Still going to Midwest fur-fest. whoo-wee.


Noo, no, I have better stuff to report! Namely, i'm on the brink of losing my job! yaaaaayy! That might mean the end of journals of me bitching about that job, better live it up while the gettin's good, eh? Yes, so in the never-ending saga that Steak N' Shake is going under or not, there's a new chapter. That chapter is called, "kiss our ass royally, or everyone who works here gets fired and replaced" We nearly had this about a month back (something I was unaware of) where we were all about to get fired, and someone kissed enough ass to keep us around for a little longer. Or two months back, where I tried to sabotage my work to help get my bitch-o-a-boss Misty fired. That did not work, I actually did a good job and that bitch is still around. But lo and behold, the red and black hydra of death's on us again. As of this wednesday, i may be sans-job. Our regional manager's coming in tomarrow, and our god damn vice-president of Steak N' Shake's coming in on Wednesday. No one knows why.....

That's probably a bad thing. Unless he's giving us a plague for our sub-par work; or admiring our new fire-engine red dining room. It's like staring at the sun, I tell you. Everything's so blue afterward.

This is a bad thing, right? If it's so bad, why am I in such a good mood? Honestly, i don't know! But I am. Maybe i've finally lost it. Maybe they've finally broken me- going to work is a living hell. If you've ever had to work for a company about to go under, you know how much of a pain in the ass it is. They're grasping at every little possible problem that would cause the customer disinterest in the burger; Stupid shit like if you've got a loose thread on your pants to buy a new pair, if you don't walk in with your bowtie that it can get you fired, if your shirt is not as white as a sheet of paper, you have to buy a new shirt that isn't found in this town. That's especially cruel for the cooks, whose shirts are almost brown. With grease. Soak in that imagery for a second.

They went at me for this one time, and I kinda...told them where to shove it. We comprimised and I cut my pants a little, and bleached my shirt for 8 hours and everything was hunky dory. It's rediculous; the company spends so much time making these new burgers, getting specialized cheese for ONE burger, or ordering us to make guacomole twice a day, regardless if it's sold or not. Multiply that by how many stores are out there, and that's millions of dollars constantly being pissed away. No wonder this company's going under, it's run by Idiot Q. Moneybags, the man who in order to save his money, throws it at every possible option like a spastic chimp. Seriously. Retarded.

Don't even get me started about them being open on Thanksgiving, and probably working that day. Though with the shit going on at home, it's starting to sound like the better option. To make many sentences very short, Mom cheated on dad. Mom's boyfriend is douchebag. I know mom's BF from working with him. FF advised Mom to not cheat...YEARS before cheating. Family hate mom's BF. BF is older, fatter, stupider, uglier, poorer. FF doesn't get it. Mom doesn't get it. Family doesn't get it. That's the old story.-- NOW, Mom want BF at thanksgiving. FF and FF's bro ain't cool with that. Mom angry. Mom want BF a part of our lives. FF and FF's bro find out BF solicits hoe, find out many...strange...things. Hulk narrate FF's life. FF generally pissed.

Though things are a bit better, because since me and my bro threw a fit about him coming, he's not anymore. Still, this isn't going to go away. She tells me that her BF loves us more then we'll ever know, when we've never talked to him, seen him, or given a rat's ass about him at any other time, anywhere. To find out he was arrested for soliciting prostituton, well, that just tops that whole shit-cake; and that's apparently the weak stuff I was able to find out. Lest I need to bring up the time he called my mom, whining and begging that he was going to kill himself he was so miserable. *grabs at something angrily* controlling asshole.

*takes a deep breath, wishing this rant was over but it's very much not* That sounds cold, but hear me out. 80 (or maybe 93)% of people who call about committing suicide, don't. It's a cry for help, it's reaching out to someone. I know it, i've done it, it's not fun, but it's desperately looking for attention. Calling a married woman, begging for her to come over and console him, is pity. She pitied him, did what he said... it's a form of controlling someone. If you leave me I'll kill myself, so you can never leave me! --- like that.

I wonder what it's like in San Francisco or Seattle, right now....