Because I Really Do.

Sunday is the worst day ever. For everyone else it means Day 2: Weekend, but for me it means: Welcome to Hell, Population: Me.

As if I've made a blog. I had a LiveJournal back in the day, but don't even get me started on the problems that caused. Let's just say I've forgotten that password, and thrown away that digital metaphoric key. I figured this is a clean slate start and, what the hell, gives me something to do on this bloody day. If it accomplishes some ranting and venting at the same time as making me look busy, it's all dandy.

Ugh. Insert Generic Happy-Go-Lucky Female Birthday Host shouting. One of the reasons I hate Sundays.

Ever since we've been forbidden to decorate the shop, I've hated coming here. It's the one thing I looked forward to every week: the chance to be creative in my otherwise head-office driven cookie-cutter retail life, and take some initiative.

I'd say I have an eye for that kind of stuff, and our store was once one-of-a-kind. A bright, fun, happy place with a mod twist, I enoyed working here. Although I was working on my day off, it felt more like a project, and I loved basking in the end product.

But orders were handed down from 'above', and all decorations, hand-made, store-bought or brought from home, were torn down, bound for the trash (wait. we're as eco-friendly here as possible. correction: recycling) or to collect dust in the back. And our store returned to it's original state of stark white walls and plain empty windows. Not much fun anymore.

And thus I sit here every Sunday, 9 (k. lie. I'm supposed to be here at 9. more like 915.) - 445, much of it spent on my own, resenting those orders and completing what measley tasks are left for me, which usually isn't much and doesn't take much time to complete.

My one bright light is occasionally checking my Facebook and crossing my fingers that someone has posted something or will reply immediately to a message. And my music section.

I love looking through the catalogues and online, searching for new artists I can contact and albums to try in store. Sure, they may just be children's cds, but I pride myself on having quite an extensive catalogue, especially one that features so many local and national artists. And I am especially proud when I come in to find some slots empty, meaning some sold and I can order again..

But it seems every time I come in (and someone actually talks to me for a change), a new rumour has sprouted up about me, usually involving Doug. I feel like I'm still in high school, it's so ridiculous. First of all: who cares whether or not we are actually dating. The rumour was around when we weren't, and even if we were, it's none of their business. If we wanted them to know, we'd tell them. But we're both professional and not the type who find PDA necessary, so we don't express this at work. As it should be. But since the original rumour there has also been one that we broke up (while very much still together), I got a new boyfriend, Doug and I had a terrible fight (probably while he was away for 2 or so weekends, completing his EMR course), and then got back together.

The best one I was informed of 2 weeks ago: Doug and I both don't want to work there any longer. Which, is true, but we haven't informed anyone beyond my mother of this. I plan on quitting by the summer, so the hours can be given to someone else, and so there is time to train a new employee.
Said rumour made it all the way to my manager. Great, huh? Makes it kind of difficult to quit for real now.

Anyways, long story short: Everything I dread all week long occurs on Sundays. My shift at the museum, and curling. Dunno why I agreed to play again this year..

Fuck. I hate grabby people. I WILL hand your purchase to you, I promise. I'm not going to forget.

Well, this certainly feels good. Probably paints a pretty angry picture of me, but I really don't care. After 5 years in retail, I honestly just can't take it anymore. I need to go to school, work minimal shifts to make some addiction (aka. audio/visual collecting) supporting cash, and get the hell out of the mall. By that time I will have been in retail for almost a decade, and that is MORE than enough for one person.

I suppose I should follow my mother's rule: a negative thing must be followed with a positive thing, particularily when speaking with her, and on especially rant-y days.

Hm. Well. The new plush we have in the store certainly put a smile on my face this morning. They're all so cute..and fuzzy..and I want them all...(No, I do not have one of the stuffed dogs at the counter with me..) *shaking head..Ugh, such a little girl..

AND. It was Nick's birthday party last night. Good times, good company and GOOD CUPACKES. My stomach was none too friendly this morning, probably due to the lethal combo I gorged on all night: cupcakes+cookie+chips&salsa=already sickening, no need to + pop&vodka...

Anyhoo, twas nice to catch up with people and just sit and relax with my friends. I hope Nick had a good time, and this year is better to him than last year.

Ugh. I started picking my fingers again. Worst. Habit. Ever. I was so happy I stopped for awhile, but I guess once I noticed I started again.. Gross and not pretty. Need to stop again. At least the stomach pain is kinda gone..

Oh god..they've found the party horns....