So like I worked today. That's really not okay...as I'm salary and I have Monday's off.
I did this, like good faith bullshit. Since I plan to be in Los Angeles Wednesday through Friday...and since I only had to work 2 days last week...I figured I should, like, show up today.
And there was no red fucking carpet...nor exorbitant thank you's. I would have much rather taken the cut in pay. But...it's over. I found myself with this perpetual Sid Vicious sneer...pretty much at everything. Especially the wonderful little stupid jaunt to both Safeway and Rite Aid just now.
Okay...this isn't just your average Safeway. This is the SINGLES RRRRRRRREALLY LOOKIN FOR SOME SOME Safeway. And I'm not talking GOOD LOOKING SINGLES. No. These are the idiot hybird freaks who have been rejected by normal singles. These are the 50 year old fake blondes in spandex...and those are just the guys.
No. Not really. Actually...I just described the idiot cyclists who gather in their little clicky shoes in my alley out back every Saturday morning. Now...THEY are nether freaks. I mean...any guy who shaves their legs more often that I do...well...Jesus! And then their whole deal with spandex. I mean...Brad Pitt would look shitty in spandex...so what fucking prayer have you got Mr. Receeding Hairline? Oh...and they're LOUDTALKERS. And everything's so fucking important.
"WHY BRAD! ARE THOSE NEW $1600 ALL STEEL 20 INCH RIMS?"
"ARE YOU SHITTIN ME? HELL NO, JOHN. THEY'RE CENTERLINE 22 INCH TOMAHAWK SERIES WITH 3 YEAR LUSTER WARRANTY AND CURB DAMAGE REPAIR..."
And it's all ape-in-the-jungle yellage with their shaved legs, clicky shoes, and fucking spandex.
THIS is how I begin my Saturdays. I wish I had a scope rifle and a rooftop. Rubber bullets would be fine. Or...just a high pressure hose. But...that's in a perfect world.
So, yeah. Safefuckingway. And so there's like this tweaker bitch in line right behind me...and I'm all like unaware that she's there...as I was in my own world with my mp3 player blasting Soundgarden's "Good Eye Closed." So then...I've done all the stupid little prompts from the fascist regime of checkers and baggers...with their needing my fucking card...and needing to know if I plan to immediately dispose of paper or plastic...and then an occasional idiotic question...as I have RESISTED the TEMPTATION to LISTEN TO A DAMN THING THEY HAVE TO SAY!!! You see...I READ LIPS, BITCH! AND HERE COMES THE COOL GUITAR SOLO WITH CHRIS CORNELL SINGING IN THIS STONEY TRIPPY WAY...SO DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!! I GAVE YOU THE CARD...I WANT PLASTIC...AND NOTHING ELSE MATTERS.
But no. The tweaker bitch next to me actually commits SIN NUMBER 1. She BUMPS INTO ME...like...HEY MOVE OVER kind of bump. Welp. My reaction was normal. I just looked at her. But...my feeling is this. I do 30 push ups a day...and bench press, too. You touch me...and I'm considering this a FIRST STRIKE. But...as I said...I just looked at her. And she all gives me this WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT, BITCH look...which, makes NOT GRABBING HER RATTY HAIR AND PUNCHING HER IN THE HEAD any easier. But, I didn't. You see...I'm nice. They actually pay me to be nice at work. And I really do it. It's one of those compromises I committed to...what with the money thing and all. But, I'm even polite. And that suprises some. I have one good deed I do every day. It's this like personal pact. A good karma thing...er whatever. But...from that good deed on...I feel no need to be nice. I will be appropriate...but I will be acting. It seems the only way.
Usually I employ sarcasim. It helps alot. And...since I appear to be so All American nice girl...no one ever knows I'm openly mocking their annoyingness. Occasionally I will encounter another hi brow humorist...and it's like some family reunion...speaking in our Native Tongue. But...most don't get it. And I don't care. I should care...but it would be a waste of calories.
Anyhow...I was driving home from SAFEFUCKINGWAY and this line of motorist ahead of me are all like going 15 miles and hour through the little road...like some goddammed funeral, or something. And then the leader of this time warp caravan decides to come to an ABRUPT CESSATION OF MOVEMENT. That was it. I'm finished with work...I've escaped the sentence of imprisonment at SAFEFUCKINGWAY, and I'm a block from home! I yell out "WHY ARE WE FUCKING STOPPING?!?"
However...I forgot I was wearing one ear of my mp3 player, and had rolled down the window so I could smoke... Some homeless person was rrrrrrrright next to me on the sidewalk...and I guess I woke him...or scared him...or whatever..(which I regret)...(kind of)...and they let out this SHREIK! Which, in turn, freaked me out...as I HAD ESTABLISHED MYSELF AS THE YELLER...and hadn't, obviously, expected a response to my question.
The moral to the story.
Monday's aren't for work.
Less money is better than less rest.
No matter how bad it is...it could always be worse.
I am thankful for my bad ass, good (and I mean DAMN GOOD) looking boyfriend...however. He endures my shit. And, actually, I'm very fair with him. He's all cozy on the couch...and I will settle in and let all the fruitless events of the day just slip away...
INTO THE ABYSS OF SATAN'S HELL THAT THEY CAME FROM...
especially the spandex laden nether freaks.
*no offense is intended, if you are some avid cyclist. I'm sure you have no clue what a total morph you are...and you are probably really happy in your odd little morphed reality. Happy Trails, my friend. But, stay in your bike lane, clicky shoes boy.
Kat
