Pull your heads out of your asses and quit cutting my hours.  You don’t get to decide when or why I will quit. I do. Cutting my hours to the point where I can no longer feed or house myself is tipping the scales in your favour.  You don’t declare my 2 weeks’ notice. I DO. 

While George Bush said working 3 jobs is “uniquely American” , I call it BULLSHIT NECESSARY WHEN FACED BY A LACK OF A LIVING WAGE, OR STEADY HOURS FOR THOSE STUCK BEING PAID BY THE HOUR. 

I CANNOT SAY FUCK YOU LOUD ENOUGH OR HARD ENOUGH TODAY. 

This could be the year where I become eligible for food stamps,

*******

Because I’m good enough and smart enough and gosh-darnit people like me

January 6, 2010

Dear Customers,

I hate you.  I mean, yeah I hate myself too, but I hate you more. 

Save the planet. Kill yourself.  

*******

Status meeting

December 31, 2009

Dear Customers,

I’m proud to say, I made it through the holidays without a  without much of a body count.

That said, you’re on notice. I’m stretched tighter than Rush Limbaugh’s pants after a weekend pills n liquor bender. 

I may fucking snap at any moment right now. 

Fuck. You. 

*******

Of all the times for my phone not to have a camera…

December 23, 2009

To adopt a more “positive outlook on life” (shut the fuck up), I’ve decided to share An Awesome Thing From This Week ™. This week:

My cowworker (you read right. It isn’t a typo. She’s a fucking cow.) wrote a poem about our place of employment and left it on the table in the breakroom. 

Yep.  

A poem.

A motherfucking poem.  Jumpin’ jesus on a pogo stick. I can’t make this shit up. 

And yep. My phone doesn’t have a camera so I have no way of getting it out into the world, where it ought to be, save for texting a line of it every day to my bff, with the hopes that she will transcribe in careful calligraphy strokes onto handmade parchment in purple ink crushed from the shells of rare snails.  

Because the poem is seriously. Just. That. Good. 

Stay tuned, faithful readers. All 5 of you. 

PS: Also this week, a 9 year-old told me her dream in life is to sew clothes and give them away to poor people, and that this is a plan she and her friends discussed. OMG. Seriously, my heart grew like 100x like that scene from the Grinch Who Stole Christmas because this fucking kid made my day. 

But whatevs, I know the 5 of you don’t read to hear what fucking makes me happy.

Top 10 Signs You’re On Your Way to a Nifty Work-Related Drinking Habit

December 17, 2009

10. Your (few nice) coworkers no longer worry that you’re being beaten by a significant other  when they see the bruises on your bare legs on Casual Friday. They think it is hilarious when you say you fell in the shower whilst skunked and tangled in your socks, and have instead chosen to believe that you’re just a clumsy person who took up rollerblading over the weekend. 

9. It is only Tuesday and you’ve already gone through half of the big bottle of Absolut because it was on sale at the liquor store. AND it was somehow cheaper than the jug of Kalatchnakayakovakillmeplease with the E-Z pour spout. 

8. You don’t even like vodka, you like whiskey. But you were too buzzed to get to Trader Joes (2 Buck Chuck, y’all!) and you’re watching your pennies these days, so vodka it is. 

7. You drink the vodka straight while watching Intervention and wishing that you could get enough of an addiction that would merit 60-90 days in a treatment facility only because it would mean:

a. not having to go to work

b. maybe even seeing if your family/friends actually care about you enough to make fools of themselves on national tv. 

c. guilting someone into paying for a nice Indian dinner-all the courses, dammit-  to celebrate your release. 

6. You find an old bottle of blackberry liquor and peppermint schnaps way in the back of the fridge behind the Frank’s and your roommate’s mashed potatoes. Party tiiiiime!

5. (But seriously, look at me. Can you picture this on rollerblades?)

4. You read anorexic blogs in hopes of developing an eating disorder if only it would stop you from drinking so damn much. 

3. But at least vodka only has about 60 calories per shot. 

2. And if you cut the vodka with water, you can totally stretch it out til like Thursday. 

1. Fusck it, fucking wheres the tAcoBell and why donnt they fukking deliver?