This just in

A boy was killed in the kitchen of The Melting Pot, downtown. Apparently, he was dunked in a bucket filled with ice, repeatedly. Arrested were his 19 year old sister and a 39 year old coworker. He was nine years old. I really have to stop watching the news. Because as much as I'd love to think it, the same fucked up shit is going on in countries all over the world. Sometimes, I really hate my species. you don't see tigers killing each other "just because". There's always a reason, like being sickly or territory or something. That might not seem viable, but that's the way the species HAS to survive. Humans on the other hand, kill for reasons so petty, so stupid, it's mindboggling. For instance "I thought mom loved him more than me, so I killed him." or "Grandma didn't want me, 13, dating a 23 year old, so I beat her to death and stole all her money, then went on a killing rampage" Hate to say it doll, but you're messed up.

Musings of a madwoman

I recently saw the film SiCKO. I'll admit, it left me pretty damned pissed off. Then again, I had to admit, there's two sides to every story. And while I'm upset at America's "sick" health care system, I'll admit that nobody has it perfect. That being said, I'm moving to England. Or Canada. Perhaps France.
I'm also resuming my hunt for a job. I'm tired of being treated as if I'm not human. I'm not a machine people. I can't do backup fitting room, backup register, run rollracks, do totes, AND reshop from the fittingroom. I can do maybe two, but not all.
On a completely random note, a Go Phone commercial just came on, where the parents argue with the kids, but they're saying nice thins. It amuses me greatly.
Back to the story. I can't just keep on being everybod's bitch. So, I'm looking for a new job again. Part time though.
Also, I got my bill for tuition. Which isn't too bad, under $2,000. But, that's $1,600 I don't have. And my FAFSA hasn't kicked in yet, so I'm going to have to go down to the office and sign a paper of some sort, and prove that I have a valid FAFSA in proccess. I'll have to have Tom take me down there, because I'm afraid to do it myself.
I cannot believe what I just heard on the news. "An unspeakable sexual assault on a child 10 MONTHS old in surgery." IN SURGERY. TEN MONTHS. Dear god. I hate this society.

Feels like a monday

And boy do I have things to blog about. I worked from 9:30 am to 5 pm today because Dave asked me to pick up a coworkers hours, so she could watch her grandchildren. That's dandy. I need the extra money anyways, because I'm saving up for a laptop. I get to work all excited to be working on the sales floor, when lo and behold, I'm in the fitting room. That's not so bad, but I just hate it. Then Kayla finds out she's backup register. (Backstory: Kayla is terrified of being on register, because she gets flustered very easily, is afriad of the coordinator Pat, and somehow ends up off on her drawer all the time). So Kayla calls Bill, telling him that Dave told her she'd need to be retrained. Bill says "Okay. Megan can do it." So I'm in the fitting room (and the attendant can't leave unless there's backup) and backup register. Okay. The plan was that if I got called up, Kayla would come cover for me. Fine. Then this lady comes out, says she needs a sweater in a different size. Problem: she's wearing clothes she hasn't payed for yet. The rule is, nobody can leave the fitting room area in our clothes. But did she listen, when I tried to stop her twice? No, infact, she was extremely rude about it, and yelled at me. I can't stand people like that. Its infantile, really. "Well, my clothes are in there and I'm not getting dressed!" wow.

I ended up on register for most of the day. Then I get home, to find my expected cell phone bill. The trouble? My bill is supposed to be around $90, for a shared plan and unlimited texts. Fine. But this bill says I owe $219. Which is way off. This is the SECOND time they've screwed up and added stuff I shouldn't be paying for. Like unlimited SMS messaging (I dont even know what that IS). Ugh.

To make it worse, I balanced my checkbook and I've only got $100 to my name, at least, untill I get paid tomorrow. But still. I'm tired, my feet hurt, and I'm screwing up my mom's credit (the phone is in her name, because Eric and I don't have credit yet). I'm not a happy kittymoose.

My confessions

Sometimes confessing can be quite cathartic. So here are my confessions:

1) I'm terrified of dead things. Mostly because I'm terrified of zombies. You never know. It COULD happen.

2) I'm terrified of anything with more than 4 legs. Any sort of insect scares me. Especially centipedes and spiders.

3) I secretly wish I was Indian. You know, bindis, saris, kameez. I wish I came from some exotic land.

Good fences

Frost once wrote "Good fences make good neighbors". I'm going to extend this: "Good soundproof windows make good neighbors". I live in a city. And in this city, the houses are all built reeaally close together. In fact, the only view from my bedroom window is my neighbor's kitchen. In the past, this was never a problem. The people that lived next door were nice people, not loud, not hermits. The new people, however, aren't so gracious.

First of all, the woman living there has two young boys. Her boyfriend also lives there. She's going through a divorce. Now, she's never told me that, but I know because I can hear all the phone calls she makes from her kitchen, as if she's standing in my bedroom. Also, almost every day, I am woken to the sound of :
"MOM! MOOOOOOOOOM JESS IS ON THE TABLE MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM"
"GOD DAMMIT GET OFF THE FUCKING TABLE. COME HERE SO I CAN SMACK YOU"
Speaking of, I'm now sitting in my livingroom, all windows pointing out to the street, and I can hear the child screaming. As if, in fact, he's in my livingroom.

Now, if it isn't screaming children (and I can understand, children are children, but COME ON) it's loud, bad music. Loud music doesn't bother me. After all, I'm 18. I listen to loud music all the time. But generally, it isn't at 8 am on a weekday. Or any day for that matter. This is the fourth or fifth time I've been woken up or kept awake by this woman's music. And it isn't even GOOD music.

We can sometimes also hear her having sex. She's quite the screamer.