Hump Day

Prophecy This morning I was skimming radio stations as I sat in traffic. It never fails that when I have the opportunity to get to work early some dipshit, or in this case, four dipshits, decided to crash their vehicles in my lane of travel. I heard "Sherry" by Steve Perry on one station, "Angie" by the Rolling Stones on another and that reminded me that I heard "Amie" by Pure Prairie League while Nate and I were eating dinner last night. I wonder if Vince Gill knew when he sang "Amie" that he would indeed marry an Amy. In celebration I played, "My Michelle" on the way in the parking garage since G ‘N’ R echoes so nicely especially when I’m behind someone who is actually going the speed limit of FIVE MILES PER HOUR!!! This reminded me of a guy I dated very briefly. I’m ashamed to say I don’t remember his name. I can see his face though. I am redeemed. The guy was a writer and musician, something along the lines of Violent Femmes or, I don’t know, he was eclectic okay? He wrote a song about me. It was a strange little song, which was fitting. I want to think it had something about me being hit by a car and landing in a tulip field, maybe it was a poppy field.... heh. So, out there somewhere is a song about me. Rock on dudes! T-Bird *Sigh* T-Bird finally got a job at a local grocery food chain (BASTARDKROGERS). So, that was good. She goes into work Monday and then calls me as I was in my cathartic-I’m-in-the-sun-hanging-clothes-life-is-good state of mind. She asks something about me and then says, "When did I become such a pussbag?" She starts crying. She tells me she had been called into work early and she was discussing which register to work with a gentleman and he said, "Register nine," and she says, "I can’t work that register." To clarify, there is something wrong with the counter on register nine and its hard for her to work there because she’s so short (she says 5'2" on a good day... pfffffffft!) Anyway, the guy looks at her and says, "What? You’re not that fat are you?" Har har har har... uh huh. T-Bird, who has a temper like a Tasmanian Devil, a one millimeter fuse, and a mouth the size of the Grand Canyon, you might as well throw a match on a trail of gas-o-line cuz she’s gonna blow. Okay, the old T-Bird. The new and improved T-Bird turned tail and walked out the door. She was so mad and hurt that she was afraid of what she would say and what she would do if she stayed. She talked to a supervisor who told her to take the day off, yada, yada, blah, blah, come back tomorrow, he’ll need to apologize, blah, blah. T-Bird thought that was bullshit since it wasn’t even a punishment but she decided to just bite her tongue until she could find other employment (she had an interview for a much, much better job - $10.00 an hour vs. $5.50 an hour - yesterday), but, BASTARDKROGERS decided that, "they were going to let her go." Why doesn’t Blogger have emoticons? That just stinks. I’m proud of her for not killing him but more importantly, I’m proud because she has enough pride now to admit when something hurts her feelings instead of laughing it off. Mean people suck donkey balls. Don't be a mean donkey ball sucking person.