7 posts tagged “shit”

It's 10pm and I should probably go to sleep.

There's a chicken chalupa on the other side of the wall that's been trying to sweet-talk me for hours.

My mom won't heat the room I've been in all day, because she says she can't afford it.

Even though gramma just bought a heater that uses just ten cents worth of electricity per day when run all day.

On top of the fact that gramma is also now paying her hundreds in rent per month.

And she's been getting $25 per week from me.

I'm going to the dealership (hahaha!) with Cameron tomorrow to buy a sewing machine.

Then to his long lost (thanks to his mother) sister's house for a visit.

I really shouldn't eat that taco.

I shouldn't eat anything at all this close to bed.

It probably tastes like shit after sitting for so long anyways.

I haven't seen Niki in ages.

She never even tried to get a hold of me when she got back in town.

Actually, she never tries to get a hold of me.  I always end up seeking her out.

I think my stomach wants to growl.

I ran out of healthy food.  Basically.

I have two carrots and a lemon.  And a chalupa.  Fuck.

I'm not going to like weekdays at work without Debbie.

Fridays and Saturdays are the only time the other girls are there when I am.

I'll get so lonely.

They better hire me a friend.

I'm tired.  I'm going to bed.  Hopefully the taco won't catch me on my way there.

Then I'll move it faster, faster, faster, faster.

Wednesday, September 10th

Noonish

Only two days off this week.  Today and Friday.  I fucking NEED a day off after closing with Cindy last night.  She makes us do twice as much as anyone else makes us, and every time she walks past me, she goes,"Faster, faster, faster, faster!"  SHUT.  UP!  MY ARMS WILL NOT MOVE FASTER THAN THIS WITHOUT FLYING OFF OF MY BODY.  GO.  AWAAAAY.

The store was closed.  The customers were all gone.   The EMPLOYEES were all gone.  Except for me, Justin, and Cindy.  Yet, for some reason, it is inappropriate to talk while I'm cleaning the glass on the meat display case.

I was already pissed at her for being such an annoying bitch, and for having to clean ALL THREE slicers that night because there were only two of us closing the deli (Cindy had to close up the seafood department because the guy who was supposed to got hurt in culinary school today).  But.  Even though I'd been working my ass off and putting up with her shit for the past nine hours (THAT'S RIGHT KIDS, NINE FUCKING HOURS OF CINDY) I wasn't allowed to make idle conversation to take my mind off of murdering her in the face.  FINE.  I'LL JUST GO FASTERFASTERFASTERFASTER.  MY RAGE FUELS MY ARM.  AND MY MURDEROUS PLOT.  ENJOY.

"Nooo taaaalkING!  You need to be working!"

"We can do both at the same time!  (forced happy tone)"

"No you can't!  If you're looking up at him you're not looking at what you're cleaning."

What?!  I didn't even know where the fuck he was at.  I just responded to a voice from beyond the counter.  SHUT.  UP.  CINDY.  THIS IS NOT STUDY HALL.  I HATE YOU.

"I wasn't looking up at him."

"*hushedgrumble*"

And as if that were not enough, they had to shut the power off because they're doing something to the freezers or something.  I don't know.  But, Cindy had us rush over to the machine to punch out, BUT IT WAS TOO LATE.  WOW.  SO, A FUCKING HALF HOUR AFTER WE'RE SUPPOSED TO LEAVE IS TOO LATE.  IMAGINE THAT.  So, she had us go fasterfasterfasterfaster back to the deli, and I was THOROUGHLY PISSED, rushing round like a fucking maniac, and slipped on the floor (I didn't know Justin had just mopped.  I was too consumed by my attempt to burn a hole through the glass I was cleaning with my fasterfasterfaster arm.)  and landed flat on my ass (and killed myself).  It was a classic Charlie Brown football kick fall, without so many flips.

She was acting all fucking concerned.  Concerned that I might report her ass and jeopardize her fucking JOB maybe.  It's her WHOLE FUCKING LIFE.   She is the ONLY person I've met there who talks about nothing but work.  Justin told me she has kids!  SHE HAS NEVER MENTIONED HAVING CHILDREN, A HUSBAND, A PET, A FRIEND, A THOUGHT, OR ANYTHING BUT MEAT AND CHEESE.  DIE ALREADY!

Me and Justin had a very serious discussion about this (while she was at her 2 o'clock meeting and the employees were allowed to speak) and decided that no one would fuck that.  The kids are either a lie, adopted, or were artificially inseminated.  No one would even rape her.  She'd be talking about stock levels.  Who gets off on that?

Anyway, when we FINALLY got out of there (9 fucking 15 pm), I was on the bench in front of the store trying to release all of the day's frustration by crying and ranting to Cameron on the phone, when Cindy comes around the fucking corner and starts talking to me!  "Are you okay?  How long until your ride gets here?  Do you want me to wait with you?'   WTF?!  NO!  GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!!!  IT'S HARD TO BITCH ABOUT YOU WHEN YOU'RE A FOOT AWAY.  IT'S YOUR FUCKING FAULT I'M ENRAGED AND HAVE A THROBBING ASS-BRUISE RIGHT NOW.  DON'T TRY TO MAKE YOURSELF FEEL LESS GUILTY BY PRETENDING TO CARE.  YOU ONLY CARE ABOUT GETTING IN TROUBLE FOR HARASSING AND CAUSING INJURY TO CUTE HAPPY NEW EMPLOYEES THAT THE MANAGER ABOVE YOU LIKES.  YEAH.  MAYBE YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE TOLD HIM WHAT A GREAT JOB I WAS DOING SO FAR.   MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE KILLED YOURSELF INSTEAD.  HAVE A GOOD EVENING.  I HOPE YOUR CHILDREN KILL YOU IN YOUR SLEEP.  YOU KNOW THEY WANT TO.

Tuesday, September 2nd

10:30pm

I just got home.  UGH.  It was nice to not have to leave the house until 10am today, but I didn't fucking get home until ten PM.  I'm so exhausted.  I hate all the shit we have to do at closing.  Opening is a LOT less stressful.  You don't have Cindy bitching at you to hurry up about every three and a half seconds.  Plus the actual work itself sucks.  Garbage, dishes, Cindy bitching, picking scorching hot meat off of chicken bones (FOREVER), Cindy bitching, cleaning everything, Cindy bitching.  You get the bitchure.

No one can stand Cindy's bitching.  This sweet old lady, Maryanne (which is ironic to hear from me, because Cameron's demon-mother shares the same name) got so pissed about it that she started to sneakily throw away some of the chicken I was picking the meat off of so we could all go home sooner.  It was SO funny.  XD

Today, I bought a quart of fresh-squeezed orange juice and a giant thing of spinach.  I finished all the orange juice by lunch, and had half of the spinach.  I felt so healthy.  XD 

Then I had a milkshake.

YAY!

Monday, June 16th

5:30pm

You know things are rough when MY mother shows sympathy.  She told me that she's sending Niki's graduation card early so that she can get her money now.  How is this sympathetic?  Well, Niki's mom is throwing her a graduation party.  Right after her mother's wedding.  When no one will have any money left to give to her.  What.  The.  Hell?!  If no one realizes there will be a party a thousand years from now (the wedding's not for a month, and who KNOWS how many times this will be rescheduled after seeing what happened to her birthday party), maybe they'll just send her money in the mail too.

Me and my mom were talking about how much Aunt Sandy (Niki's mom) has changed since getting divorced and finding a new bo.  It's like she's reverted back into her teenage years and forgotten everything about her present life and responsibilities.  Especially her children.  She doesn't seem to care about anyone but herself and Brandon anymore.  Sometimes her friends.  Occasionally Chris.  Since Niki moved in with her dad to get away from that attitude and Chris's torture, her mom seems to have completely forgotten that she has a daughter except when Niki contacts her.  And even then she doesn't seem to care.  It really pisses me off.  Niki's been going through some tough shit for YEARS and now her mom has decided to just stop being a mom?  NOT OKAY.  SHE NEEDS YOUR FUCKING SUPPORT RIGHT NOW.  I think I may just have a talk with her about this.

I told my mom the teenage bit, and apparently Aunt Sandy was a "selfish little snot" when she was a teenager.  So, perhaps that could be the reason for her recent selfish behavior.  Who knows?  I'm just glad Niki's getting some money now.  Maybe now she can get a camera and do funny vlogs.  XD

Thursday, May 15th

6:30pm

My mother is driving me out of my fucking mind.  She decided to come out here and start going through things, deciding what to sell.  The problem is, most of what she's going through is MINE.  WHAT THE HELL?!  We just had an argument about this 101 Dalmatian bed spread that I used until like sixth grade.  Apparently, since she bought it for me, that makes it hers.  EXCUSE ME?!  Now she's selling my fucking things that I would rather use than what's on my bed now, and I can't do a damn thing about it?!  I need to move before she has her fucking garage sale.  And I'm taking MY PS2 when I go.  I could kill her.  I am so unbelievably pissed.  There is NO way that I'm going to let her do this.  I'm going to go through what she THINKS she's selling and take out the shit that I want to keep, or can get more than a fucking  quarter for online.  She has no fucking right to do this!!!  

AUGH!!!!! 

And she's doing this right fucking behind me, so I can't even see what I'm typing, and she's thawing out disgusting patties of cheap ground up cow that I'd rather starve than eat.  OH GREAT NOW SHE'S PUTTING IT IN THE MICROWAVE.  Now my body won't even recognize it as food.  There's no way I'm sitting with her for dinner.  She can just choke on her nasty, poor excuse for food.  I'm having vegetables.  I already feel sick from the gratuitous amounts of pizza and cake I had to eat last night.  SHE DOESN'T GIVE ME A CHOICE!   Eat shit, or get bitched at and eat nothing.  I want to cry.  While beating the living shit out of heer obese, ignorant face!  Every thing that she moves behind me fills me with the utmost rage.  I know what she's doing.  I can hear it.  And  SHE HAS NO RIGHT TO DO IT.  AT ALL.  And I have nowhere to escape to!

Cameron's busy with his controlling bitch, and there's no one else willing to spend time with me who can drive.  I'm about one shout away from stealing her car and illegally driving into a fucking pole.  In a way that will destroy that piece of shit Saturn but not hurt me.  Because she doesn't deserve that sort of satisfaction.  Better yet, I'll illegally drive it into Cameron's bitch (she is NOT a mother.  Just a fucking bitch.), then the pole.  GOD.  I HATE HER.  I FUCKING HATE HER!!!!!  WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS SHIT?!?!?  I EVEN DID HER FUCKING DISHES AND CLEANED THE BATHROOM TODAY.  AND THIS IS WHAT I GET FOR IT.

Last time I do a fucking thing for her.  She can just eat her fucking beef and wallow in her own sick self pity until she starts to decompose.  I'm fucking through with it.

2am

Yet another fight with my mom.  I'm going to Cameron's tomorrow to escape and hopefully find enough comfort to smile again.  Hopefully I can peep hang with Niki on Friday too.  Return her precious NANA, which I finished tonight, and bring those presents.

I've decided against the goats' milk.   I have to save up to get out of here as soon as is humanly possible.  And I don't want to give Cameron more stress by taking me to pick it up every week.  He'll have enough to deal with when he moves back in with his parents.  And now they don't "support his entrepreneurship" because they want school to be his main focus.  

I am so fucking sick and tired of them trying to tell him that he can only do one thing at a time.  He can do PLENTY of things at one time with no stress as long as they leave him the fuck alone.  He's had a job while going to school for YEARS even while putting up with their shit all the time.  His parents are such a glass ceiling, but they think that all he accomplishes should be accredited to them.  What a load of bullshit.  They only thing they've done is made him sick and unhappy.  The things they consider his accomplishments were just his way of trying to shut them up, or just get the hell out of the house.  All that family does is try to outdo and impress each other.  All Cameron wants is to make them care about him like parents are supposed to.  They treat their children like trophy-wives. 

I still don't know how to teach him to be happy.  I haven't quite figured it out myself.

Wednesday, April 2nd

11:22pm

I hate when I don't write a journal for a long time, because I always feel like I need to catch up on every little detail I've missed.

So, I'll try to recapitulate without going overboard.

Last Wednesday Cameron stopped by (he brought Christina into town and they'd hung out at his house a bit) and gave me shoes he ordered me for our anniversary.  He wanted me to come to the city with him overnight, but since my mom thought I'd have class the next day, I went on Thursday instead.  We had a metric shit-ton of fun, particularly in the baseball department... but even more on Friday.  And we took ten thousand naps, because we stayed up until... I think like 5am.  I was so out of it that at one point I shouted,"SHIT!  FUCK ASS TOURETTES!"  And we made a white chocolate sandwich with Law & Order.  He doesn't like it when I get into the details with the general public.  XD 

Then, Saturday was Niki's brother's birthday party (he's 15... OR IS IT 51?!  AHAHAHAHA!!!  How many times was that joke made during the cutting of the cake?  Four?) and we basically spent the whole time watching funny videos online.  I was introduced to the musical stylings of Richard Cheese, which are absolutely HILARIOUS.  He covers songs like Welcome to the Jungle in a Sinatra-esque fashion.  It's incredible.  Also, my teeth turned green from the REALLY UGLY FROSTING BALLOONS.  Then we went to Niki's dad's/boyfriend's/boyfriend's family's house and I met all the peeps there.  It was fun and HOLY SHIT HOW IS IT ALREADY TEN O'CLOCK?!  I need to start waking up before 2pm.  I met everyone there, and me and Niki hid in the bathroom for girl talk about my SHIT!  FUCK ASS TOURETTES! weekend, and I showed her yoga to clear up bits of Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging but we got interrupted before I could show her my cool move which is a lot like falling over... because it is (what did he call it when he came down the stairs?  Lesbian orgy?) and drank three thousand cans of mountain dew half way.

Also, Nutty & Moosewinkle/I've got one hand in my pocket, and the other one is shooting you in the face.  And my Aunt Donna told me hilarious stories about being drunk.  One was from the night before.  And I'm actually going to get to come to our family's 6th annual Memorial Day party FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER.  I've already told Cameron to mark his calender.  I can't wait to see my family drunk!  I've never seen a drunk person in my entire life.  At least not while they were drunk.  I was always sheltered by my mother from these parties, but I'm not allowing it this year.  I'm busting out from my shell!!!

Speaking of busting, I'm so sick of American bras.  WHAT'S THIS?!  SOMETHING ELSE AMERICA CAN'T GET RIGHT?!  HOW SHOCKING!  I've measured myself properly, according to two different systems.  American, and English.  When I was reading about the new English system last night, it was telling how the American system is WRONG and only applied in the 1930s when bras were first being designed.  Nice work, England.  Keeping up with the times.

English Version:

First, you measure all the way around your ribcage either just above or just below your nunga-nungas.  If you get an odd number, round up to the next even one (they only make even numbered sizes).  Then you measure all the way around your body, going over the fullest part of your chets.  Then you subtract the difference.  The number of inches determines the cup size.

American Version?

Exactly the same except for one thing.  They tell you to add five inches to the first measurement.  WHAT?  On what planet does that make sense?  Planet America.  That's where.

My ribcage is 25 inches around.  I round up to 26.  My chets is 30 inches around.

According to Merry Old England I should wear a 26D.  (I'm having trouble finding below a 28.  Damn you, skinny ribcage.)

According to America, I should add five inches to the 25, coming up with 30 for my ribcage.  But thirty is my chets measurement, too.  So, I subtract the difference to find the cup size and get zero.  So according to America, I'm a 30... Oh bloody hell.