And what do YOU wanna be when you grow up?

I want to be a DINOSAUR!  RAWR!*

Actually, I want to major in Physics and Art.¬† Yeah, I know, what a great way to become independently wealthy.¬† But at least I won’t have to be a starving artist, like now, working at some dead-end job and spending all my money on art supplies and praying I have enough ramen noodles to last until next payday.*¬† I can go work for NASA and spend all my money on art supplies and pray I have enough ramen noodles to last until next payday!¬† How much more exciting would that be, eh?

But actually, those are my two passions, and that’s what I would like to do, go to school for Art and Physics.¬† I keep trying to misspell “Physics” as “Physicalics”, which, thankfully, isn’t as bad a Freudian slip as, say, “Phallics”.¬† I think if I were to start typing “Phallic” all over the place I’d just shoot myself because, honestly, if things were that bad, I’m obviously either too psycho to even qualify for a desperate one-night-stand, or too ugly.¬† But thankfully there is porn and I’m okay with that.¬† Porn doesn’t tell me to not drink so much, clean up that mess, do the dishes, or scream at me because I didn’t buy the right brand of toilet paper even though I saved $3 fucking dollars by buying the BETTER quality toilet paper and I really don’t give a fuck about “toilet paper” lint being left on my ass because, HELLO, it’s better than having SHIT left on my ass because the MORE EXPENSIVE BRAND you INSIST upon using doesn’t wipe NEARLY as clean as the stuff I grew up with you stupid, ignorant, bitch! Whew, sorry, flashback to a prior relationship.¬† I should really get some help with this whole PTSD thing from her, but, meh.

And, yes, that actually WAS a real argument I had with someone I date and it actually lasted for a good solid month before I finally explained, “FUCK YOU I HAVE MY OWN FUCKING BATHROOM AND WILL USE THE TOILET PAPER I SO CHOOSE TO WIPE SHIT OFF MY ASS UNLESS YOU WANNA LICK IT OFF OF ME YOU FUCKING WHORE!” and it was settled.¬† And there might have been about twenty more expletives than that in the actual argument but my memory kind of fails me because I was black-out drunk at the time and that was about the point I came to and then I said something about being hormonal and horny and having low blood sugar and to not cross me anymore when it came to my bunghole because that was my own personal space nobody messed with and the last person who tried wound up in Guatemala and nobody’d heard from him for the past two years.¬† That’s also kind of a true story.¬† The Guatemala thing.¬† The toilet paper thing is TOTALLY a true story.

*RAWR means I love you in Dinosaur.¬† G-d, don’t you people, like, read and stuff?

New car, fresh cash, gotta steal!

So, if you follow me on Twitter you might have heard me complaining over the weekend about the jackass who stole the beer.¬† He was driving a pretty new Chevy Malibu, had his whole family in the car, and stole an 18 pack of Coors Light.¬† That pissed me off.¬† I mean, it pisses me off when people steal bear, anyway, but the sheer audacity to steal it with your whole family present, kid and everything, and put it into your SHINY NEW CAR pissed me off to no end.¬† If you wanna steal a loaf of bread or milk or some such, cool, go for it.¬† I’d probably applaud you for your survival skills.¬† You steal a candy bar, I’ll tell you to choke on it and have a nice day.¬† But you wanna steal beer in front of your family and drive away in your new car…motherfucker, just stay two feet away from me and you might get lucky and I’ll just spit on you.

In other news, life at that store is boring.¬† The crew is quite the cast of characters, however.¬† Like the chick with the pink hair.¬† Pink hair is awesome, I’m not gonna lie.¬† I just wanna know why I can’t have blue hair and still have a job.¬† I mean, hell, I get harassed and threatened and get sent to Hell, where we have to bag ice with a fucking scoop and bucket.¬† I feel like the coal shoveler on the steam engines, which is, of course, the job I always wanted.*

One of these days, though, I’m probably gonna snap and kill somebody, or at the very least cuss them out but good.

Like the bitch that decided I’m not good enough to ring her up because, G-d forbid, I asked her a question.¬† Apparently no one really likes her, though, so I don’t feel bad.¬† And I’m sure as fuck not gonna feel guilty when I tell her, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not allowed to turn the pump on for anyone unless they prepay as it’s our corporate policy to help maintain low gas prices and defeat the felony of drive-off’s, whether they be accidental or otherwise.¬† Will that be cash or charge?”

This bitch is so anal she makes us check the dates on her cigarettes before she buys them.¬† Apparently she even had the audacity to open a pack before checking the date and then, upon realizing they weren’t the freshest possible cigarettes she could have purchased, had the gall to demand she be allowed to exchange them.¬† Um, sorry, how about NO, YOU STUPID, FAT, CUMGUZZLING CUNT!

Whew, sorry, she just really irks me, and I really wish I could say that to her.¬† Oh, wait, if I’m outside, off camera, and there’s no witnesses, it never happened.¬† I’m such a bad boy.

*Note:  This is, in fact, a true fact.  That has been my dream job since childhood.  Do not judge me.

Somebody is making a rather big mistake, I think…

No, I live in Texas, and, if I’ve learned one thing from living in Texas, it’s that Texans like to drink beer. ¬†They’ll drink whenever and wherever they can. ¬†The Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission, or TABC, is the ruling body concerning alcohol. ¬†For people who work in a convenience store, they are the bogey man.

Having read this story and having worked in a convenience store and spent plenty of time hanging out in different convenience stores with friends, I can clearly state that this is the worst idea I have ever heard. ¬†Now, granted, I have never had the pleasure of visiting Pennsylvania, nor do I even have any idea what the area around this convenience store is like. ¬†Maybe you live there or have been, or maybe you know someone who has. ¬†Maybe it’s a really nice area. ¬†I don’t know. ¬†But I know that, at least in the three states I’ve lived in, this would never work. ¬†There’s a reason why that scene in those movies where the characters are brown bagging it outside 7 Eleven always precedes a scene involving a police chase or some other such trouble.

While grocery stores and the like get the grouchy “I haven’t had my morning brew yet” people, we get the fall down, gotta lean on my friend the wet floor sign because I can’t stand up on my own, hit on you because I don’t know you and oh I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were a dude and why are you three guys staring at me like that, drunks. ¬†So, of course, it would just be an even better idea if the state were to force us to serve them beer in our stores!

Okay, enough of that.  I just checked Wikipedia for answers and apparently Pennsylvania as a 1984 style control system over alcohol and you can only buy liquor from the state of Pennsylvania and cannot buy beer from convenience stores or grocery stores.  I guess we should call Pennsylvania the Ministry of Spirits.  I wonder if they sell anything other than Freedom Wine and Freedom Tequila?

So, about that whole “compulsion” thing…

So, about a year ago, I was looking for a way to blow some cash¬†specific book at Borders, picked it up, picked up a few others, and then went to check out. ¬†Well, you know how The Evil Marketing Directors like to put “impulse buy” racks near the counters? ¬†They also put pretty books there, and I happened to pick one up and read the back, fell in love with it, found out it was the second in a trilogy, and bought all three. ¬†After I read the books I originally intended to purchase, I cracked open the first one and didn’t sleep until I finished the third one. ¬†(Note: ¬†They really are that good. ¬†Read them, NOW!) ¬†One of my coworkers, however, said that I had this “compulsion” to read things until I finished them. ¬†I couldn’t sleep unless I finished the book I was reading. ¬†That’s how I read the first four Ender novels so fast: I didn’t sleep.

A few days ago I was wanting to read some new web comics after finishing the xkcd archives, and did a quick Google. ¬†I came across this glorious comic and went to the archives. ¬†It looked familiar and I read two strips before I thought, “Nah, the art’s all hella crappy, I don’t wanna read it” but then realized I thought the same thing a few years ago and the homepage didn’t have art that looked like that. ¬†So I kept reading. ¬†I was hooked at strip #3 and just kept reading. ¬†It was well worth it. ¬†But then tonight I came across the horrid realization, after discovering there were no more to read, that I had just read 1655 strips of ONE comic without stopping.

Seriously, someone get me some Ativan, stat!

SOOOO tired, but must bloggy

So this new store…yeah…see, people, if I wanted to smell like a bartender, I would be a bartender.¬† But, alas, I am not a bartender, and yet I leave work smelling of cheap beer, cigarettes, and pot.¬† The people are polite, though.¬† No arguments about sandwiches not being fresh, no complaints about Subway (since we don’t have one)…

Really, we don’t even have a hose for the mop sink, y’all! And the ice down (that thing where beer is kept on ice, seriously, I have to explain EVERYTHING to you people, gah!) doesn’t even drain.¬† Nope, it has a valve and we put the mop bucket under it and oh G-D somebody shoot me now!

Other than that it’s not really too bad.¬† It would be like if I worked in my neighborhood…which I don’t…for a reason…

Then there’s “creepy-seemingly-homeless-guy” who you can’t tell is drunk or just that crazy.¬† Other than seeming crazy, he didn’t appear intoxicated…¬† Really, he reminds me of 90% of the homeless guys in downtown Savannah.¬† I was waiting for him to break out his trumpet and start playing for tips…or make a palm frond rose and try to sell them.

And then the “crweens” came in.

Crweens: noun

1) Creepy Tweens/Teens

These two girls, one covered in tattoos and looking ~20 years old, the other looked about 14, stand by the door closest to my register and the one in tattoos starts going off about how the other one (the true crween) thinks I’m just “sooooo cute, and, like, are you single, cuz she needs a boyfriend” and I ignored them in favor of the customer I was doing business with.¬† Then they walk up and are all “OMG yer hot, you should, like, totally take her out” and I was all “I don’t think my boyfriend would like that” and the one with the tattoos just runs out the door and the other girl seemed completely mortified and couldn’t remember her pin number and then just ran out the door a few minutes later.¬† It was funny.¬† Now, if the blonde had actually been around my age and hot, this whole thing would have gone completely differently and, hopefully, rather Skinamax-ely, but, meh, I’m not picky.¬† Although that extremely hot bear from my old store…yeah…I need to go now, it’s hard to type and…yeah….