Evil Thoughts

Yesterday I worked a fourteen hour day; on top of that, I came into work and found out from an associate that the DM was going to be there.  I was on edge for 14 hours, scared to even have friendly conversation with one of my associates for fear that it was "unprofessional" and we weren't doing actual "work."  The store was dead due to the weather, and immaculately clean which fueled my desire to relax for a bit and do nothing but chit-chat since I'd busted my ballz all morning doing audits and cleaning.  I had to take my lunch break only 5 hours into my 14 hour day, and while I was sitting in the depressing parking lot, in the depressing, cold drizzle that was yesterday's weather, I thought to myself (as I always think to myself on my lunch break), "maybe today I will drive away and just not come back."  "Maybe, I will drive to California and make money Go-go dancing; maybe I will drive to the Hamptons and live on the beach.  Maybe I will just start going to the library and working on my book, but instead continue to tell my parents I am going to work so that they don't think I'm a jobless slob."  I was really considering just leaving for good with no notice, never looking back, and I texted a friend to tell him he'd better talk me out of it.  He did.  I told him how much I had saved up (which I was thinking was a pretty decent amount), but then he reminded me that should I lose my insurance, that amount would be gone with one broken arm, or broken front tooth.  Goddammit.  I am still on my parent's insurance until I am 25 because it is more economical at this point in my life (Thank you Obama for making the life of the college grad a bit easier), but you never think about the unexpected expenses that will drain your account.  I suppose the fiscally responsible thing to do would be to find another job first before quitting, so I am going to job search all day today (in addition to working on my book :D ).  I am also going to make homemade pasta and my famous lentil balls (like meatballs but meatless).  I'll make homemade sauce too... it's one of those days.

Today I missed the 'morning meeting' that apparently we were in fact supposed to have, because apparently the DM is still there.  We (the management team) are supposed to have a morning meeting at 8:00 am every Tuesday, but I mean, in the five months that I've been employed by Chodes R' Us, I've only gone to like three morning meetings and only because the DM was going to be in attendance; normally the store manager says it's fine that we don't have one.  We can discuss whatever unimportant business we would discuss this morning when we work together on Thursday and I'm pretty sure the world isn't going to end.  But in complete honesty, it's my day off, so why am I going to drive to Binghamton for an hour-long meeting, when what I would be paid for that singular hour won't even cover the cost of my gas to drive there and back?

Hear that world?!   This is my DAY OFF, I've just worked an illegal 14 hour work day, my pay is cut in half for every hour over 40 that I work, and they want me to drive 40 minutes to Binghamton for a one hour meeting, about unimportant shit that can be discussed later, for approximately $7.50.   I don't fucking think so.

Don't even get me started on the image-branding of this company either.  I might be the biggest fucking bitch in the world sometimes when I go out to the bars and see a fatty wearing a crop top that she shouldn't be wearing, but from the bottom of my heart, I mean it when I say that this company drives me insane- telling us to hire people on a basis of looks, and causing divisions and rifts between associates because some old, sloppy, unattractive corporate loser sits behind a desk (probably fapping to the half naked images he is sent of our employees) and decides that some of our employees are 'attractive' enough to make 'tracker' and others aren't attractive enough, for God only knows what reason.  I talked to a girl who is hot by all standards, and she was upset she didn't make tracker because they told her that her Italian nose was 'too big.'  Honestly?  What are we doing to these young women and men we employ?  Who is to say that some other girl is hotter than another when obviously they were both attractive enough to be employed in the first place and beauty really is in the eye of the beholder?  And it's not only women who are hurt by this rejection of feeling that they aren't 'attractive' enough; I have seen disappointment in many a male employee's eyes because he thinks that his body isn't 'ripped' enough because someone make tracker over him.  It's just so fucked up.  I can't tell you how many times through out the years that I thought someone was attractive and my friends told me I was gross for thinking so, or they thought someone was attractive who I found positively hideous- you know why?  Because aesthetic tastes very from person to person.  It's so absurd it drives me insane.  This is like a fucking Mel Gibson rant right now, and I apologize for that.  It's just that as someone who spent the majority of my teenage years thinking that I wasn't "attractive enough," It really hurts me to be part of a brand that is solely about being 'attractive,' and makes impressionable young people feel like they aren't 'good enough.'

I can't continue to be part of a company that doesn't take important factors like having a good personality, creativity, or a fully functional brain into the consideration.  This company is always stressing the idea of promotion or the idea of possibly being a store opener in a foreign country to its managers, but sometimes I wonder If I would even be 'attractive enough' to be considered for the position of a store opener over-seas.  From ages 12 to roughly 21, I felt like I wasn't thin enough, I felt like I wasn't tall enough, my nose wasn't small enough, my face wasn't 'cute enough' for me to be considered attractive.  Fuck that.  I still have days where I feel like I could use many improvements, but for the most part I'm a lot happier with myself, and it's really hard to be happy with one's self when they are constantly fed images of photoshopped, surgically enhanced celebrities and models that we're told are the standard of 'beauty' and what men find 'desirable.'  I'm so sick of opening a magazine where the model is photoshopped to the point of looking like a plasticized alien; I'm so sick of seeing celebrities on TV that claim they are naturally, just that beautiful.  Ok, that's why I can google a picture of them from five years ago with noticeably thinner lips, a larger nose, and no cheekbones of which to speak.  I think American women need to stop buying into this shit.  When I pick up a fashion magazine these days, I hardly even notice the fashion because I'm too focused on some celebrities inflated duck lips or how damn thin they are.  I am no longer the insecure 19 year old that I once was, but as a woman I am still receptive to media images telling me what I should look like.  And I'm so over it.

Anyhow... changing the subject.  I think I am going to be Jessica Rabbit for Halloween next year. lol.  I should just be a housewife some day (albeit one who still does creative things and is financially independent from her her husband).  I'd be the perfect housewife with my penchant for donning sexy clothes at all times of day and my cooking skills and ability to entertain.  Maybe I will make bank off of my book if I could ever finish it and get it published and then I could be a housewife with my own money in the bank... what a lovely thought :) lol.  Hey, a girl can dream right?


I will leave you with some pleasant pictures to warm your heart; I know they certainly warm mine, and that's a hard feat to complete.  My animals can't wait for my niece to be born so maybe I will stop dressing them up and dress her up instead. lol

Ceely is so cuuuute in the morning when she snuggles on the chair; almost reminds me of a BSM...

Bijou loves the bow.

Abby, you would make a sexy housewife too.

LOL

Why am I so Mean?

I had a fantastic week away from Chodes R' Us this past week.  I cat-sat for my sister in the city and spent some much needed time with my boyfriend.  I am feeling relaxed, rejuvenated, and much more sane.  Sane enough to take back control of my life and quit my awful, fucking job.  It has been so nice having more than just one, solitary day off.  For the past five months, I haven't had a decent break (aside from my four day excursion to Miami way back in January). I have probably only had one other 'normal,' two-day break, but unlike the majority of Americans, this break didn't even take place on the weekend.  Instead of having off a Saturday/Sunday, I'm pretty sure it was a Monday/Tuesday.  I didn't have to wake up at 7:30 am because It was my one day off to run errands, do chores, clean, do laundry and find time to relax.  It was nice to wake up at 8:30am, knowing that I didn't have to put on clothes and get going; lounging around in comfies and having two, leisurely cups of coffee is certainly a much more savory way to begin a weekday.  It was also nice knowing I could go out and enjoy myself without having to be up at the crack of dawn to go to work.  For the first time in a long time, I could drink more than two glasses of wine without dreading a waking up at 6:30 am with a hangover and 9 hour work day.  I even got to go out with my friends this weekend, because for once, I wasn't closing on a Friday or Saturday night, hating life and resenting the fact I was missing out on my prime years while everyone else lived it up like a person should on the weekend.

Despite the fact that I had an entire week off from work, I saw my boyfriend, and I went out and had fun and socialized with friends, I made a terrible self-realization that I'm an awful feminist.  Maybe I'm just insecure and hate myself or some Freudian shit like that, I don't know.  Maybe I am mean because I hate my job... that's definitely a major factor, and one I am actively working on fixing.  It struck me the other night when I went out with my friends, that I think some really bitchy, mean things, and I am not at all proud of that.  I mean, I've never been a crazy feminazi-type feminist.  I believe in equal rights for women and men (in the job force, at home, in terms of the freedom to walk down the street at night without fear of being raped), I am a firm believer in a woman's right to have control over her own anatomy, I am pro-choice, I hate the media's construction of what a 'woman' should be and how she should act, I get offended when I hear men make inappropriate comments about a woman's body or 'her place in life' (making them sandwiches).  That kind of shit makes the feminist in me come out.  And don't even get me started on celebrity culture and how the media and women's magazines that 'supposedly' empower a woman, really bring her down.  For example, Cosmopolitan magazine constantly features articles about 'how to please your man,' or, "what drives HIM wild in the bedroom," but rarely do I see a piece about how to make your man please you.  That kind of shit makes me crazy. Seeing magazines featuring and celebrating emaciated celebrities with accompanying weight-loss tips or diet plans makes the feminist in me go bat-shit crazy too.  However, I start to feel like a really awful feminist and fellow woman, when I go out to the bars.

I don't know if it is the alcohol, or the lack of alcohol (I only had like 1.5 drinks when I went out the other night, since I was driving home later), but I start to question whether I am a true feminist when In my head I'm bashing other girls on the basis of their conduct and their bodies.  The first thing that made my disgust level start to rise was the fact that a group of 30 year old men were hanging out at the Sip on Water Street.  Don't get me wrong, people are entitled to hang out where ever they choose, but that Bar is notoriously only occupied by college-age students, and usually where people go to dance in their finest body-con skirts and 5 inch heels.  Just knowing that they were their to pick up 19-21 year old, drunk college girls made my blood boil.  I mean, it's cool if a 30 year old wants to date a 21 year old (I guess...), but seeing a group of guys hanging out here with the specific intent to 'hook up' with a much younger, wasted individual really turned me off.  I guess that is part of the more reasonable feminist side in me, so I'm sorry for digressing...

The bad feminist in me, is the critical voice in my head that sees a girl wearing a crop top with her gut hanging out and screams in a bitchy tone, "what the fuck."  Being a woman, and feeling the pressure that women have placed on their shoulders by men, society, and themselves to 'look good at all times' should make me happy for this girl; I should be happy that she is comfortable and confident enough in her own body to go out wearing a tummy-exposing crop top without giving a fuck what anyone else thinks of her.  But It just makes something in my brain snap, and I think awful things like, "what makes her think she looks good in that?!"  God, I'm an awful person.  This is something I sincerely need to work on.  As long as I am happy with myself, why should I give a shit what anyone else does or wears?  I shouldn't.

The sloppy-ho behavior of drunk college girls is also enough to make my anger rise.  I'm not saying I never did things I shouldn't have done, because I definitely did.   But when your ass cheeks are hanging out as you grind on some dude's thigh in public it's quite revolting.  I'm all for girls getting drunk and having a good time dancing with random hotties at the bar, but I don't want to see your ass cheeks and neon pink g-string.  I should be happy for this girl; fulfilling her needs and hopefully getting some man ass later.  But, the logical part of my brain always wonders how much smack my friends would talk behind my back if I were this girl, flashing my ass and dancing dirty with a stranger... I wonder if her friends will shame her in the morning or if they promote ass flashing on the dance floor.

In addition, I have always felt that women should be able to get away wearing what they want without being labeled as slutty or being hit on and groped.  However, when you are wearing something that people might misconstrue as a 'slutty ensemble,' shouldn't you take special precautions as to not ACT slutty?  Go ahead and put on your mini skirt, just make sure you pull it down when it's riding up and exposing your crotchal region as you walk down main street.  Go ahead and wear those 5 inch platforms, just make sure you stay coherent enough to walk in them.  Why am I so mean?


I DON'T WANT TO GO BACK TO WORK TOMORROW :(    I feel like a sixth grader who just had a week long vacation and is dreading going back to school.  I'm working not one, but two different 14 hour days this week and instead of making overtime, my pay is cut in half for each hour over 40 that I work.  WTF.  This is the worst job ever.  I hate it. I applied for an internship today.  I will apply for whatever else I can find that is reasonably appealing and/or lucrative this afternoon.  I've gotta get out of Chodes R' Us before I die.  Even a game of dress up won't improve my mood today.   You know you're in a bad mood when putting on a shit ton of make up and high heels doesn't make you feel better.

Problems of a white, 20 something woman (Warning: TMI)

Fuck My Life.  I know, we all say it sometimes, and we really don't mean it; or we say it over petty/trivial things bothering our otherwise, stagnant and content lives, however, right now, at this moment in time, I mean it when I say 'fuck my life.'  Let me start off by saying there are a great many things one could use as fodder against my right to say FML.  I'm not living in extreme poverty, I'm not being brutally beaten or raped, I have clean drinking water, electricity and plenty of food, so I mean, I'm already better off than at least 2/3 the world.  But goddammit, It's been a rough week filled with woman problems.  So if you don't want to hear about my feminine issues, I advise you stop reading right now.

Woman problems:  we all get them (well, at least 1/2 of the population does at one point or another).  They can be anything from a freshly manicured finger getting the polish chipped, to a broken stiletto or a button popping off your jeans due to period bloat.  I have had enough trivial issues adding up this week to make up for 3 months worth of feminine dilemmas.  I decided to get my first Brazilian wax done this week.  After reading up on it, I found a classy salon in Vestal (Acacia Aveda) that did waxes for $65.  I know what some of you might be thinking, 'who the hell would pay that much to go through 40 minutes of brutal torture in the name of hairless skin?!'.  Well, I was sick of razor burn and thought this was a great alternative.  I also know some of you are thinking, 'shit son, I can get that done by a Russian waxer in the city for only $35.'  Yes, well, this is upstate New York and not only are we devoid of Russians willing to wax another woman's nether region for an affordable fee, but most people up here just don't give a fuck what their nethers look like.  I am not one of them.  Now, as you may or may not know from previous blog postings, I have about the most sensitive skin that ever existed.  I like to tell myself I'm like a fair, gilded lily, but in reality, my caucasian hide simply was not made to tolerate anything other than Nordic temperatures, minimal sun exposure, and absolutely no 'exotic' substances or product.  Most people can tan; I burn and then have weird discoloration for months after the fact.  Most people can use a body product without fear of a reaction occurring; I take a stroll in the woods and end up with an unidentifiable rash all over my side.  Most people can take the daily assualts of life with stride, I get bruises for absolutely no reason and have at least 4 scratches or cuts on any given day from lord only knows what.

Anyhow, I scheduled this wax a week in advance, did my research, read precautions, and actually reconsidered after reading that bruising and redness could occur in people with sensitive skin.  However, being the vain bitch that I am, I figured, 'nah, can't happen to me.'  I was wrong.  Instead of the baby smooth porn star look I was trying to achieve, I have about as much redness and blotchiness as a person who not only shaved, but then decided to go horseback riding afterwards.  And please keep in mind this was done by a professional who'd been doing it for 13 years, in the nicest day spa/salon in a 40 mile radius.  This is truly just my luck.  I'm almost glad I had to cancel my obgyn appointment today, because the dr. might have called 1-800-poussoir-abuse on me. lol.

So then, today, I have my annual 'lady doctor appointment' (you know the one).  I've been dreading it for  the past week, but knew I might as well get it over with.  I arrive at the office ready to go, and hand over my insurance card.  Apparently my insurance is fucked up, and I have to call my insurance company and find out what's going on because I currently have none.  I remember back in January when my parents were renewing their insurance, I was still going to be on my dad's plan, but there was a mix up then and I didn't get a new card or something, but my dad called and the insurance people said everything was fine....evidently it is not.  I was not about to pay $300 out of pocket when I know for a fact I should be covered, so I rescheduled and have to make the trip to Oneonta again next week, when hopefully, all of my insurance shit is straightened out.  Is is the end of the world?  No.  But did it severely annoy me that I woke up to drive to Oneonta when I will have to drive to Binghamton later for work? Yes.

Then I got my period.  I mean, at least I know my body is healthy and I'm not prego, but Jesus Christ, of all the days to get it.  I haven't seen my boyfriend in two fucking months and am seeing him tomorrow, so this is just another wrench thrown into my wheel.  At least I know that my bloat isn't just due to the 5 lbs of candy and chocolate I consumed last week.  On top of all of this, my face broke out.  We all know how much I hate zits on my face... they just make my confidence go from normal, to zero.  I don't know why; we all get zits, and I never really notice a zit on someone's face, so why would they notice the zits on mine?   I don't know, but it's making me feel really ugly.  I feel like I break out just in time to see my bf every time I see him.  It's like I'm at my attractive peak one week before seeing him and then it's just all down hill with a series of zits, bad hair days, and bloat.  wtf.


Friday the 13th is doing me all sorts of dirty.  I would go have a glass of wine in the tub, but that'd probs just make me more emo, my zits more prominent, and my bloat more obvious.  FML.