Ever think if you were nicer to people they might like you better?
Yes the thought has crossed my mind now and again. Those that know me, or at least take the time to chat with me on occasion know that yes, I’m a massive bitch where I need to be. My friends and loved ones are well loved and cared for.
It’s not my fault you’ve probably never spent five minutes to get to know me. If you have you must’ve been soliciting sex or photos and got turned down. Also, your fault.
Today was one of those days where every customer I dealt with was a fucking moron. I mean that in the nicest way possible as they were all nice to me but dumb as rocks. The first person of the day kept me for an hour to herself, made me do extra work (that is coming out of my pay, as I was NOT made aware of new pricing as of two minutes after she walked in), and talked the entire time so I could not help anyone else without coming off as a rude cunt.
She comes back… another hour thrown away only this time it’s a notary and I get a small commission out of it, but not enough to make it worth the time it took while she pissed off more of my customers.
Did I mention that somehow I ended up in the store alone while my boss was out playing hooky and her husband just directed more people towards me? Lovely.
Anyhow, closing time comes up and some other idiot comes in with a last minute notary. Cool but we’re waiting on her husband who is 20 fucking minutes away. Lack of preparation on your part does NOT constitute an emergency on mine.
Anyhow, 15 minutes after closing I finally GTFO my foul mood times ten.
*edit* that broad with the notaries and the other stuff… her sister lives in Amsterdam so she was acting as her attorney in fact. More fun. Anyhow, that explains the title.
I’m in a stabby stabby mood. You’re saying things I know you don’t want to say because you love the attention. I want to believe you aren’t a whore but you’re proving me wrong every day. Call me when you’re crying because you’ve been fucked over again. Call me, suicidal, because you’ve learned you’re being used. Wait… don’t.
I used to care but I just can’t put the effort into you anymore.
I’d say you’re beautiful but you’d just sit on my lap and purr, tell me things I want to hear and whine when you don’t get your way.
when you say "this helps me keep my job" as you post auctions for lingerie on twitter.
what kind of job could you possibly be doing?
I do a lot of things and side projects from work. My boss used to run a lingerie shop so shes got a lot of backstock. This gives me something to do and gives me some vague value in her eyes. I’m more than just a clerk, I’m tech support, notary, graphic designer and everything in between and I only work part time.
I feel the need to write on nothing in particular. Topical fluff irks me but anything deeper looks painful at this point. I like posting pretty pictures because it alleviates the pressure to write and truly introspect. I need to stop doing that as much but I’m afraid my writings are mere ramblings, nonsensical madness or come off as self pity.
Self pity and regret are two things I refuse to believe in. They are more a dis-service than not. I have enough problems going on without compounding it with my own stupidity.
I am depressed none the less. More than a little lonely. In need of comfort I’m afraid I’ll never get. I don’t know why I wrote that out. Now you know.
140 characters isn’t always enough to tell a story so here goes:
When I was 2 I tried to kill my brother. True fucking story. He was a newborn and my mom thought it was a great idea to have her two year old watch her 2 month old. 5 minutes later she walks in to me smothering the boy with a pillow.
about 9 months later I tried to choke him out with a cord while he was in his playpen. Why the fucker didn’t die, I don’t know. I’m glad he didn’t. 20 years later and we finally got to be pretty close. We aren’t so much now, but we’re still there for each other.
Damn, this makes me look pretty fucked up, doesn’t it?
I hate that the slightest bit of computer knowledge automatically makes you a god amongst the technological illiterate. Windows problems? I’m your girl. Mac? Oh sure, yeah I can fix that. PS3 troubles? Just ask Starfish. What in the hell? Okay, yeah. I know a LOT when it comes to fixing computers, Windows based, as that has been my most experienced situation. Other shit, not so much. I either don’t care for it or don’t use it in general.
Don’t ask me to fix your ipod, not only will I not fucking want to, I won’t know how to either.
I’m not sure if this looks more like a homocide or a suicide. Victoria votes suicide, but I’m sure she’s wrong. I vote we leave before we are found, Victoria thinks we have time. As much as I love this girl, sometimes I don’t think she thinks through things all the way. “Vic, baby, we need to get running before someone figures out something’s wrong.” I’m a little panicked. After all, I did just kill my girlfriends brother to make a getaway.
She sits next to his broken body, tears form but none roll down her cheeks. This is the first time in a long while I’ve seen Vic do more than feign feeling for others. I want to say something comforting, but before I find the words she cuts me off. “Burn the body. we need to get rid of your fingerprints.”
What is the weirdest song in your music collection?
Depending on your definition of weird. It could easily be any of Voltaire’s songs, Cradle of Filth or if we’re just going by genre in relation to my general disposition I’d have to pick one of the many Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald or hell, even Christina Aguilera songs in my collection.